A Wise Mountain - South Korea
It's 6am on New Year's Day and the thermometer reads minus seven degrees Celsius. I have a cold and I'm halfway up a snow covered mountain, lying in a shelter designed to accommodate 40 happy hikers, but currently housing one frozen Englishman. This is Jirisan - the mountain of Wisdom in South Korea.This is the place where a famous Korean saying states: A fool will be able to become wise after living there. I've spent a single night here and yet I feel unequivocally unwise.
In the beginning everything seemed perfect. It was the New Year Holiday period and I had a few days off from teaching unenthused Korean kids the alphabet. I set out - new boots and backpack in tow, on a three day escape from the madness of Korean life. Half a day later I was in the foothills of Jirisan - the tallest mountain on the South Korean peninsula.
Snag Number One: With my nose dripping and my throat aching, I developed an ill timed cold. Undeterred, I set my alarm early for the next day and slept very much unlike a log.
I arose early the next day from my shabby accommodation to begin my ascent of the western ridgeline. It had snowed overnight which added an even greater allure to this magnificent mountain. In the first few steps I realised this was a great choice as the vast valleys stretched out as far as my watery eyes could bear to see.
Snag Number Two: Due to the huge amount of snow that had fallen, my path to the top was deemed: Very danger. No hike by the Korean mountain official. The snow, which had previously been a beautiful friend to behold, suddenly transformed into an annoying white blanket hindering my chances of reaching the 1915 metre peak.
Fortunately after checking my map, I noticed I was near to a Buddhist temple. As I took the obligatory snaps around this place of worship, I was privy to one of the most exquisite sights I've ever seen. The sun rose from beneath a distant peak, shining golden rays through the undulating valleys. At that moment, a light wind blew the powdered snow from the tree tops sending a white wave drifting magically down the mountainside. The full beauty of nature was encapsulated in that single moment. I made my peace with the snow.
The full beauty of nature was encapsulated in that single moment. I made my peace with the snow.
Not wishing to dwell, the hiking side of my brain engaged again and took me via a few bumpy bus rides to another mountain access point. I was going to give the summit another shot. After a good few hours of snow crunching hiking I was getting closer to the halfway stage.
Snag Number Three: The failing light and heavy snow meant I had to head to the nearest shelter for the night. I rapped on the door in a friendly manner, hoping to be welcomed by a pleasant owner who would be happy for the company. Instead I got a 79-year-old man who had lived alone on the mountain for 36 years and liked it that way: You hike to top? He enquired. I answered in the affirmative and received a scornful: No hike to top. Too much snow. Top close for many day. I considered ignoring his advice, but then I also considered my lack of hiking knowledge.
And here is where the story began - a night spent in the coldest shelter known to man. My grand plan of hiking up this wisdom filled mountain over before I'd made it past the halfway point. It's mid morning on New Year's Day 2008 and instead of being on top of the world, I'm drearily making my way down a bitterly cold mountain. Fools may gain wisdom from living here, but a truly wise man knows when to turn around and rejoin the warmth of society.
- Kirk Bown
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