Want Stress? Try a Weekend Hike

Autumn 2001

Today is Sunday in Korea and not a cloud in the high, blue autumn sky. So, my brother-in-law and I decided to take our families for a hike in the mountains. Unfortunately 20,000 other people made the same decision.

Actually my brother-in-law and I planned this hike earlier in the week. We decided we’d get-up, pack and get on the road early. So keeping with that plan, this morning we both arose about the same time. I started cleaning up, while he dressed and dashed quickly out the door mumbling something about ‘going to his office’. On Sunday his office is closed. In Korea and most other Asian countries, unless you own a restaurant in one of the favorite autumn tourist areas, on Sunday you are home or out with your family. So I was a bit puzzled by my brother-in-law’s action. I couldn’t imagine what an Acupuncturist can do at his office, on a Sunday, without somebody to stick needles into. The only picture I could conjure up in my mind’s eye, was him sitting there sterilizing his pins for the next victim.

In the meantime at home, it took my wife and I a short 3 hours to prepare a light lunch, get the kids ready and pack. Being experienced hikers we were careful to prepare and pack only the bare necessities - 15 or 50 large (3 inch thick) sushi rolls, 5 lbs. of tangerines, 3 liters of water, 4 bags potato chips, a 35 mm camera, army field binoculars, a video camera and at my brother-in-law’s insistence, a fifth of scotch-whiskey. Later I would regret bringing everything but the whiskey.

When my brother-in-law finally returned around 11:00 am, I was already comfortably in the World Series mode and could have cared less about a hike or anything else.

After some not so gentle coaxing from my wife, I was made aware that I was the token American and to prevent great shame on my beloved country I should forgo the 6th game of the series and join the gang. I agreed. After all’ the hike was my idea in the first place. So all seven of us proceeded to pile into my brother-in-law’s five-seat car and took off for a day of fun in the sun. Within one minute we stopped to buy a couple more necessities - some chewing gum and a can of propane gas for a camping stove someone had packed. I didn’t say anything at the time because I wanted to keep the flow going and was afraid of creating an international incident, but, I was sure there was nothing packed for lunch that required cooking. So with my lips tightly sealed, everyone now supplied to the gills, we happily sped off in the direction of the park. Two minutes later we were there.

In Korea unless your a farmer, monk, artist or an unemployed American you most likely live and work in the city. You and your family would only go to the mountains on Sunday. We are lucky. We already live in the mountains in the town of Kaya. The namesake of the surrounding mountain range and national park and with a population I’m told of 3500 registered voters. In fact, from the roof top of our apartment complex, where I sit and smoke cigarettes and drink coffee in the morning and beer in the evening, I can see the mountain peek we planned to conquer today.

Anyway, looking at the mass of buses and cars blocking the entrance to the park, it dawned on me that we ‘mountain people’ should have gone to the city instead. As every other Korean was either already on the mountain or ahead of us on the road, I was certain that the seven of us could easily loot an entire city block and be home before the ‘city slickers’ could get out of the parking lot.

It didn’t take my brother-in-law long to figure out that there was no way we were going to find parking or be able to get near the trailhead by car from this direction. He knew, as did I, that from the highway to the actual park entrance was about 1 mile straight-up. And, he knew, as did I, that none of the kids were going to want to conquer the mountain after making that long of walk to the trailhead. So, he did what he always does in such a situation. He turned the car around in the middle of the highway in front of a traffic cop and between two massive tour buses. It caused some mayhem but as the horns increased in number and volume we rolled up the windows and turned up the radio.

Soon we were out of there, headed for the back road to the park. Now I know the back road because I hike on it a lot. Its a very unimproved, dirt road and we were getting ready to traverse it in a very un-4 wheel drive sedan. It turned out to be no problem really, although in a couple of places we all had to disembark to ensure we didn’t rupture the gas tank. A loud explosion and fire ball out in the middle of nowhere probably wouldn’t have been noticed. Everybody else was trapped on the road going to the park.

Finally, to the curiosity of a couple thousand fellow hikers huffing and puffing up the long, steep road from the parking lot, we arrived at the park entrance. But that wasn’t good enough for my brother-in-law. He told the park rangers we were going to continue on and drive up to the temple. In no uncertain terms I surmised they informed him that only the resident monks with their new four wheel drive SUV’s were permitted to drive to the temple. He listen, nodded patiently and after everything was said, step on the gas and proceeded to the place no one else could go.

Having taken several short day hikes during the previous weeks, I have seen many beautiful sights. The mountains had been emblazoned in Autumnal color. The paulonia leaves had turned a fiery red, the ginkgo a bright yellow and various other hues and tones somewhere in between. Come to think of it, emblazoned is such a strong word. Especially to anyone who has been to New England in the fall. Maybe it is more accurate to describe the colors as moderately enflamed.

As we unloaded and joined the throng that formed a neat procession line up the trail, I realized that in fact most of the brightly colored leaves had already died and fallen. Which is good, because they helped cover the mounds of rubbish the merry hikers so merrily deposit on the trail and behind every rock and tree.

As we got into the hike I realized that I was probably missing most of the worthwhile scenery. There is something about the flow of multicolored backpacks, Alps style walking sticks, knee stockings and leiderhausen streaming up and down the mountain trail that tends to diminish a scenic experience. Nope, peaceful is not a word that would enter my mind today.

2 hours in, after completing one of the more vertical sections of the hike, we decided to take a break and eat lunch. While eating we heard a loud chorus of concerned voices accompanied by the sound of someone falling down. By the rapidly rising pitch of voices, that someone had possibly fallen off the mountain. This immediately worried me. But because of the continued procession of hikers upward and past I was quite sure that no one had actually died or been seriously hurt. For if they had, then the word ‘fate’ would have new meaning. It turned out that a boulder loosened by one of the million hikers who had transcended the path this month had finally broken loose and tumbled down the trail barely missing 1 or 2 thousand people.

Prior to the boulder incident, while my family was taking a trail break, I stood observing the great number of people going down the mountain. It seemed that after having conquered the mountain a bit of soju whiskey was traditional. In fact it seemed that plenty of soju was being consumed somewhere up there in the clouds. This concerned me. It concerned me that one of the kids standing there unaware might be accidentally be bumped by a drunk and accidentally plunge down one of the many available steep precipices. The thought of tying ourselves together crossed my mind, but instead I just asked everyone to stay away from the ledges. Hearing that, my brother-in-law took a big gulp of whiskey.

As we neared the last leg of the hike off in distance we could make out what appeared to be about 1000 iron stairs zigzagging the way up the steep granite peak. Taking one look at that, my youngest son exclaimed that ‘he’d had enough and could care less about conquering the mountain. Knowing Stevie, it wasn’t going up the steep vertical incline that concerned him, it was coming back down. I agreed, but I didn’t say so. For my part, when I looked at those stairs I could imagine 2000 drunk Korean men and women staggering down one side of the narrow stairway while another couple thousand excited hikers were rapidly enroute to their final destiny - lunch and soju. So in a tone of voice reflecting mild disappointment, I volunteered to stay with Stevie, allowing everyone else the opportunity to meet their destiny.

Stevie and I sat and observed our family’s progress up the steps through our set of 7 lbs field binoculars. What had earlier appeared to be shrubs and trees atop the granite peak was in reality people. Without the glasses, the view reminded me of my kids video movie ‘Ant Story’. In fact, as I thought about it the whole hike reminded me of an army ants relocating their colony. Every ant carrying a piece of rice.

Then, I realized that Yahoo was missing a great marketing promotion opportunity. For every 20 seconds or so, the 10,000 Koreans assembled on the majestic 200 square foot mountain summit would in unison - like everything done in Asia - scream ‘Yaaaahoooooo’. But as they yelled in triumph I could tell by looking at my boy that he was just as happy to be sitting there and listening, while eating the remaining 3 lbs of tangerines and 2 bags of potato chips.

When everyone was finished Yaaaahooooinnnng, my returning older son reported that we didn’t miss a thing. My wife then interjected that it is not about what the scenery or view from the mountain looks like, but rather conquering the mountain is what is important. Stevie in his own way and I in mine could only chuckle...we conquered alright…take a look in your backpacks.

Upon returning home and retreating to my office on top of the apartment, cold beer in hand, I looked up at the peak and still could see what appeared to be thousands of shrubs and trees, but I knew better.

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