Don't worry, I've done this many times before, I assured her.
Still... Mary wasn't convinced.
Well, what has changed?
You? That was more an incredulous statement than a question. And then she threw me a disapproving long look from head to toe. So much for a vote of confidence.
Below: standing on the lip of the crater atop Hallasan. What has changed indeed. A lot, as I learn and relearn to pain and woe each time I walk up a mountain.
Kenny from Slowciti Hostel in Seogwipo was a mine of information. A keen hiker himself, he had gone up and down Hallasan nigh on 200 times. He directed me to the bus stop, told me to be there by 6.15 for the first bus, recommended hiking routes and the available transport options and wrote these down in Korean in case I needed further assistance on the ground. You'll also need this, he whispered, almost conspiratorially, and brandished a box full of crampons.
Bus 780 from Seogwipo took 30 minutes to get to the Seongpanak trailhead, the only trail to the summit reachable by public transport. For the first two hours, the trail was a deceptively straightforward traipse on a clear, manageably inclined path. As the path climbed to ice, snow and winter's last stronghold, I put on Kenny's crampons. It made me feel invincible (partly because I've never previously used them before), and I pulled ahead of the madding crowd - solo adventurers, couples, whole troupes comprising chest-thumping young men and sprightly silver-haired walkers with a spring in their step. It was like stepping into a modern-day Korean Canterbury Tales.
Below (top to bottom): crows were a constant companion, and, like people you know who talk too much and too loudly, one hears them far before they come into sight; The Seongpanak trail experience was like reading the modern Korean version of Canterbury Tales. There, one meets Koreans from all walks of life. Granddad (see description of episode further below) is second from last.
One could carry on to the summit only if one arrived at the Jindallae shelter on the Seongpanak trail (after 7.3 kilometres) by 12.30pm. I got there at 9, rested a while and chewed on Jagabee as my fellow hikers streamed in. All came prepared - fruits, packet tidbits, local snacks wrapped in cloth like medieval way bread and even cup noodles with an attendant flask of hot water. It was acutely uphill from Jindallae, but it was precisely when things started to go downhill.
The rest of the 2.3-kilometre ascent I remember as an excruciating slog amidst piercing cramp and sore quadriceps. At one point, I stopped and collapse on the snow, both legs extended fully and quivering with fatigue. The karmic cycle was completed when everybody I overtook earlier plodded past me. A member of Granddad's Army who I passed earlier saw me nearly supine. He placed his hand on my shoulder and started on an incomprehensible rant. Summarised, it must have gone something like, should have paced yourself, young man. His companion graciously passed me two relief patches, and the whole bunch disappeared ahead. Later at the summit I saw Granddad leaning against a wooden parapet. He saw me too, pretended to act his age as he was getting up, flailed his arms, winced and pulled at my arm. Cheekiness transcends seniority.
Below (top to bottom): How to hide your exhaustion, in a non-horizontal position - take your time, take photographs of yourself and take in lots of deep breath; the final assault on winter's last stronghold on Hallasan's eastern slope.
It was sunny at the peak as it had been all morning going up. The crater there represented the apogee of Hallasan's and Jeju's genesis. The island-volcano was created through eruptions over several stages, starting from between 1 and 2 million years ago to as recently as 25,000 years ago. More recent findings indicate that volcanic activity on Hallasan could be dated to as late as 5,000 years ago, overturning previous classification of the volcano as extinct.
Below: All you need are crampons. Period.
Kenny suggested descending by the Gwaneumsa trail on Hallasan's northern slope, which afforded better views than its "boring" Seongpanak counterpart. Once again, I thought going down would be less troublesome, and I would finish the 8.7-kilometre-long course long before the advertised 4 hours. The initial descent, heavily stacked in snow, was both steep and slippery. A couple of misplaced steps eased the going somewhat as I slid down a helpful handful of metres. But progress remained painfully (in the physical sense too) slow. A column of climbing military servicemen made me very glad that I wasn't going their way, though many of them looked fairly comfortable with their fancy shades and music.
Above: an incomplete picture of the gradient hikers on the Gwaneumsa trail have to negotiate. The bottom-most picture was where I slipped, slid and saved myself above ten metres' descent.
Below: the superior visual offerings of the Gwaneumsa trail. From the upper reaches of the Seongpanak trail, one can better appreciate how Hallasan fits the profile of a shield volcano. The Gwaneumsa trail leads one to close-ups of all the other-worldly views typically associated with volcanic landscapes.
Shortly after I left the snow behind, further down on the Gwaneumsa trail, I caught up with a certain Mr Park and his wife. We struck up a conversation, and walked the rest of the 2 odd kilometres to the trailhead together. He asked how old I thought he would be. My guess of 55 drew chuckles from both him and his wife. He was actually 67, and kept a steady pace which my legs were screaming to match. Originally from the mainland, Mr Park's full-time job at the moment is to take care of his grandchildren. Twice a month, he and his wife walk up and down Hallasan as if it was nothing more than a grassy knoll in his backyard. They also kindly gave me a lift to the bus stop from the Gwaneumsa trailhead (only taxis there).
Below: My benefactors towards the end of the day. A kind heart is a young heart.
For me, this journey ticked off two out of three of South Korea's highest peaks (I bagged Daecheongbong, third highest south of the DMZ, in June 2012). On this latest hike, I've never felt happier to reach the finish point. I've never felt my legs so much, too.
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