Hiking Jeju's Hallasan: An 8-Hour Winter Trek
Two of my younger brothers, who work out and lift weights every day, came to visit. Since they came with the specific goal of hiking Hallasan (Jeju's highest mountain), I had mentally prepared myself to some extent. But when they actually showed up with my hiking reservation already booked, I felt a bit anxious.
The highly anticipated D-day.
I woke up at 5 AM and quickly washed my face. I boiled water for the ramen we'd eat at the top, rubbed my sleepy eyes, and started the car to head to the Seongpanak parking lot. The road to Seongpanak has no streetlights, so you really can't see a thing ahead. Being half-asleep and unable to see made it pure torture. My 15-year-old car struggled up the hill for over 30 minutes, and when we finally arrived, the parking lot was already almost full. If the Seongpanak lot fills up, you have to drive another 10km to park at a university, so it was a huge relief that didn't happen.
One of the guys had been whining all day since arriving in Jeju about there being no snow, but surprise—we had to put on our crampons right from the start. Crampons and trekking poles are essential, yet one of us didn't have crampons and two didn't have poles. These unprepared fools... Even at Hallasan, they show their lack of preparation.
We showed our pre-booked tickets on our phones and went through the gear check. Everyone bravely marched forward into the pitch-black darkness of Hallasan. Even without a headlamp, you can just stick close behind others for a bit, but it's definitely inconvenient not having one. I used to tease people for packing so much gear for a hike, asking if they were climbing Everest, but today I regretted not having the right equipment. As expected, Koreans are all about the gear.
After walking for about an hour, it started getting brighter. A little further and the sun was fully up, so I put on sunglasses because of the glare reflecting off the snow. We walked toward our first destination, the Jindallaebat Shelter (Azalea Field Shelter), but honestly, it felt way too far. When I hiked this 5 years ago, it felt like a quick climb, but whether it was because of the snow or my out-of-shape body, the shelter just wouldn't appear no matter how much we walked. They say this part is at least easy because it's not a steep incline. Even though I was exhausted out of my mind, walking through the forest felt good.
If you don't reach the Jindallaebat Shelter by 12 PM, you aren't allowed to head to the summit. But thanks to our early start, we arrived just before 9 AM. That meant we had finally reached a place where we could rest and eat something. I really wanted to eat my ramen, but since ramen is meant for the summit, I couldn't even bring it up and just munched on a chocolate bar instead. It's not like my lungs were exploding like when I ride a bike, so I don't know why I felt so drained.
In these COVID times, eating indoors with a bunch of people gathered around without any verification made me a bit uneasy. But they checked everyone upon entry, so I guess it's fine.
I heard they weren't allowing indoor entry until just a few days ago, but it seems they opened it because it's cold and there's nowhere to sit outside due to the snow. After walking uphill for so long, my body temperature had shot up enough to unzip my jacket. But as soon as I rested, my temperature dropped rapidly. Sitting there, I realized that keeping the shelter indoors open during winter is definitely the right call.
Strangely enough, after the shelter, the incline gets steeper and the scenery becomes a bit more desolate. Plus, from here on out, the clouds are below your feet. The positive part about passing the shelter is that you start walking with the summit of Hallasan right in front of you. The negative part is that the mountain somehow never seems to get closer. I don't know if it was under a magic spell or if the mountain grew legs, but no matter how much I walked, it didn't get any closer.
Just when I thought I really couldn't take another step, we reached the summit. Seeing Baengnokdam (the crater lake) for the second time, it looked as white as a steamed bun. The scattered rocks looked like red bean filling, which meant I must have been really hungry. The standard routine when you reach the top is to take a photo with the stone monument that has 'Baengnokdam' scrawled in Chinese characters, but I was too hungry and the line was too long.
I looked around, found a decent spot to sit, and quickly poured the hot water—carried up on someone else's back—into my cup ramen. It was so delicious I couldn't tell if it tasted good because I was eating above the clouds or because I was so exhausted. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to call it the best ramen of my life. I brought the smallest cup size, but if I ever come back, I'm definitely bringing a large one. Ah, but then I'd have to carry more water, which might make it even harder.
Most people who reached the summit brought plastic trash bags and cleaned up after they ate. There was still a noticeable amount of small trash on the ground, but I'm glad the days of turning the mountain into a garbage dump seem to be over. I picked up pieces of trash one by one on the way up, which made me feel like I'd receive good luck this year, giving me even more energy from the mountain. I highly recommend bringing a large Ziploc bag to pack out your own trash and pick up littered items—it really makes you feel like good fortune is coming your way.
Having rested and eaten enough, we started our descent toward the Gwaneumsa Trail. The Gwaneumsa course offers grand views of the south wall, similar to Seoraksan Mountain, but since we were on our way down, we were satisfied with just catching quick glimpses. The early part of the descent was so steep it felt like we'd fall over, and people who came without crampons were sliding down like they were skiing. It felt like we were descending faster, so I thought we'd finish quickly, but the trail just wouldn't end.
On the way up, it got progressively harder, and taking each step was a struggle. On the way down, the walking got easier, but it felt completely endless, draining all my stamina. The only thought left in my head was that I wanted to stop walking. I tried comparing the two, but honestly, I hated both...
Finally arrived. It was over after a whopping 10 hours since I opened my eyes at dawn. The hike alone took more than 8 hours. Recently, I watched Jun Hyun-moo (a Korean TV host) do this hike and thought, 'He really needs to work out,' but my own body was no different. The word 'exhausted' fit perfectly; it was truly grueling. My hiking boots, which I pulled out for the first time in 10 years, must have given their all because the soles ripped off. Both the people and the gear were in such rough shape that anyone looking at us would think we'd been living on Hallasan.
After finishing the hike, you can print out a certificate. It doesn't mean much, but to those who made the climb, it's a piece of paper you'd pay any amount to print and carefully treasure in a closet at home like a family heirloom. Receiving the certificate gave me a proud sense of accomplishment, but mostly, I just wanted to wash up and lie down.
