Hanguk Trail Running: Bukhansan II

The race event scheduled for Sunday was canceled due to a poor weather forecast. This did not stop me from running the course--or attempting to--and providing you some insight into the breathtaking mountain ranges.

I arrived at the course around 8:00 yesterday (February 15). The forecast was promising. It was around 0 degrees Celsius when the run began and the temperature was expected to rise all the way up to 5 degrees Celsius, with minimal windchill. The micro-dust levels were unsettlingly high but that is just something we must weather through in Korea. If air pollution dictated your training schedule, stringing together a few solid weeks of training would be impossible.

Patches of ice on Bukhansan. / HTR

The race was canceled because the organizers were expecting a heavy snowfall. I had checked the weather, and no such forecast had been issued. It was not long after I ventured onto the trail that I understood why the race was called off. There was snow on the course; but that is workable and expected in the winter. As a matter of fact, it is something I look forward to when running in the winter. It was the ice which was incredibly difficult and dangerous to navigate.

The first kilometer of the course takes you along an unpaved road. The scent of burning coal lingered in the air as the restaurants on the road prepared for the day. A temple marked the entrance to the trail. The smell of firewood and incense filled the morning air.

The next four kilometers involved a steady climb of 600m. Huge boulders formed the path up the mountain. Snow had melted and refrozen into ice on the flatter surfaces. The very same surfaces I had to climb with my feet. I found myself on all fours at times. There were sections, where without the aid of metal cables, I would not have been able to continue safely. Still my spirits were high. It all felt like an adventure. There was a seed of fear that began to take root at the back of my mind: How will I descend the mountain with all this ice? I tried to suppress the thought, hoping for the best: The ice would melt by the time I make my way down. This was not a logical thought, considering the last recorded snowfall had been a week ago, and warm conditions had persisted throughout the week. The ice and snow had also persisted.

The ridge of Bukhansan. / HTR

The next two kilometers were incredible--ridge-running! The rocky peaks of Bukhansan are sparse in vegetation and soil, leaving the ridges exposed as pure rock. After the slow ice-laden ascent, it felt exhilarating to pick up speed. Moving up and down the ridge with freedom. I encountered patches of frozen snow, but even that felt more forgiving up there. The texture was reminiscent of salt bread--hard and crusty on the outside yet still soft within--perfect for running on.

There is another climb of 200m up to Yongammoon, a gate along the walls of Bukhansanseong. Please refer to the article HTR: Bukhansan I for more details about Bukhansanseong and its historical significance. Yongammoon, meaning "Dragon Gate," stands along the ridge that divides the mountain range from east to west. On this particular morning, the mountains served as a natural barrier against the northwestern winds. The western slopes were shrouded in haze, heavy with air pollution. While the eastern side appeared remarkably clear. 

Yongammoon was the turning point in the original race course but I did not know that. I had not bothered to study the route, thinking 13km was short enough to wing it. I was smug, and I paid the price. That is what mountains do: They teach you humility. I began descending the mountain to the east, only to be met with steep slopes and ice. Once again, I found myself on all fours. My progress slowed to a crawl again. I was crab-walking down the mountain.

Yongammoon of Bukhansanseong. / HTR

My navigational tool alerted me that I was off-course but I brushed it off, telling myself: I will check the map and reassess once I am down. Few hikers greeted me on their way up, all equipped with poles and crampons.

I had descended the mountain at last. There was no time to rest as I was drenched in sweat. I did not want to cool down and risk getting cold. I retrieved my phone to get my bearings. I was 21km away from where my car was parked. The original course would have looped back to the starting point, but going off-course had left me on the opposite side of the mountain. There were two ways back to my car: Bukhansan or paved roads. I could not get back onto the mountain. Descending from the west side might have been fast as I slid down the face of the mountain--but I would not have made it down in one piece.

I did what any rational middle-class man would do: Call a cab. 

I was like a human-humidifier in the cab. My sweat evaporated in the enclosed space and condensed on the windows. I was mortified. To make matters worse, the cab driver was an absolute gentleman. All I could think was what did this fine man do to deserve being trapped in here with me?

I have provided a link to the promised GPX file (8km, 800m). The course is completely doable as an out-and-back route in spring, summer and/or fall--perhaps not during a rain storm. I had plans of thanking the soldiers from the Korean War for their sacrifice on the mountain. I wanted to acknowledge the monks who died on those slopes. I wanted to tell them that Korea is now a free country where everyone can practice their faith without fear. I had hoped to lose myself in the beauty of the boreal forests, once believed to hold spiritual power. None to avail. I was instead consumed by my well-being--second-guessing every step. When the trail was safe, I focused on speed. It had never crossed my mind that I could get lost on Bukhansan. But I did.

That is how it is on the mountain. You can never be too safe. Plans rarely unfold the way you expect. This is what I love about trail running. All unfounded presumptions are brought to light. All those that stand on the mountain have been tried and are true. For there exists no space for anything less.

GPX file: https://connect.garmin.com/modern/course/332548883

S.G.