On a nippy Sunday morning in February many years ago, I was on a train to go to Miryang, South Gyeongsang Province. I was going to climb Mount Jaeyak, not far from Miryang city. In my mid-70s and still somewhat thriving, I had not fully recovered from the flu. It had completely exhausted me for two weeks. But I was determined to challenge the high mountain. Like always, I was alone.
Arriving at Miryang about an hour later, I took a bus to Pyochungsa Temple, nestled at the foot of Mount Jaeyak. The temple, one of the oldest and largest buildings in Korea, and is particularly renowned for preserving the deity of the Great Monk Samyeong. He was the monk soldier who had successfully organized a militia to defend the country against enemy forces during the Japanese invasions of 1592-1597. The name "Pyochung" meaning "embodiment of loyalty" is in remembrance of this brave, patriotic monk.
After looking around the temple's grounds for a while, I dropped into the main hall for a brief moment of meditation before setting out for the mountain. I was approaching the ticket office to pay the admission fee, when the attendant came out, glanced and quickly waved me through. I was flattered by the free admittance. But I thought his gesture was a bit rough and ungracious. I was rather displeased with him, wondering if my facial looked so prominent in the distance.
Leaving the entrance of the park, I quickly followed some young hikers who had also traveled on the bus. I recognized them by their colorful sports jackets. I did not want to be disorientated in the unfamiliar mountains. Talking and laughing cheerfully, they walked up the hill at a brisk pace. I tried hard to follow closely behind but somehow lost sight of them. My body no longer served me as it had years before. Mount Jaeyak was so beautiful in winter with its lush dark-green pine trees. It looked even mystic as its esoteric name 'Jaeyak' or 'bountiful medicine' suggested. Lost in reverie, I suddenly heard the loud drumming of a woodpecker in the woods.
Twice I lost the trails of rocky hills and had to walk up and down for half an hour to find familiar paths. I was now completely exhausted and breathless after climbing for almost three hours, following the trails that snaked up the steep summit. Since losing sight of the young folks, I had not seen another human. I slumped to my knees, leaned against a boulder and ate the tangerines I had packed. Surprisingly my energy had returned. I felt like I had completely sweated off the nagging flu through my struggle. Gazing over the vast green slope of the mountain which stretched out into the horizon, I found it tranquil and breathtakingly beautiful.
The last quarter of the climb was increasingly rough and rapid. Worse still, the heights of the mountain were covered with snow. Delightfully at this time, I heard some people scurrying back down. They stared at me in disbelief and said they were turning back. They seemed to be telling me to give up on the ascent. It would be too dangerous for a lone man of my age. But it was simply ridiculous to quit after traveling two hours from home and climbing for over three hours. I attached crampons to my boots and kept going up.
The snow that had fallen a week before was still ankle-deep when I climbed up farther. I moved slowly and cautiously one step after another with my hiking stick as support. When I had to cross icy, treacherous spots, I went down on all fours just to be on the safe side. I did not want to miss my steps and get seriously injured in the deep mountains. Then, eventually, I reached "Sajabong" or "Lion Peak" at 1,189 meters above sea level. It was so cold and breezy up there but my mind was still warm and burning with an extreme sense. Not for such a long time had I felt such personal fulfillment.
Yi Woo-won (yiwoowon1988@gmail.com) lives in Waegwan, North Gyeongsang Province, and has been writing since 1986.
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On a nippy Sunday morning in February many years ago, I was on a train to go to Miryang, South Gyeongsang Province. I was going to climb Mount Jaeyak, not far from Miryang city. In my mid-70s and still somewhat thriving, I had not fully recovered from the flu. It had completely exhausted me for two weeks. But I was determined to challenge the high mountain. Like always, I was alone.
Arriving at Miryang about an hour later, I took a bus to Pyochungsa Temple, nestled at the foot of Mount Jaeyak. The temple, one of the oldest and largest buildings in Korea, and is particularly renowned for preserving the deity of the Great Monk Samyeong. He was the monk soldier who had successfully organized a militia to defend the country against enemy forces during the Japanese invasions of 1592-1597. The name "Pyochung" meaning "embodiment of loyalty" is in remembrance of this brave, patriotic monk.
After looking around the temple's grounds for a while, I dropped into........
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