It rained. The whole way there. I should come clean and say it had been raining all week, spontaneous pounding monsoons that sent flash floods through the slanted streets. But Jaclyn had agreed to camp out with me, and that was an opportunity I wouldn't soon pass up. I'd been checking the notoriously innaccurate weather websites throughout the week, coming up with different results each time, but a general trend seemed to indicate that the storm would break up Saturday morning, and by Sunday it would be sunny and beautiful. Saturday afternoon, it was raining. I wouldn't say it was raining hard, but it was enough to give us worry when we showed up to buy our tickets. The island is isolated, with 3 roundtrip ferries serving it a day (if the weather holds). If we went to the island, there was no returning until the next day. With all this in mind and a persistent drizzle dampening our spirits, we decided to go for it. We could bear one terrible night, if that's what it turned out to be, and at the very least we'd end up with a story to tell.
The drizzle let up at around four, and we boarded the ferry a minute later, no turning back. The ferry turned and chugged it's way out of port, past huge rust-red cargo ships and stony tree topped islets. We turned to give a last look toward the port, and saw this:
There it was, the blue sky battling its way through what had been dark grey clouds only minutes before. The forecast had proven right, if not particulary accurate temporally. And for all it's stubbornness, the clouds melted away in mere moments to show clear blue skies, a real rarity here in hazy Korea. We sat back on our teahouse style seats to enjoy the trip out.
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| Big rocks and blue skies. |
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| Ondol benches and high spirits. |
When we got to the island we saw a sight we weren't really expecting. A small town! For all the information I'd been able to find online, I thought there were a couple of houses for fishing villages and that was it. This town had several restaurants and a few pensions (family style guest houses. Book a room, get a meal, that kind of thing). This was an excellent development. It meant if the rain returned we'd have a backup plan. We stood on the dock to admire our surroundings, fishing boats, red and grey cliffs, the sea turquoise as promised.
Right about then was when people started yelling at us. "Balli, balli!" An ajossi in a yellow vest was shouting at us to "Hurry up, hurry up!" Fair enough, we were holding up the boarders trying to leave the island. We clanked up the rusted gangplank onto a steep concrete trail. The first thing that made me think something was amiss were the receptions: every group getting off the boat had someone there waiting for them, without exception. "They must be coming home for the night" I thought to myself, "Or meeting family." I snapped a picture of a posted map (one trail, from one end of the island to the other) and we struck our way up the hill away from port.
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| And there went our only link to the mainland. |
We meandered up the hill, getting looks from all angles. My backpack was big, yea but it had all the food, water, sleeping bags, and mats we'd need for the night. Maybe it was the pictures I was posing for that were setting people off...
About ten seconds after this picture was when I got yelled at for the second time. "Hey! No!" screamed an ajossi crossing his arms in an X in the Korean fashion. "Hey! Hey! No! No!"
I realized he was talking to me and turned back to him. "What?" I put up my palms and did my best confused foreigner face. He gave me another arm-X then grabbed a hold of my backpack, so aggressivley that my reaction was to push his hands away. "No!" he shouted and made another grab for my pack.
"Erm, ok," was all I could rebut. I turned to Jaclyn on the path for a moment, confused and dazed, hoping we didn't correctly understand his implication, then kept on up the hill.
That was when we got yelled at for a third time. We stopped to rest, the hill was steep and our packs were heavy, and while we caught our breath a stooped woman with a dark, wrinkled face screamed at us from over a crumbling stone and mud wall. We did our best to ignore her, at this point utterly baffled and unamused by our reception. Koreans, especially the elderly, are not known for their warmth towards strangers, but this was something neither of us had experienced. She quieted down and we discussed the map I'd taken a picture of.
"It looks like it goes straight in towards the island. Let's just go for it, I guess?" We head up the path and set the lady screaming at us all over again. Now everyone in the village was staring at us, and we got the hint, stalled for a moment, then started back down the hill. A drunken hiker yelled to us from behind the soju bottles littering his table, "Hey, guy! Good!" I reciprocated his thumbs up, but it wasn't the finger I felt like showing him.
We trudged back down the hill, confused, embarrassed, and spirits deflating, shouts from the old woman still raining down on us.
"I saw another trail when we were coming up, maybe we can follow that one around and it will connect with the main trail."
We headed to that trail, a muddy road more like, spirits re-inflating. We had high hopes for our trip, Jaclyn's first outdoor sleeping experience, and they weren't dashed yet. The air was clear, the sky was blue, and the view was breathtaking. A Jindo bounded up to us and I gave him a few pets, his thick white fur sodden. He launched out ahead of us and we followed after. For a short while, the trail was flat and relatively clear. We could see the cliffs dropping off hundreds of feet into the sea, and a steep rise up on the other side. It didn't look very promising as a place to sleep, but I had hopes to make it to the other side of the island (the west) so we could see the sunset. The more we walked, the less promising things became. The forest started to close in on us until we were walking in a tunnel of interlocking branches, so small I could not stand straight. The way was so narrow my pack kept getting caught, and I had to turn to squeeze through the tangle of trees on either side. The dog kept bounding back to us, as if to say, "What's taking you guys so long?" then flying off again to dissappear into the tree-tunnel.
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| I'm not exaggerating, for once. |
We got to a clearing where a stream flowed from beneath a mammoth boulder, 30 feet high at least. I, naturally, needed to climb it. I left the trail and headed up around it, looing for footholds. The terrain was extremely rocky, big chunks of stone overgrown with ivy and thorny plants, giving me little purchase. I shrugged of my pack to improve my balance and made my way behind the boulder, where a slight angle and a couple of handholds let me scale it. I got up and was shouting down to Jaclyn, trying to show off, when I noticed this little guy:
Now, I don't claim to be any sort of wilderness expert, but I do know that caterpillars can be toxic to the touch. I also know that bright colors and toxins go together in nature. About then, I noticed that it was not this little guy, but these little guys, with their orange heads, black horns, and bright toothbrush tufts on their backs. Well, I wasn't too worried, I was wearing shoes after all, even if my socks were low cut, and hey, I'm bigger than they are. Then the wind blew. That was the first time I noticed how many of them there actually were, because it was like autumn leaves were blowing over the top of this boulder, thick and swirling all around it. The wind was picking them up (propelled by their hair, no doubt) and depositing them about at random.
"Oh s--t!" I shouted to Jaclyn. "There are a bunch of poisonous caterpillars up here, and the wind is blowing them all over the place!" Big mistake.
"These things are poisonous!?"
"What do you mean these things?"
"They're down here, too! Gaaah, they're all over the place! I didn't know they were posionous! Get down here now!" I was only too happy to get off that rock (after I snapped a picture, of course), so I scampered down, paying special attention to where I put my hands and praying the wind didn't blow any of them into my face.
[An aside for all you dorks out there: I looked it up and, to the best I can figure, the caterpillar is a type of tussock moth. They are in fact toxic to varying degrees, some causing an allergic reaction with their irritating hairs, and some secretting a toxin via those hairs. They intentionally climb to high open places (ie a big boulder) so the wind can blow them to new locations before they pupate. Cool, right? Not when they're blowing all around you.]
My luck held and I made it down unscathed, where I grabbed my pack and set off again, Jaclyn followed behind, unamused.
"We are NOT sleeping out here with those things!"
"I know, we need to get out of the forest. All the pictures show wide open grassy places, that must be on the other side of the island."
We set off again, and either it was getting dark or the forest was blocking the sunlight. Turns out it was both. We climbed up an extremely slippery hill, one of us very reluctantly, and made our way to the mountaintop. When we got there we were rewarded to a beautiful view of the neighboring island.
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Jaclyn was, at this point, very unhappy with trudging through the dense forest, and certain that poisonous caterpillars would assail us from the vegetation at any moment. We did see them with a certain discomforting frequency, and nowhere looked nearly clear enough to sleep in. I'm giving Jaclyn a hard time when I write this, but I was no less uncomfortable, just better able to hide it from her. We stopped long enough to pose for this heroic picture then headed out again.
We came to a clearing directly above the town, the sun just over the horizon and an extemely uhappy girlfriend asking that we find a place to stay. I was frustrated and dissappointed, but I know when the girl has been talking sense and I've been too stubborn to admit it (read: insane Brazilian hostel owner in Bolivian dungeon/guesthouse). We went down into the town and started asking about pension rooms, descending the hill and asking as we went. One after another gave us the same answers, "No rooms," "Bang obsayo," "the Korean arm-X." We came to one that was ran by a woman who'd been on the ferry with us. Her young children had been fascinated with us on the ferry which I think warmed her to us, and I think she felt some kind of motherly pity for us. We asked if she'd let us sleep on her deck, but she was worried we'd be cold/eaten alive by mosquitoes. We tried to explain that we were prepared for cold weather, but it was a no go. She ran from pension to pension asking in our stead, trying to find us a place to stay.
While she was gone, a youngish woman yelled to us from her deck, "Why are you here?" We were taken aback.
"Uhh... because it's beautiful?"
"No, this pension why are you here?"
"We are looking for a room."
"Oh you don't have a room? I think..." She gestured around her, looked at her husband then waved to her room. Here it is, I thought, the famous Korean hospitality. In a show of generosity she'll off us a corner of her room, then we will take her and her family out for dinner as a show of good faith, become friendly, exchange information, they'll visit us in America and we'll have won some lifelong friends.
"I think... I think...
This place has no rooms."
Jaclyn and I looked at each other. "Okay, thank you."
The owner came back with an older woman wearing a red apron. "Bang, one night, okay?"
We were up for anything. "Sure no problem, how much?"
"Forty thousand. Errm... ahh... country style. Uh... ok?"
We exchanged a glance. "Country style? Sure, no problem. Anywhere is fine"
We followed the woman up into the town, crossed the one road, then worked our way behind a farm. She grabbed a can of bugspray and a rag from the farm, then walked up behind the wall. She lost the trail, to her own cottage, and we headed back the other way, then up over some rocks, through a thornbush, over a broken wall to the "country style" room.
All I could think was, "Ah, s--t."
It was built in the classic style, tiny porch, low roof, walls, wooden door that she cracked open and, slipping off her shoes, crawled insde with the can of bugspray. I was looking over the residence when I saw the BIGGEST SPIDER I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE. It had a bright yellow body, at least an inch across, and legs the stretched from three to four inches, sitting in the middle of a web which spanned from the low roof to the ground. Pardon my french, but it was f-----g massive.
I shouted "Jaclyn, wait there!" Let me explain something. Jaclyn is an arachnaphobic. I'm not talking about a girly girl, no one likes spiders, spiders are nasty kind of thing. I am talking about full blown, mention them and she can feel them all over herself, see one in a park and check the sheets that night, probably still won't be able to sleep tonight because of what I'm about to tell you. She even screamed in terror in a classroom full of fourth graders when her coworker surprised her with a powerpoint slide to teach the word, "Spider." She is not scared of spiders, she has arachnaphobia.
When I shouted for her to wait, her response was full of terror and practically clairvoyant. "What!? What is it?! Is it a spider?!"
"No! Just wait there!"
I shouted to the woman, "Ya, ya, iri wa!" "Hey, hey come here," then gestured to the spider and made a spraying sound. She waved me away. "Aniyo, kenchanayo." "No, it's fine."
"Aniyo," I said, "Yochin, ahh! Spray the damn spider!" That's when Jaclyn screamed, a blood curling scream, all terror and pain and anguish. The woman sprayed the spider. "A spider! Oh my god, Tyler! Can I come over there!" The spider withstood the toxic spray for 10, 15 seconds then fell into the bushes. She gave another spray for good measure.
I ran back to Jaclyn, around the crumbling wall shouting, "Yes, come!" I don't think I've never seen her so upset, pure agony written all over her face, shaking, tears running uncotrollably while her body was racked with sobs.
"It's okay, I'll kill it, it's okay," I tried to comfort her and she cried into my chest for a moment before catching her breath. Then she looked up.
"Oh my god, is that the place? Why did you make me wait? Was it another spider?" She collapsed into tears all over again.
It took some doing, and lying about what I'd made her wait for, but we got inside and the woman explained about the room. Jaclyn cried while the woman and I killed spiders left and right, and she kept telling us, "It's okay, it's okay!" but when I tried to discreetly smash a spider that escaped from the bedding she was unrolling for us, it was clearly not okay. I paid her and she left, considerately leaving behind the spray, and we knelt inside the room scanning the walls for spiders, alligator tears rolling down jaclyn's cheeks the whole while. I went and sprayed the spider that Jaclyn had seen, then came back to the hovel where she said between sobs, "This is literally my worst nightmare." I was trying to comfort her, at a loss what to do otherwise with no pension rooms available on the island, assuring her we'd killed all the spiders when her face crumpled into yet another look of sheer terror. Hanging not two inches from me was a spider, just a daddy-longlegs this time but a massive one, rappelling from the ceiling to the blankets we were supposed to sleep in. If that had survived the fumigation, what else had?
"Let's get the hell out of here."
We took our bags and with nowhere else to go, went and sat in a small tea-platform we'd seen earlier. The red-aproned woman walked by, and seeing us there not two minutes after she'd left us in her room, bags in hand, wagged her jaw at us. I assured her we'd come outside for some fresh air and to eat the food we'd brought. We waited and ate and bided our time, dealt with the friendly drunken Koreans and the rude drunken Koreans alike. We assured everyone we had a room because, in fact, we did, but several people did offer for us to stay with them. At this point, we didn't really like the idea of going anywhere and we set up shop. As the night rolled on we ate a lot of snacks, drank some beer, dealt with more drunk Koreans, read by flashlight. Koreans came and went, the animosity from earlier replaced with curiosity and, above all, concern. "Cold, cold. Moki." Mosquitoes. We stuck to our story that we had a room, and waited out the fireworks on the pier and the revellers singing songs late into the night. A security guard came and dragged away the most beligerent of the partiers, and when he returned we though we were in for it. He sat with us for a minute, not buying our story about having a room. When he started to take off his jacket, we realized he was just worried about us freezing in the night, and showed him that we had jackets of our own. When things finally settled down we unrolled our bags and slept under the stars, just like we had planned.
I woke in the morning to the sounds of fisherman readying there boats, just before sunrise. I woke Jaclyn, who was deep asleep, snoring peacefully (though she'll deny that to the end). I think the rugged lifestyle agreed with her. We packed and ate the Starbucks bagels we'd brought along, drank coffee from cans and were ready to hike by 5:30. The dog from the afternoon before had come to join us in the night, along with a few of his friends.
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| No worse for the wear. |
We set off up the hill, and I went to try and take a picture of our, "country style room," but I literally could not find the way back to it. As we hoofed it up the hill, the stooped old woman with the dark, wrinkled face came out of her gate. "Here we go again," I thought, but this time we knew the path up and would not be dissuaded. I said, "Anyeonghashimnika!" "Good morning! (Respectfully)" and she surprised me with a broad gap-toothed smile. She whistled and one of the Jindo's ran up, and when she shouted a few words to it, and he shot off up to the trail. We found him waiting for us waiting at the trailhead, and when we went up, he bounded ahead, running back and forth along the trail.
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| This way, guys! |
We found our way, with the help of the dog who by then we'd named Ghost (all you Game of Thrones fans will know what I'm talking about), to where the trail junctioned and headed west, out toward the lighthouse. Before long, and following Ghost the whole while, we found our way to another fork in the trail. Both ways were dense forest. We let Ghost decide the way, when only a few minutes later we came upon a huge cobweb stretching across the trail, stopping us dead in our tracks. After the nights traumas, there wasn't going to be any persuading of anyone, I knew. We went back to the bench at the fork, where we decided I'd go scout things out and tear down any "obstacles."
I only hiked for a few minutes before the trail cleared out to show one of the most spectacular views I've ever beheld. I ran back to get Jaclyn, windmilling my arms like a madman to make sure there weren't any remnants of the nights companions, and said to her, "You've got to come see this." It must have been the tone of my voice, but she believed me. She followed me through the forest, and emerged to see this:
I think I understand why they film commercials here. We stopped for just a moment to take in the view, then started down the trail after our intrepid guide. We trekked down to the rocky land bridge that dissappears when the tide comes in. I'd done my reasearch on this much, at least, and knew that we should have a few hours before the sea covered the bridge. We followed ghost down a long staircase and over the landbridge.
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| Frustrated face. |
We didn't linger long, as Ghost came to collect us and lead us up to the lighthouse, where more incredible views awaited us. We shrugged off our packs, rewarded our guide with a couple of crackers and some water from our bottle, and snapped some pictures of the massive cliffs and pristine waters. Early morning fisherman dotted the rocks in impossible places.
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| Fearless |
All of a sudden Ghost started whining then jumped up from where he lay, scrambling around the lighthouse. He came to me and I asked, "What is it, Ghost?" and looked with him back toward the other island we'd come from.
"Jaclyn," I called. "Was the bridge that narrow when we came over here?" She looked, over, looked to me, then said just one word.
"No."
We jumped up, grabbed our packs, and made a mad dash the few hundred yards back to the beach, Ghost whining and yelping the whole while. We came to the bridge just as the waves were starting to wash over the rocks. We clambored across, and when I made Jaclyn pause for a picture she nearly got soaked. Ghost splashed through the last bit, and we scrambled over slippery rocks mere seconds before the waves rolled in and covered them.
Safely back on the main island, we paused and snapped one last picture, then trekked back to the town. We were hiking down the mountain just as the tourists from the first ferry were making their way up, unawares that the tide had come in and they wouldn't be able to get to the island (unless they swim, but I've heard that it's a very strong current). It made me realize how lucky we were to have the island literally to ourselves, our pictures unblemished by the neon hiking gear so favored by Koreans.
When we got back to the port, we weren't treated to the angry shouts and stern warnings of the day before, but broad smiles and thumbs up. This morning, I had no trouble reciprocating. I don't know if we'd earned some respect for our sleeping out, undoubtedly already an infamous event on the tiny island, for our early morning hike, or if they just thought that we were crazy waygookins. Whatever the cause, it made for a much more pleasant atmosphere.
The woman whose guest house we'd opted not to stay in found us sitting back in the pagoda, and asked us if we'd like fried eggs. We took her up on it, and when we asked how much, she put a hand on her chest then extended her arms as if to hand us a gift. We thanked her profusely, and sat on her deck enjoying fresh tomato, cucumber, bell pepper, and fried eggs. We drank tea and watched the neon-clad tourists mill about the town, waiting the arrival of the ferry. Townsfolk and tourists alike came up and to ask if we'd really slept out on the pagoda, our affirmative response earning astonished shakes of the head, though not without a laugh or smile. When the ferry arrived, we made straight for the ondol floors and had a sweet, well-earned, spiderless sleep all the way back to port.
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| Worth it. |
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