Up the Mountain and into the Fog
By Francesca Duong
I was assured by my friend that hiking through the Mudeungsan National Park (무등산국립공원) would be a gradual incline.
“It will be perfect for your first time hiking,” she said. “We will take it slow.”
I was lied to.
With my friend serving as my guide and motivator, I carefully trudged behind on the path littered with stones sloping in obscure angles. My ankles worked overtime to stabilize myself, and my thighs screamed with each step.
It felt mechanical, our motion. Left, right. Left, right. In a single file line, we marched onwards with other strangers. Our brains were shut off as we focused on pushing forward and not toppling like dominos. The sounds of our feet hitting the ground echoed into the distance, as if asserting our presence on the mountain.
After a certain point, after a certain altitude, turning back would be a slap in the face to all the hard work already accomplished. I climbed onwards, captivated by the allure of what lied ahead. I wanted to understand what about hiking intoxicated people into coming back. Maybe it was the peaceful songs of nature that hypnotized hobby hikers, or the feeling of physical accomplishment after one’s conquest. And so we continued, one foot in front of the other, forcing ourselves to forget about the tiredness. Left, right. Left, right.
Each checkpoint we reached signified not just our accomplishments, but also denoted a change in weather. At the 617-meter marker – the halfway point – the harsh sunlight beat down on the rest area. I squinted, trying to talk to my friend, but forcibly kept my eyes open to take in the scenery. The checkpoint was basked in a crisp, warm glow; however, there were ominous gray clouds looming in the distance. It almost seemed like a warning of what was to come.
After another 30 minutes of hiking, I felt goosebumps start to appear. A thin mist appeared, covering everything in a gray sheen. I enjoyed the cool breeze, though, and it was much more soothing compared to hiking under the piercing sun. However, at 917 meters, the warmth produced from hiking no longer sufficed. I put my gray sweatshirt back on. It was the only layer I brought.
In hindsight, the temperature changes should have been expected. Even with my inexperience, I should have packed gloves and more layers.
Yet, the differences between the sunbathed view at the first checkpoint and the current struggle for visibility was shocking. It felt as if the fog was slowly creeping up, following us and slowly suffocating our view. We were at the mercy of the magician called nature, only allowed to see what it wants the audience to see. The ice patches crawled forward with the dipping temperature, forcing us to tread carefully in this unknown land.
My friend would point into the void. “Over there is actually a gorgeous rock formation… you just can’t really see it right now.”
We continued on, without much visible representative information of how high we had already climbed and how much we had left. The thick cloak of fog told no secrets.
Left, right. Left, right.
***
Where did everyone go?
As a city with a population of over 1.5 million people, being completely alone is uncommon in Gwangju.
My early morning bus ride to the park was packed. Within moments of reaching our final destination, everyone from my bus dispersed into their own separate paths and molded with the larger crowd. The crowd swelled up to the mountain.
There was kinship between me and my friend and a group of high school boys as we took turns passing each other. We could hear them cajole their friends into going higher and giving each other support.
Yet, in the last few moments before we reached the peak, only our ragged breaths could be heard. It seemed like people disappeared along the way. Maybe they took a different path. Maybe they took a longer break at the rest stop. Maybe they turned back.
We were alone.
How could such an enormous group of people vanish in a matter of a few hours? Are they okay?
Did they escape the assembly line?
***
If it was not for the stone marker at 1,100 meters, I would not have realized we reached the peak.
The sun had fully been suffocated by the fog, only leaving the world in a semblance of black and white. It was impossible to see the boasted scenic views, which were replaced with a thick, gray wall. The biting wind froze my face, and my hands were curled into fists underneath my sleeves, seeking any type of warmth.
There was a small line for photos with the marker. I watched as people took their celebratory photo, glanced around, and then began their descent down the mountain.
For a fleeting second, we all shared the same memory of robotically hiking up Mudeung-san and pretending to be in a black and white movie. For a fleeting second, all of us shared the same space. The same time.
And then they were gone.
The Author As a writer, Francesca Duong strongly believes in the power of narrative as a platform for truth and discussion. She loves lengthy conversations, being involved in the community, and discovering delicious foods.