I don’t know if you guys can see the different colours of the rainbow in my photo of the pre-dawn sky, but I couldn’t keep my chin off the floor as I watched it transform through many stages into the birth of the sun through a thick bank of cloud on the horizon. As the first glimpse of nascent day broke through, the deep red glow was like a touch-paper setting fire to the stratosphere. Truly, bloody amazing…and in complete contrast to the clear-sky dawn of the previous day. The locals were every bit as impressed – many bowing, waving and shouting as on the beach at Sokcho. At the Buddhist shrine, just of the peak, bells were chiming and monks chanting. Yet again, the mountains felt like a magical, fairytale place. Before heading back down, I fuelled up with an octopus and mountain leek pancake and a cup of fresh-ground coffee. Even for breakfast, the Koreans don’t wimp out on the chillies…I had to go back and ask for soy sauce without peppers as I broke into a full bead in the mountain-fresh air.

Back at ground-level, thoroughly energised by this fantastic start to the day, I was eager for the off. I stopped to pay my respects to Buddha and fill up my water bottles before caning off down the track for Dongchaebong. This peak is also known as Seorak and is at the very heart of the park. At 10km to the peak and 5km down the other side to Osaek, I was confident with my early start that I’d be able to push through to the other side in a day. This would leave me time to sample some of the sights of Inner Seorak, where there were supposed to be fewer tourists. The first 2km (on the flat) disappeared in no time and my confidence was soaring. However, I had failed to reckon with the sheer amount of up and down to come…and the ridiculous weight of my pack. After 8km in steadily worsening weather conditions, I was becoming genuinely exhausted and desperately seeking an alternative plan. The first mountain shelter I came to was full up for the night (how the hell a foreign tourist is supposed to book in advance, I’ll never know! The reservation line is Korean-speaking only) and I had to go a gruelling further two miles (including 900m of ascent) until I found a shelter with room. A local couple very kindly took pity on me when I was having no luck understanding the shelter staff…they kindly intervened and ensured that my spot was booked. Their helpful attitude towards a bemused, and obviously distressed, foreigner was entirely indicative of the attitude displayed by all Koreans…it’s a very welcoming place. It was only 1 o’clock in the afternoon, but I was bedraggled and knackered and I had no intention of taking another step. After a cup of hot tea, I noticed to my delight that many of the groups sat around the shelter were cooking on gas stoves. The signs around the park made it quite clear in three languages that there were to be no fires or cooking except in designated areas. Of course, the signs denoting the designated areas were only in Korean. Out came the Primas Himalayan Varifuel, MSR fuel bottle and Vango cookset. Cue mass excitement among the local ‘mountaineers’ (these could be distinguished from all the other elderly Koreans by means of the costumes I mentioned earlier). As I pumped the fuel bottle and whipped out my Zippo (Brother!) they stood waiting with bated breath. As is the way with liquid fuel stoves, the pre-heating coil took time to warm up. The flaring two foot yellow flames brought looks of sympathy from my audience and offers to use their natty little camping Gaz efforts. ‘Nay!’ I proclaimed, ‘Have patience, my good fellows!’ – actually, I didn’t…but in retrospect I wish I’d had the confidence to do so ;-) – sure enough, after a couple of minutes, the flames tightened into a hot, blue cone and, with a flourish I settled my pan of water on top. I actually got a round of applause and several of them came over to chat and discuss my thoughts on Korea.
Two pans of noodles and tinned tuna later, I was feeling remarkably upbeat in spite of my sorry physical state.