The Hwadae Traverse (화대 종주)
The trail plunged down several meters over slick wet rock, then almost immediately climbed back up out of sight. The forest to either side of this trail grew with wild abandon: roots snaked across the trail while leafy branches closed in from either side. Vines dangled down overhead. The going was slow, but the scenery was spectacular. This was Jirisan National Park (지리산국립공원) at its finest: the Hwadae Traverse (화대 종주)!
The Hwadae traverse is a 43-kilometer trail that connects Hwaeomsa temple in the southwest of the park with Daeamsa temple in the far east. Featuring upwards of 3300 meters of elevation change and an ascent of the second highest peak in South Korea, it’s an excellent challenge. Along the way are 12 more peaks and over 25 kilometers of high ridge trail. If Cheonwangbong is the crown jewel of Jirisan National Park, the Hwadae traverse is the best way to experience it: near the end of a long, tough trail.
Hikers tend to tackle this route over 2 or 3 days, staying in mountain shelters along the way. But Kent and I had long wanted to run it. Shortly before our traverse, a fast friend of ours set an FKT on this trail, and we thought it would be fun to chase his time. The idea was to challenge ourselves against the toughest ridge run in the country.
Our Hwadae traverse was a birthday present to ourselves. I’d actually planned this weekend trip at the beginning of the year! It was one very special side mission, and it was Kent’s big birthday wish. This traverse was also a bit of a trip down memory lane. We’d completed the ridge section of the traverse four years earlier, and we were eager to come back and re-experience it.
The ascent
Like our previous Jirisan experience, this adventure began long before dawn. Kent set an alarm for 1:50. We did a warm-up walk from our motel at the foot of the mountain to the gates of Hwaeomsa. We made it there by exactly 3 am, the time the trail officially opened. Then it was time to run!
Or, was it? I failed to hit the start button on time, and Kent suddenly realized he was wearing two left gloves. So, we stopped, jogged back to the entrance arch and started again. It was really important to us to start this big thing off on the right foot. We wanted to make a proper ceremony of the start and finish.
Starting for real on our second attempt, we began the ascent. The idea of running on Jirisan requires a somewhat flexible definition of what running is. Climbing up from Hwaeomsa involved a lot of hard hiking rather than outright running. Still, I tried to push the pace as I led us, sprinting and stumbling, up towards the ridge.
The trail up from Hwaeomsa has a lot of elevation gain, and ranks as one of the toughest hikes in the country as a result. However, just like in 2016, we didn’t find it terribly technical or tough. The only thing that slowed us down significantly was wayfinding: that was trickier than I remembered! Several times I found myself a few meters up a dry streambed on boulders that were nearly identical to those that formed the trail.
Despite the darkness, there were spectacular views. Twists and turns in the trail gave us glimpses back down the valley where we’d started. The little lights in the tourist village twinkled through the trees. Looking up, the moon rising over the ridge was so bright that I kept mistaking its light for approaching dawn.
Although we were the only people on the trail, we weren’t alone. The forest was awake around us: there were constant rustlings in the bushes, accompanied by a chorus of crickets. In the light of our headlamps, we even saw some of these night-time creatures: hoppers and long-legged spiders that we did our best to avoid. I also spotted the biggest slug I’ve ever seen clinging to the side of a damp rock.
I had been so focused on fast, forward movement and the details of the trail that I was surprised to arrive suddenly on the ridge! It had taken us 1 hour and 37 minutes this time, far faster than we’d managed in 2016. But I did not know that then. As I stood on the ridge, surveying the moonlit landscape, the temple bell began to toll below. There was no one else around, so it was up to Kent and I to absorb this sound and the sights around us. It was one of those transcendent trail moments that I live for, and for a few moments we just stood silently, feeling everything.
When the bell stopped ringing, we started running again. It was easy going now, so we zipped along through the forest; east towards the dawn. But I’d forgotten that we would pass Nogodan shelter on the way to the peak. I was surprised once again: this time by a clearing that was filled with dozens of points of moving light. These headlamp-sporting hikers joined us on our push towards the peak. But at the turnoff to Nogodan, they stopped to wait for sunrise, while we ran off into the forest; alone again.
It was kind of a shame not to revisit Nogodan, but we had a long day ahead of us, and no time to wait for opening time. We would also bypass Banyabong, an old favorite of ours, in favor of visiting the many other, more remote peaks of Jirisan.
The ridge
As we began our journey down the ridge, my headlamp illuminated scenes I remembered: the deep bamboo thicket, the dense brush that you can just barely peek over for views into the valley, and that place where we once saw some friendly lizards eating an apple. It was a trip down memory lane, for sure, and it was astonishingly beautiful right then and there in 2018.
Early morning light began to filter through the forest as we progressed. The sky was gradually brightening, and we found that we no longer needed our headlamps. We also found that we were not actually alone. Several groups of hikers seemed to materialize from the forest, and we wondered if some of them had camped up here on the ridge overnight.
A few clearings in the forest revealed valleys full of clouds. Although we knew it was up, we could not see the sun at all. So we just kept running! Here was the thick forest and very narrow trail skirting Banyabong. There was that little grassy clearing with the special grave containing someone’s ancestor. We passed the turnoff to pretty Piagol valley.
Samdobong marked our first real stop of the day. We had some very important recreation photos to take, and we grabbed some snacks. Samdobong often has excellent views, but on this day, clouds pressed heavily down against the small group of us gathered on the exposed rock. It began to rain lightly, and a few gusts of wind gave me the shivers.
We were not really out to do this run for time – but a quick check-in with the watch revealed that we were doing well. I’d led us to Samdobong in 3 hours, which seemed like a strong start. We’d covered the familiar terrain on the west side of the park, and now it was time to head off across the remote middle section of Jirisan’s high ridge.
Although we wanted to keep our momentum going, we made a second stop at the Baemsagol shelter shortly after Samdobong. The intensity of the rain and the wind were increasing, so we did our best to secure our stuff. We gulped down fresh water from a mountain spring and took some to go.
Thick forest alternated with thick cloud cover to obscure all views to either side. The driving rain kept our heads down and eyes focused squarely on the trail in front of us. Luckily, there was a lot of beauty right where we were. The next place we paused was a seemingly random spot approximately half-way along the ridge where I was fascinated by a tree completely covered in mushrooms!
Despite the inclement weather, we were in high spirits and doing great. I felt especially good, thanks to staying on top of my nutrition and hydration needs. At this halfway point, I felt full of energy and eager for more. It was a perfect day out on the trails, and I was acutely aware of my good fortune. Every strong step forward was a joyful one!
A few kilometers on, my excitement briefly redlined into the anxiety zone. My mind began to spin in the way that it sometimes does, right in the middle of things: fixating on the potential dangers of scrambling around over slick rock or worrying over the very idea of getting chilled. Luckily, just as I felt prepared for this hard physical effort, I was prepared for this mental challenge too. I reminded myself about how great I actually felt, how runnable the trails were – and how I always experience nervousness around this time. I soon remembered that, actually, I was in my element.
After about seven hours of running, we reached Seoseok shelter. It was the perfect place for a bathroom break and to refill on water. We practiced making this an efficient stop; completing all the tasks on our checklist as quickly as possible. We laughed thinking about how our fast friend would have already been finished by this point. But we were making great time ourselves.
There were just a few more kilometers to go before the peak. We continued to run. I felt slightly lightheaded at one point, until I smashed an energy bar. The surge of sugar hitting my bloodstream felt great. What did not feel great was occasionally falling on the slick rocks or the wind whipping the cold, hard droplets of rain into our faces whenever there was a gap in the trees. The weather was definitely intensifying as we climbed towards the summit.
The peak
We passed Jangteomeok shelter and knew there were only two kilometers left to go. Rather than stopping, we simply pushed harder. We’d spent most of the day alone, but now there were dozens of people heading the same way. Most wore thick rain coats and questioned our sanity as we sped by. A few shouted encouraging words our way.
We passed the spot where a narrow metal staircase goes up between massive boulders. It’s a very dramatic place that had scared me a little on our 2014 traverse. The route got steeper still, and I had to push hard to keep a strong climbing pace. A few false summits preceded the real deal. The wind whipped the words from our mouths and made a tangle of my hair. Our clothes were soaked with a mixture of rain and sweat.
The summit was a jagged collection of rocks, topped by a dozen or so colorfully dressed hikers. I found that today, I couldn’t care less about the crowds: I was just so excited to see this pretty peak in person again! The cloud lay thick and heavy over Cheonwangbong, limiting the visibility to only a few meters. The rain continued to pour down on us, and I loved every stormy, fleeting second of it!
We waited in the queue for that photo. We realized we’d barely taken any the whole day, thanks to the conditions on the ridge. Then again, the weather definitely allowed us to stay focused on the run itself. Perhaps we wouldn’t have been able to go quite so fast if we were constantly stopping to admire the views.
It was 8 and a half hours in, and we were still feeling terrific. Chilly, of course, but we quickly kept moving so that didn’t become a problem. We knew we’d risk getting truly chilled if we lingered, but it was still hard to leave Cheonwangbong.
The descent
Luckily, there was still a lot of adventure left in the day. At this point, we had no idea just how much adventure was to come. The next section, down to Daewonsa, was completely new to us.
Our first surprise was the distance. Signs indicated that Daewonsa was 11 kilometers away, which was a few kilometers further than we’d expected. But it wouldn’t be a problem, because we would be descending.
Or would we? The trail plunged downward at an extreme angle, only to rise up again, suddenly and steeply to another peak. Jubong, we discovered, was nearly as high as Cheonwangbong – and we had it all to ourselves! Even after this extra summit, the trail stayed high. And tough.
Treacherous only begins to describe this trail. It was every kind of technical. The coiled roots of trees rapped our ankles and caught our toes; causing us to jump and strafe as much as run. There were sections of jagged boulders in all shapes and sizes, where putting a foot wrong would mean a wrenched ankle, broken skin or a tumble down into the river far below.
This descent was jungle-y and overgrown. We waded through scratchy, short plants that cut into our skin and clothes as our feet felt for the way. Sometimes we had to use vines and branches overhead for balance. Lichen grew in wild abundance here, nourished by the rain. To me, it felt more slippery than ice. I skidded and skated and hopped in vain attempts to keep my footing. Uncountable falls, in all manner of unusual ways (including one near face-plant), resulted.
It was agonizingly slow, and we simply could not figure out a way to go faster. Time ebbed away, and we had to constantly re-adjust our expectations for what was possible. Luckily, for the most part, we had a sense of humor about it. It was so hard that it was funny, and I felt slightly mad giggling away about our hardships.
But that was better than letting a current of frustration win out. I was still feeling strong, so if I thought about it too much, it felt brutal to be inching our way down at this snail’s pace. I led, but when the path Kent chose would put him in front, he couldn’t go any faster.
Minutes turned into hours. I got hungry again, so I ate my last and final bar. Then my last and final jellies. I’ve never before eaten absolutely everything in my pack like that – even the emergency caches!
At one rainy junction, we saw a pair of fellow ultra runners, and they pointed us towards a waterfall just off the trail. It felt a little strange to be seeking out a waterfall when at times the very trail we were treading was literally one underfoot. But I was so glad we went: it was stunning!
We passed the time marveling at our friend’s seven-hour FKT. With less of a deluge, maybe we could have made it in our original estimate of nine or ten. Never in a million years did we envision this three and a half hour descent!
The trail leveled out and became safe enough to run only in the last 500 meters or so. We burst from the forest onto a paved road. Eager to finally stretch my legs again, I began a sprint. This was a lot of sudden pounding on my feet, but I was motivated by chasing a new goal: a 12-hour finish!
We made it to Daewonsa after 43 kilometers, 3300 meters of elevation gain and 12 hours and 2 minutes of running. It was glorious and victorious. We high-fived, stopped the watch, and slowly walked up the steps to see the temple. It was one of the most beautiful and serene sights I’d ever seen. The rain poured down, leaving the temple grounds were empty save for the lush plant life.
But we could only revel in it for so long, We ducked under the roof of the main hall as my teeth began to chatter. A nun stepped out to offer us two umbrellas, and a temple volunteer confirmed that there was a bus station down the road. I reached into my empty pack for my celebratory fruit squeeze: the last of my calories.
It was a long cold walk to the bus stop, but we made it; and from there we made it home. I had used literally every item in my pack, down to the emergency space blanket that I wrapped myself in for the bus journey. Stiffening muscles and chilly extremities aside, I felt terrific. We’d completed the Hwadae traverse: one of our biggest adventures to date!
Know and Go! Jirisan – The Hwadae Traverse
Transportation
Yes, this ridge is remote. Luckily, the start and end points of the Hwadae traverse are at prime places in one of the most popular parks in the country!
On the west side
Head to Hwaeomsa by bus or taxi from Gurye. Get to easily-accessible Gurye via bus or train.
Those who want to shorten the traversing route will be pleased to note that there are also buses from Gurye to Seongsamjae, the highway pass near Nogodan peak.
On the east side
Daewonsa is also well-connected by bus. But be forewarned: buses don’t stop at the trailhead or even the temple, but rather at a parking lot about 2 kilometers below. Regular buses from Daewonsa connect onward to Sancheong to the north and Jinju to the south. From either of these towns, travelers can continue their journeys home.
This is one of those adventures where having your own wheels will not help you. Unless you have a personal chauffer or are doing this as part of a tour group, use public transportation.
Hike & Run
Direction
The Hwadae traverse is a point-to-point route. Most trekkers tackle it in the west to east direction. I’m not sure exactly what the reason for this is, other than tradition. I think it can probably done in the reverse direction just as easily. The one downside might be that you’ll meet with more traffic traveling in the opposite direction. Perhaps doing the traverse in reverse would make for a tougher start, but maybe an easier ending in terms of amenities.
Distance
The complete Hwadae traverse is around 43 kilometers. It begins at Hwaeomsa temple in Jirisan’s southwestern corner, and ends at Daewonsa temple in the far east of the park.
The ridge section between Nogodan and Cheonwangbong is 25.5 kilometers long, making this the longest trek of its kind in the country (with the exception of the ultra long-distance but partially closed Baekdudaegan). It is this long ridge that makes the Hwadae traverse famous, and tops my list of highlights for national park experiences.
Although many purists believe that one must start and end at the temples, it is possible to take on a truncated version of the traverse. You can start your trek from Seongsamjae, near Nogodan (as explained in transportation above). Doing so would provide a shortcut of around 5 kilometers, and shave off about 1500 meters of elevation.
There are no roads crossing Jirisan on the Cheonwangbong side, so you will have to hike down. However, the Daewonsa trail is one of the longest, so you can certainly take a shortcut. A good option for those tight on time or energy is the trail down to Jungsanri. This course is actually similar in length to the Daewonsa trail, it’s easier: it’s only really steep in the area around Cheonwangbong.
Elevation
The Hwadae traverse is one of the biggest climbs available to hikers and runners in Korea. It is certainly the biggest on offer within Korea’s national parks. The full traverse offers an elevation gain and loss of around 3300 meters.
Stay & Eat
If you’re hiking the Hwadae traverse, chances are good that you’ll spend a night or two in the park. Jirisan has the most mountain shelters among the national parks in Korea. While this means there are lots of options (nine, to be precise), it is rather difficult to nab a spot in these shelters. Try to finalize your plans well in advance, and book online early!
You might also need a spot to sleep before and after your big adventure. While you certainly can come from Seoul or other points the day of your adventure, this will mean a late start. If you want to maximize your daylight hours in the park, consider arriving one night before your adventure.
If you’re planning to take the early bus to Seongsamjae, you can find accommodation right in Gurye. There are a couple of motels just east of the bus station.
Heading up from Hwaeomsa? You can stay in the tourist village just below the temple. The accommodation ranges from upscale resorts (one located within the park!) to the usual assortment of motels, minbaks and pensions. You can book many of these options online, and it’s not a bad idea to reserve in advance – especially if you’ll be visiting on a weekend or during a holiday. A better bet is to aim for a weekday start or an off-peak season (mid-summer or late fall). In that case, you can usually just turn up and peruse your options.
This is an extremely popular tourist area, so it’s a good opportunity to take advantage of all the conveniences and offerings. There is great mountain vegetable fare on offer at a ton of similar restaurants. There are some small shops and cafes in the Hwaeomsa area as well.
On the Daewonsa side, there are fewer options. While you can dine in a couple of spots, this is a more remote area and there are not a lot of places to stay. There are a few rooms to rent in local homes, which could promise a potential visitor either a warm and authentic experience or an outright rejection if the place is closed. You might want to try to time your descent to catch a bus onward.
Other Notes
Our Hwadae traverse was part of a special two-day adventure in Jirisan National Park, celebrating Kent’s birthday in September 2018. During this trip, we also visited Baraebong in the remote, northwest section of the park!
Our traverse came in at 43.8 kilometers with 3,300 meters of elevation gain and descent. It took us just over 12 hours to complete.
We visited multiple peaks along Jirisan’s long ridge, culminating in our ascent of Cheonwangbong. This summit is the tallest on mainland Korea (and second tallest in South Korea, after Hallasan on Jeju Island). Cheonwangbong stands an impressive 1915m above sea level.
Cheonwangbong is of course included on both lists of notable mountains. You can read about this peak on its Black Yak page, or on the Korea Forest Service website. Or, explore this peak and the routes to it with the help of the Korea National Park Service.
Discover more ways to play in Jirisan National Park.
Want to see more of Korea’s marvelous mountains? Head back to the 120 summits main page, or check out the other lovely national parks!