"People used to walk here all the time," said 64-year-old Kil Bong-soon, pointing beyond the thicket on September 5 in the northern foothills of Mount Hwaak in Hwacheon County, Gangwon Province. Before her, there was no visible path; brush and weeds had overtaken the area, and old trees loomed overhead. Without Kil's guidance, it would be hard to recognize that this was once a well-trodden route.
However, Kil's memories are not the only remnants of the past. According to the National Archives, the forest management project began in the mid-1960s in Gangwon Province, with a focus on relocating and settling forest dwellers in the 1970s.
Records related to the Samil Branch School indicate that it was established in 1954 but closed in 1995 due to declining student numbers, which were attributed to the "eviction of forest dwellers in the 1970s." This intersection of local memories and historical records highlights the impact of these changes.
As Kil led the way along the old logging road, she recalled, "It used to be a footpath where people gathered wild greens and herbs." The path I walked on was the same location she remembered, but it looked different now. Where people once walked, grass had grown, and trees had taken root in their absence.
Deeper into the woods, birch trees appeared, their orderly planting evident, yet they were now intertwined with underbrush and weeds. Kil noted, "The birch trees line both sides of the road, providing good shade and keeping it cool even in summer."
As the sound of vehicles faded, the sound of water flowing could be heard from beyond the thicket. Water cascaded down the sloped rocks. "The water flows over the rocks, looking like a dragon moving," Kil remarked.
The flow was not substantial, and the dense foliage made it difficult to see the entire waterway. Kil recalled that there were more such streams deeper within Mount Hwaak, but precise locations and details would require further investigation.
What captivated me during the interview was not just the waterway itself but the stories Kil shared each time she paused. In her memories, Mount Hwaak was once frequented by many more people.
She recounted how residents would traverse the mountain to gather wild greens and herbs, and that logging activities also took place. Some locals even cultivated crops like potatoes.
The backdrop to these memories is the forest management project initiated by the government in the 1960s and intensified in the 1970s. Records from the National Archives confirm that efforts were made to settle and relocate forest dwellers during this period.
Local records regarding the Samil Branch School also indicate that the eviction of forest dwellers was a significant factor in the decline of student numbers, suggesting that the forest management project affected the lives of Samil residents. However, this investigation did not uncover specific administrative records detailing where forest dwellers lived in the northern foothills of Mount Hwaak or how and when they relocated.
Listening to Kil's explanations, I looked around again. There were no houses or fields in sight, just trees. Without someone to tell me, it would be hard to guess that people once used this mountain as a living space.
As we continued walking, Kil pointed out the directions where people used to travel. Yet, following her finger, I found mostly forest. As the paths disappeared, so too did the memories.
The northern foothills of Mount Hwaak do not only hold the promise of new scenic views. They also preserve the history of where footpaths once existed, the routes people took, and what they cultivated and foraged from the mountain.
Old place names, mountain paths, and the practices of gathering wild greens and herbs do not remain in visible forms like buildings. If we investigate the oral histories of residents who remember that time, along with administrative documents and old maps, we could reconstruct the living history of the northern foothills of Mount Hwaak more concretely.
After concluding the interview, I headed back toward the Hwaak Tunnel. Looking back, the mountain I had just walked seemed like an ordinary forest again. But for Kil, it was not just a forest. There were paths once walked, fields once tended, and the lives of people who moved through the mountain in search of sustenance.
Most of those traces are now hidden beneath trees and grass. Kil gazed at the mountain and said, "People used to walk here all the time." The path has nearly vanished, but those who remember it still remain.
* This article has been translated by AI.
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