Arc'Teryx Shells

In connection with my previous post, in which I discussed the prevalence of Montura brand when it comes to pants among the members of the Backcountry Camping group, I discuss here the popularity of Arc'Teryx as outerwear. This composite image consists of photos taken on the same trip, a trekking excursion to the Inje region of Gangwon-Do. Five of the 17 members wore Arc'Teryx shells that day, including me. Mine, a Sidewinder SV, is shown on the bottom with the logo along the sleeve.

Of course, Arc'Teryx was also present in the form of layering tops and accessories, as well as packs, and at least one pair of pants (whereas Arc'Teryx pants are mostly loose-fitting, Korean climbers currently prefer slim or tight-fitting pants, such as those made by Montura).

Arc'Teryx hails from Canada, much of it still produced in Canada. Although I'd never heard of it prior to my involvement with outdoor activities in Korea, the label is relatively mainstream here, where it has its own retail outlets and can be found in most camping/hiking multi-shops and general department stores. From its availability in American websites, I'm assuming that it's also popular in the States.

Not cheap, especially here in Korea due to shipping costs, import taxes, and high "premium" markups (probably the biggest culprit). My Sidewinder SV is listed at 1,050,000 won, though I paid 700,000 by offering cash on a two-year-old model languishing in the back of a small independent dealer (large sizes don't sell very well, apparently). I also have an Alpha SL, 590,000 won. The most expensive model is the Alpha SV at 1,139,000 won.

Me, wearing Arc'Teryx on top, Montura below

(photo: courtesy of Lee Hosup)

Unlike the Montura pant, which I firmly believe is far superior in terms of design and quality to others that I've worn, and which fits my body particularly well, I have to confess that I can't define a specific justification for wearing Arc'Teryx shells. They feature waterproof Gore-Tex fabric and immaculate construction, yes, but so do any number of jackets by most companies these days. They look great, yes, but most styles these days are more or less the same. It can't be a matter of value, since they're overpriced. It can't be a matter of exclusivity, since they're commonplace (among outdoor enthusiasts who are willing to pay for it). I don't know, maybe it's the quirky name or the funky logo.

Montura Pants

On a recent trekking excursion to the Inje region in Gangwon-Do, I took notice that the brand Montura was the overwhelmingly popular choice for the pants worn by the members of our group that day. Organized by Backcountry Camping, the group comprised 16 men and women, 7 of whom were sporting Montura pants. Mine are in the far left of the frame. The brand was also represented in the form of top layers and accessories, such as buffs and gloves and even gaiters.

Prior to my involvement with Backcountry Camping, I had never heard of Montura. It's a small Italian brand that, as far as I'm aware, doesn't have much of a presence in the United States or anywhere in the world outside of isolated pockets in Europe and Asia, particularly Korea, where it has rabid cult followings. Even in Korea, Montura doesn't have its own store but sells mostly through small specialty stores that buy directly from the local importer, a company rumored to consist of 4 employees and generate yearly gross sales of $10 million. I'm generally loathe to follow trends--in fact, I tend to avoid them--but I have to admit that the prevalence of the tetra-petaled flower logo on the legs of so many of my camping cohorts piqued my interest.

The trend factor aside, the bottom line is that Montura makes an excellent pant. I could go on at length about fabric and construction, both of which are top of the line. Or about design esthetics, which is admittedly a subjective matter but, speaking as objectively as possible, the lines create a slimming effect on the wearer. But the main thing is that the pants are comfortable. For me especially, I appreciate the low-cut front, which stops just below, and thus doesn't interfere with, my protruding gut. I've worn Montura pants on long treks and mountain hikes, for several consecutive days on extended camping trips, around the city, and lounging at home--and never once on those occasions have I ever given a second thought to what I was wearing on my legs, a testament to the second-skin nature of the pants.

They're not cheap, ranging from about 250,000 won for a lightweight casual pair to nearly 500,000 for an extreme winter weather model. Worth it.

I have 4 pairs. I love every one of them.

Inception, Part 2: A Whole New World

The following is Part 2 in a 2-part series about my trip to Daegwan-Ryeong (대관령) and Seonja-Ryeong (선자령) on 29-30 May 2010. In this installment, I discuss our trek along the Seonja-Ryeong mountain range on the afternoon of the 30th. I've intentionally kept the text to a minimum so as to allow the images to do most of the talking. Please see related post (Part 1: Daegwan-Ryeong Recreational Forest) for additional photos and comments.

After packing up basecamp, we drive a few kilometers down the highway to the Daegwan-Ryeong rest stop. From such inauspicious beginnings, we begin our hike, first to the peak of Daegwan-Ryeong. At this point, I have no reason to suspect anything.

About an hour later, we summit. An hour, which should suggest that "summiting" is hardly the appropriate word, but, nevertheless, we reached the top, so summit we did. While the view is nice, it's predictable. The picture that would have flashed through my head if someone had said, "Imagine, from the top of a small mountain, what the view of a small city and some scattered fields of farmland in the distance might look like...," that's exactly what it looked like. Thus, I still have no reason to suspect anything.

But then, we continue down the other side of the mountain, and then it hits. I'm suddenly thrust into a whole new world, like something out of a dream or a science fiction movie. Windmills are everywhere, above, below, ahead, behind, all around, endlessly beyond the horizons. We can touch them. The vanes SWOOOOOOOSHING directly on top of us, they turn with amazing speed but even more amazingly appear to move in slow motion because of their immensity, as if the mind can't accept the fact that something so big could move that fast. We can feel their energy.

Eating lunch, sitting on the grassy hillside, under the shade of a windmill, overlooking the valley, I am inspired t0 play the title track from The Sound of Music. I think it's a genius selection, but, sadly, no one else seems to get it. (Although they were surely familiar with the song itself, the melody, I now realize that they probably had no idea that the lyrics concerned hills and being alive and sounds and music and songs and and singing and thousands of years.)

As promised above, I'll cut the commentary short. I'll just say that it was a life-altering experience, and leave it at that.

After nearly five hours of what the others in the group referred to as "Teletubby Trekking" (personally, I didn't get the reference, never having seen the Teletubbies), deliberately avoiding roads so as to maintain the illusion of otherworldliness, but staying more or less on a northerly heading (aided by our iPhone GPS, natch), we eventually reconnect with civilization when we stumble upon the Samyang Dairy Ranch, entirely by coincidence. Talk about otherwordliness, they have ostriches.

We had to call for a convoy of taxis to pick us up at the ranch and take us back to our cars at the rest stop where we'd begun this 6-hour odyssey: 4 hours of walking, 1 hour for lunch, and a total of 1 hour for multiple breaks. Later, we estimated that the trek spanned a distance in excess of 20 kilometers, perhaps significantly more considering our trajectory was neither straight nor level (but none of us knew how to factor in those additional variables).

Finally, just to keep things interesting ex post facto, we ended up having dinner together at a restaurant specializing in raw beef--not the classic Korean dish known as yukhoe (육회), which consists of sliced raw beef and pears and raw egg yolk and garlic and onions and scallions and sesame oil and soy sauce and pepper--but just raw beef, dipped in salt. At that point, in contrast to the magnificence we'd witnessed earlier that day, everything else seemed... mundane.

THE END

Inception, Part 1: Daegwan-Ryeong Recreational Forest

The following is Part 1 in a 2-part series about my trip to Daegwan-Ryeong (대관령) and Seonja-Ryeong (선자령) on 29-30 May 2010. In this installment, I review our campsite at Daegwan-Ryeong Recreational Forest (대관령국립자연휴양림). Please see related post (Part 2: Windmills Oh My!) for additional photos and comments.

This is where it started, where the idea for this blog was first implanted and immediately crystalized in my head. Korea's backcountry, I had to get the word out, an opportunity to experience perfection. But when I finally got around to launching the blog a month later, I hesitated in posting about the trip and continued to delay until now, an additional month later, working through various drafts of text (should it be "under impossibly blue skies" or "under skies of impossible blue" or even "azure"?) and editing the photos so I could get it just right, do it proper justice. But ultimately, I realized that whatever I write and whatever images I present could hardly convey the mind-blowing majesty of what I had witnessed on that fateful five-hour trek along the Seonja-Ryeong mountain range. You'll just have to take my word for it that it was perfect.

Friday afternoon (May 29), on route to the campsite at Daegwan-Ryeong National Forest Park, MtG and I drive through the thickest fog I've ever seen in my life. We're simultaneously fascinated by the weather and bummed by the prospect of camping tonight and trekking the following day under such conditions. Had I anticipated the extraordinary events that would soon transpire, I wouldn't have risked our lives by pulling what is probably the dumbest driving-related stunt I've ever attempted. On-coming traffic visible only 15 meters ahead, a flash before it passes by, along a winding mountain road that'd be treacherous on the clearest of days, I shoot driver's-eye view video with my iPhone, one hand on the wheel. On the clip, in between yelps of surprise whenever a car in the opposite lane suddenly leaps out of the fog, I can be heard pondering the aftermath of our dying in an accident as a result of this maneuver, leaving behind footage of the moment of impact, something that would surely be a sensation on the internet.

Upon our arrival, alive, we're welcomed by the other members of Backcountry Camping (BC), most of whom arrived the day before. My second trip with BC, here I meet for the first time a number of members who would form a core group (unofficially) within the organization and become friends on the outside. By evening's end, after making merry under a single tarp in the center of the campsite, sharing and indulging in 13 varieties of food and 9 varieties of alcoholic drinks, I give up any aspirations of "solo camping" and accept that camping in Korea, like most activities here, is a communal affair, for better or for worse.

TO BE CONTINUED...