Soyo Mountain Adventure

(This was originally posted as 4 separate entries, but in the migration to my new website, I've decided to combine them. Warning, this story is LONG)

I've decide to start with a random story from my past, only because I was just recently recalling this to a friend of mine and it's still fresh in my mind. Besides, it's interesting stuff. The setting is Summer of 1991, South Korea.

There were four of us, myself, my good friend Eric Kincaid (who if I had to say reminded me of anyone, it would be matt Dillon, he kind of looked like him, but mostly just had that attitude, only a little more intelligent), Pete Smith (this guy was a whigger, but not like a cheesy wannabe kind of way, he was raised in the projects in Alabama, so was kind of legit, but dumb as a post) and then there was a short funny Phillipino guy, who for the life of me, I just can’t remember his name.

We were all stationed at Camp Hovey, South Korea in the 1st of the 5th Infantry. We were located about 15-20 miles South of the DMZ just outside of a little Korean village called Tokuri. Tokuri was a military village, meaning that they catered strictly to the military, they had no other reason for existence. The village consisted of shops that sold counterfeit everything from sneakers to watches to clothes and handbags and luggage. But what it mostly contained were night clubs. There had to be well over 30 clubs up and down a couple of strips not more than a mile long. The reason for this was that over there the military considers it a hardship tour and so it won’t move your family for you. Some men spend the money themselves to bring their wives over, but in general even when they do, it doesn’t last long. Nobody wants to live in the conditions that existed in Tokuri. Imagine third world, clapboard buildings with corrugated tin roofs.

So what you have are thousands of military men (there were a few military women stationed there as well, but probably not more than a few hundred) stuck in this third world country for an entire year with no girlfriends/wives to keep them company. That’s what the clubs were for. Besides providing alcohol and musical entertainment, these clubs also provided companionship for the low, low price of $20 (love you short time) or $50 (love you long time). Now I’m neither confirming nor denying that I ever participated in such activity (I actually found a towny girlfriend for a while), but I know many men who have.

Anyway, none of that is part of this story, but it helps to set the scene a little on where we were, and what we had to do to occupy our time.

So me and these three guys decide to head into Tokuri early one weekend, it must have been around 10:00 AM, because Eric decided he wanted another tattoo and Pete figured he could slap another one on, and me and the Phillipino guy never had one, so we agreed it was about time. Of course Eric being the most tattooed of the bunch was suggesting that it would hurt less if we got drunk first, so we hit the clubs at 10 AM and starting getting hammered. One thing I have to say about the clubs, is even if you never hire one of the girls, after a year there, you do appreciate the fact that they pretend to be interested in you, especially at 10 AM on a Saturday morning when there’s no one else in the club and you have their sole attention. They can be very persuasive.

Anyway, after a lot of drinking we finally headed out to get our tattoos. When we got to the parlor there was a really old Korean guy all by himself, must have been in his 70’s, but he was the guy. So Eric picked his "peace sign" tattoo, and then Pete said, “Hey why don’t we all get the same thing!” (Moron) and then the Phillipino guy agreed and so I said aw fuck it, why not. But while they were getting theirs done, I got a paper and pencil and altered mine a little, which is how I ended up with what I’ve got. Picture a green peace sign made of wax and melting. At the time I was trying to make some kind of youthful statement Of how peace was a fabricated unobtainable ideal. I guess now it seems a little sophomoric.

After the tattoos, Eric mentions that he’s heard of a mountain about 30 miles to the south where there’s a Buddhist temple carved into the side of the mountain and they let anybody go up and visit/meditate/pray/whatever.

I should mention that as part of the rules, you’re not allowed to go outside of 15 miles of the post without a weekend pass (which none of us had). But it was Saturday and we didn’t have to report back until 6:30 AM the next morning (every morning, even weekends we would hold "formation" where we could all be accounted for) … what could go wrong?

Well, since we had all just spent most of our money on booze and tattoos, we were pretty much broke, and a cab ride that distance was out of the question. So we decided to hitchhike. We probably got about 7 or 8 miles before someone picked us up. It was a little Korean pickup truck. There were two guys in the front and two guys in the bed. We hopped in the bed of the truck only to realize that these guys didn’t speak a single word of English, and we spoke like 5 words of Korean. Fortunately one of the things they did understand was Soyo Mountain.

We headed off. It didn’t take us long to notice that there was a sealed black plastic trash bag laying flat in the truck, containing something, that was moving. Pete who was sitting to one side of the bag freaked out a little bit, backing away from it and asking “What the fuck is in there man?” Of course the Koreans didn’t understand the question, but saw what he was pointing to and started cracking up. These two were laughing like crazy people, pointing at the bag and pointing at Pete. Then one of them starts trying to tell us in hand gestures what was in there and what it was for. So he takes two fingers and puts them down on the floor and makes them hop. Dumbass Pete say’s “Bunnies? You got bunnies in there?” Of course it was obvious that they were too small to be rabbits and he was trying to say frogs, but like I said, Pete wasn’t too bright.

Anyway the guy opens the bag and pulls out a frog, they were just regular size green frogs, and he holds it by the back of its legs. Then he makes a sign like he’s punching the frog, throws his head back and opens his mouth and pretends to drop the frog in his mouth. He then acts like he’s swallowing something big, smiles huge and rubs his belly. But that’s not the worst part. Then he makes the universal sign for jacking off, his curled hand moving very quickly in and out between his legs.

At that point we all said “What the fuck?” at just about the same time. We understood that he was saying that the frogs were for eating, apparently whole and unconscious but still alive, but what the hell was the whacking off about?

So with puzzled faces we continued to look at him and he goes through the whole motion again. We didn’t know how to tell him that we understood what he was trying to show us, we just didn’t understand the last part. So with all of us still staring at this guy in bemused puzzlement, he apparently got frustrated enough to just do it instead of trying to show us.

While holding the frog by the back of the legs, he smacks it on the bed of the truck, throws his head back, drops the frog in his mouth and swallows the thing whole. Then he looks at us grins and again makes like he's flogging his weasel.

By this time we were all just laughing our asses off, we didn’t know what this guy was trying to say, but it was one of the most bizarre things we had ever seen.

Then it kind of dawned on me, maybe he’s trying to say that these frogs, when eaten alive are aphrodisiacs. I expressed this to the rest of the gang and they all agreed this was most likely what the Korean was trying to convey (we hoped!). So we all gave the universal sign of comprehension, nodding our heads in an exaggerated manner saying "Ahhhh". The Koreans seemed pleased that we understood, and just as things were slipping into that awkward silence where nobody dares make eye contact with eachother, one of the Koreans reaches into the bag and grabs a couple more frogs and extends them out to each of us. Di he want us to try? There was no fucking way I was putting one of those things in my mouth. And just as Eric, Pete and I were backing away waving off the generous offer, the Phillipino guy (I really wish I could remember his name) grabs a frog, smashes it's head onto the bed of the truck and before any of us had a chance to raise a word of protest, swallows the things whole.

For a moment, we thought for sure it was going to come back up, his face scrunching up looking almost as if he were in pain, but then he swallowed hard and a great big grin spread across his face and just to show he was more than alright, and I'm sure to get a rise out of the Koreans, he made the obligatory masturbatory motion. The Koreans were absolutely enthralled with this (as truthfully so were we) and they cheered and laughed and slapped us all on the back, and everyone had a grand old time (while I was thanking whatever gods there might be that I had not eaten breakfast). By this time dozens of frogs had escaped from the open plastic bag and were hopping all over the bed of the truck.

By the time all the frogs had been rounded up and placed back in the bag, we had mercifully arrived at our destination, the entrance to the Soyo Mountain Recreational Park. We disembarked from the little pickup, and said our thank yous and goodbyes. As the friendly frog eating monkey spankers drove off into the distance I remember thinking, "damn that was a weird bunch of little guys". No really ... that was as profound as I got back then.

I must mention that this particular event was my first excursion away (at a reasonable distance) from the Camp during my stay in Korea, and what's interesting to note is that having left the little shit-hole of a town Tokuri, the whole third world country impression drops away. The country-side was actually quite beautiful, and Soyo Mountain was a gem in the middle of all of it.

At the entrance however was a strip of little souvenir shops, bars and restaurants, like a mar on an otherwise perfect scene. The incline in the path starts immediately upon entering the park and for the first couple hundred feet or so it is paved and lined on each side by these commercial stands and eating establishments. Of course at the age of 20 I didn't recognize them as an eye-sore, and honestly this story wouldn't have been the same without them.

Walking up the path we passed by the souvenir stands containing everything from little Buddha statues to oddly enough, Statuettes of the lady Liberty. The place was apparently very popular, there were families, young and old couples alike all strolling around the little shops. My friends and myself were the only Americans present. I have to say that out here the people seemed friendlier and less patronizing. In Tokuri you got so used to everyone trying to swindle your meager military man's pay away from you that you got kind of cynical about the hospitality of the Koreans. But out here in the country they seemed genuinely happy to see you. Everyone smiled and nodded as they passed, and some would venture an attempt at saying "Hello".

Towards the end of the shops was an open-air restaurant and bar and we decided to stop in for a drink. Ordering was difficult as the bartender did not speak English, but fortunately understood the word beer. We paid with our Won (the Korean currency, if I remember correctly, which I'm not sure that I do, somewhere around 300 Won made a dollar or so) and sat down at a table outside to have our beers. A couple tables over were two Korean guys who were obviously trashed and eating rice, some kind of meat (no telling what it was) and the, in my opinion, most revolting of all Korean dishes, Kim-Chi. The process for making Kim-Chi as I later discovered would be enough to turn anyone’s stomach. All it really is is cabbage, mixed with tons of garlic and several other very spicy ingredients, boiled, placed in plastic buckets and buried in the ground for a week or so. They let the whole mixture ferment, then dig it up and serve it like that. Yet people still ate it! And you could smell it anyone who did, it seeped straight through the pores and stayed on the breath for days.

Anyway, I'm getting off topic here. The point was that these two drunken men saw us and kept staring at us with shit-eating grins on their faces. And after a few minutes of us finally staring back at them with a look of "what the fuck do you want?" on our faces, they finally said "American?".. I nodded and said "yes", and they burst out in laughter, stood up and waved their arms wildly to motion for us to join them.

After joining the drunken natives at their table we were indulged with many questions we couldn't possibly understand, and again had to resort to hand gestures. It was apparent they were asking us if we were hungry by the way they kept bringing their hands to their mouths and simulating chewing.

While we were all fairly hungry by that point in the day, with the acrid smell of Kim-chi under our noses it was easy to decline their hospitality. Nevertheless, they would have none of that and waved a waitress over to the table. None of us completely understood the exchange that followed but there was lot's of hand waving and pointing at us with laughing on the parts of both the drunken Koreans and the waitress. It wasn't looking good for us. So with a waive of her hand the waitress spun on her heel to walk away just as one of our hosts smacked her deftly on her ass. What followed was what can only be described as a hailstorm of flying hands and words, as the waitress slapped this guy silly all while yelling at him with what I can only assume were Korean expletives.

The owner came out and started spewing off words at the waitress and pointing for her to return to the kitchen, while she was jabbing her finger at our guy apparently trying to explain what he had done. The owner wasn't impressed and after she ducked off behind the bar, he said something that appeared to be an apology to our drunk guy who waived it off as if it were nothing.

I can't pretend that I did this whole exchange any justice here, but if you've never seen anything like this played out in a foreign language, it's got to be one of the funniest things in the world to behold, and not a single one of us could contain our laughter at that point. Fortunately our hosts seemed pleased that they could entertain us.

The waitress returned a short while later carrying a large white bottle and six glasses. She slammed it all down on the table with a disgusted look and stomped off back to the kitchen. Most of our communication was done with the one Korean guy who had smacked the waitresses ass, the other guy was either too drunk, or semi-retarded, he just sat there laughing with the biggest dumbest grin on his face the whole time. So the one talker picks up the bottle and gestures for us to have some. None of us had any idea what it was, so we tried our best to ask, and after he finally got it he says "Sake". Well, I had always thought Sake was a Japanese liquor, so I was a little confused, but accepted it anyway. What poured out of the bottle was a white, not clear, liquid something more the consistency of Soy milk than liquor. But being adventurous we all gave it a try and I have to say, it wasn't bad going down, but it left a funny aftertaste. What I found out later is that the Korean version of Sake, is really a wine that has been distilled from rice. The bottles that are sold around the Camp actually had the English words "Rice Milk" stamped on it.

Several minutes later the waitress return with a platter of food that I can only describe as frightening. It looked like a plate that you might see brought out on Fear Factor for the second challenge. There were tentacles everywhere of all different sizes and colors and dried meats that were unrecognizable, all arranged nicely around a pile of wretched Kim-Chi sitting in the middle. And the smell!

There was no way in hell I was putting any of that in my mouth. From what I could tell, it looked like various type of octopus and squid both wet and squishy as well as dried, some sort of dried fish fillet, what looked like dried beef and chicken strips, but who really knew.

One very frightening aspect of ordering food in Korea is the very subtle difference in pronunciation of what would on one hand get you beef and on the other hand get you dog. Yes, dog. Over in Korea, dog is a fairly common food item. From what I've been told, the best cut is from German Shepherd. It was not an uncommon sight to walk the streets of Tokuri to see skinned dogs hanging in the butcher shop window. Anyway, about the pronunciation, the word for beef is pronounced like "bah-gogi" the word for dog is pronounced like "kah-gogi" and from what I've seen, you can't tell the difference by looking at it. So you find yourself, verifying the order many times over, even after the plate has been brought out to you.

All four of us were staring down at this plate in what can only be described as absolute horror, an expression that was not lost on our Korean hosts, and once again the nearly bust a gut laughing so hard. This set us at ease a little because it seemed that we were the subjects of a very bad practical joke. So we all took a deep breath, relaxed and laughed slightly as if saying "phew, that was close!". Until one of them picked up a squishy piece of octopus tentacles and popped it in his mouth. He then, pointed at the plate with a gesture that could only mean "go on try some".

The look of horror quickly returned, and as we were all standing up backing away from the table, doing our best to excuse ourselves, and apologizing for being rude, it was all we could do to not turn around and run as fast as we could. Fortunately they seemed to understand, we were in a hurry after all, no time to chat, had to get up the mountain and return to the camp. Thank you and goodbye.

After narrowly escaping certain food poisoning, we started up the path where the pavement gave way to gravel and the grounds we obviously very well taken care of. This part of the mountain was beautiful. Gardens of flowers and manicured bushes and small trees lined the path on one side while the other side ran along a bubbling stream.

Several hundred yards up the path on the left, the source of the stream came into view, a gorgeous sparkling pool that was being fed by a waterfall some 20 foot high. Surrounding the pool was again a meticulous garden and swimming in the water were several large Koi. Tourists were all around throwing bread in at the fish, taking pictures and just generally enjoying the day.

Straight ahead just past the pond was what we had come to see. From where the waterfall cut through, a large rock outcropping jutted up and around a clearing to a height of about 40 feet at it's tallest, and at the base of this tallest point you could see the entrance to the temple. As it turns out, it wasn't so much carved into the mountain. They took advantage of a natural cave there, and excavated very little, as the sloping ceiling demonstrated, because towards the back of the temple where Buddha sat in all his plumpy glory, you had no choice buit to kneel in front of him, for lack of head room. Nonetheless it was quite a sight, they had decorated the cave with Buddhist icons, and the floor had been carpeted with a lush red and gold fringed rug leading the way to Buddha himself. The cave itself had a very large uneven opening, more like the underside of a ledge, but they had gated the whole thing and left a single door that was framed by intricately carved stone pillars. As you approached the opening of the temple, two Monks guarding the door made sure that there were only one or two visiting Buddha at a time, and making sure that shoes were removed.

I don't know what I expected at the time, whether is was some kind of spiritual enlightenment or what, but when I went in and knelt before the Buddha, all I saw was a statue of a fat guy. All I felt was silly for kneeling in front of a statue of a fat guy. It took me all of 30 seconds to get all the spiritual enlightenment that I needed. As I waited outside the temple for the others to finish, pondering religion, nature beauty and Zen (this was a period of my life where I was still searching for a meaningful religion) I looked around and noticed that there were many paths that led further up the mountain, and my sense of adventure began to kick back in.

Each one of my friends came out of the temple with different ideas of what they felt, but each one said they felt something, some kind of rushing sensation. Who was I to point out that we were on a mountain in an exposed cave where the wind was sure to send a cool breeze through now and then. Let them have their enlightenment.

I pointed out the various paths as well as the fact that we were no where near the top of the mountain and made the suggestion that we go for the top. As luck would have it, they were all game. It was getting late into the afternoon, but we could see the top and figured we could make it up there in an hour or so and be back down before dark.

Looking around we picked a path that headed as straight to the top as we could tell. It was difficult to really know because once past the temple, the woods got thicker and you couldn't see where the path was going past a couple hundred feet. Nevertheless we picked our path and headed up. All along the way there were other hikers all very friendly exchanging nods and smiles. Once and a while we would happen upon a family or a couple enjoying a late picnic lunch. It was one such couple that stopped us along the way.

"Americans! Americans! Come!" They were a young Korean couple, possibly mid-20s. They had a blanket laid out on the ground with several paper grocery bags and were enjoying a plate of large green leaves, that looked more deciduous than vegetable, and a large bottle of none other than our new friend "Rice Milk". Well, it was getting late and we really wanted to make it to the top before dark, but these two seemed to be the best opportunity for conversation, and hell, we were there to experience Korea, right? So we walked over and were asked enthusiastically to sit.

As it turns out, the female knew little or no English, and the male knew just enough to get his point across, but not enough to sound intelligible in any conversational way. Nevertheless we sat down and were greeted with single word questions. American? ... Yes, ... U.S. Army? ... Yes, Soyo? You like? ... yes, very much ... and it went on like that.

It wasn't long before we were offered food again. These Koreans were very generous, it wasn’t something we were used to, as the local businessmen of Tokuri were swindlers, one and all. We politely declined, (we hadn't had much luck with the native food to this point), but he would have none of it. Yes, yes, yes he said and reached into one of the grocery bags. He pulls out a couple of Tupperware containers and opens them up. Inside one it appeared to be large slices of whole garlic, in the other was a white spongy substance that I can only assume was a tofu-like cheese or something. Having never eaten tofu before that day nor after, I can't be certain.

Next he takes one of the large leaves, places a chunk of the tofu-or-whatever on the leaf, then places a large slice of garlic on the tofu and proceeds to fold the leaf around on all four sides to create a small leaf wrapped square package. Eric was the closet so he got the first try. Hesitantly he brought the package to his mouth and took a careful bite. You could tell by the twisted expression on his face that he was expecting the worst, but slowly his face loosened up as he chewed and finally gave the approval "Not too bad. Not great, the texture leaves something to be desired, but edible." He gave the Korean guy a thumbs up and a smile and continued eating.

So naturally he makes more for the rest of us, and each of us try it out, all with fairly the same impression, it was just barely edible, but we were hungry, so we ate it gratefully, at least it wasn't looking back at us.
He broke open the rice wine, and his girlfriend/wife brought out some plastic cups and handed them out while he poured. There was some very limited small talk at this point, but I'll be damned if I can remember what it was about.

After the wine was gone, we thanked him and started to excuse ourselves so we could be on our way, when he asks "smoke"? Well, Eric and I both did at the time, but we had our smokes with us and showed him so, thanking him again. But then he started shaking his head and waving his hands as if to say, no, that's not what I meant, and he reached into one of the grocery bags and pulls out a pipe and quarter bag of weed. Instantaneously all four of us took a seat and smiled at him. Score!

I have to break here to explain something. The military has a very aggressive drug testing policy that consists of random intervals of testing, on randomly selected individuals at random quantities. In essence, you never know when the next test is going to come down on you. I've known some that escaped the randomness of the process for their entire career, while others seemed to get picked out every other week. As a result of this unknown, you would think that it would curb drug use, as I'm sure it was intended, however, all it really did was generate ingenuity for falsifying these tests as well as some pretty hokey home remedies to expel the drugs from the system.

There were several ways to falsify or invalidate a test, although these were dangerous, because if caught you were in deep shit. We're talking stripped of rank and placed on long-term extra-duty, most likely to be followed up by being kicked out dishonorably. One of these ways was to keep an IV bag of someone else’s "clean" urine taped to the inside of your thigh with the tubing accessible to simulate pissing. (You were after all being watched at the urinal). Another simpler way was to contaminate the specimen with powdered bleach, undetectable by sight, but totally invalidating the tests once back at the lab. Some did this by keeping one fingernail a little long and packing the powdered bleach underneath it, and while pissing, piss on that finger washing the bleach into the specimen bottle. I've know some that got away with this regularly, while others have ended out on there asses stripped of rank and dishonorably discharged.

I myself, was too scared to try any of those stunts, so I hung my hat on the hokey remedies. One such mixture was created by a guy a few rooms down at the barracks, who smoked so much it seemed his remedy must work for all the times he had gotten by on his tests. (It proved out much later for him that it didn't work as well as he thought). It was a mixture of cranberry juice, iced tea, and several herbal supplements that he crushed up and mixed in. Supposedly this stuff would clear your kidneys of anything, and at the time I believed it, but fortunately as well, during my entire 7 year military career I was only tested 3 times, all at various times that I had not smoked pot in recent months.

Anyway, getting back on track we sat down with this guy and his significant other, and got stoned, really, really stoned. I couldn't tell you whether it was just really good stuff or if we just smoked a lot. I wasn't a heavy pot smoker, just occasioned on it when it was offered, so I wouldn't know the difference. But we got wasted. And that's where the story gets blurry for me.

I don't remember leaving this man and woman there, and I don't remember the rest of the climb, and it's not because it was so long ago, I specifically remember not being able to recall those chunks of time. Somehow we all made it to a peak on the mountain, I remember being there and it was dusk, and I remember saying "fuck man, we are never going to make it back down in the dark". I also remember sitting on a ledge, looking down at the gardens way, way below, and laying back and looking up at the universe trying to pick planets out of the stars, looking for shooting stars. I remember some conversation about how cool the Korean people were out here away from the camp. And then I remember nothing else of that evening.

I woke up with the sun shining directly on my face, still laying where I was at the ledge with my feet still dangling off the edge. I sat up squinting my eyes at the sky, trying to figure out what time it might be, before realizing I had a watch on. It was after 8:00! So I yelled out "Hey!, you guys, we're in deep shit! We missed formation!". And looking around, the only one I say was the Pilipino guy (Sorry Philipino guy, I wish I could remember your name), and he was just stirring, grumbling "what the fuck, what the fuck are you yelling about?". Ignoring him, I called out for Pete and Eric but there was no answer. I searched around the area a bit, looked over the edge of the peak to see if there were any crumbled bodies below, but there seemed to be no sign of them.

The Philipino guy was finally on his feet figuring out that we were fucked, and finally taking notice that Eric and Pete were missing. Keep in mind that we were hung over from a previous day of drinking, dehydration and getting stoned, so we weren't exactly thinking clearly, but it seemed to us that Eric and Pete ditched us. Maybe they tried to wake us and couldn't so they went back to the camp to make formation, we didn't know!

We made our way carefully back down the mountain, keeping an eye out for our friends the whole way down, but there was just no sign. So we headed out for the main road and started walking back towards the camp. Fortunately it wasn't long before we were able to hitch a ride, and fortunately there were no crazy frog eating freaks. We had a quiet ride all the way back in the back seat of a Daewoo.

When we made it back to barracks we snuck inside to avoid our squad leader and headed straight for Eric's and Pete's rooms. There was nobody there. So we went over to Paul's room to ask if he'd seen them at formation. (no, you don't know Paul from this story, he's pretty inconsequential to the tale, but serves a small purpose here, and rather than just saying some other guy's room, I thought I would tell you who's room it really was, but you don't need to anything about Paul except maybe that he could be a complete ass sometimes) Well, as it turns out Eric and Pete were not at formation either and the Platoon sergeant was looking for us, and not too happy. Well, Paul thought this was all pretty funny (remember I told you he could be an ass) and suggested that we just go find the Sergeant before we get ourselves into a worse situation.

By this time it was about 10:00 in the morning, only a full 24 hours since we had set off for those damned tattoos. So we figured before they send out a search party we'd better go fess up. So we went to go see Master Sergeant Perry, he was out Platoon Sergeant, and an all around pretty decent guy, so we weren't horribly scared to face him. When we got to his room, his first words out of his mouth were "Where the fuck have you scumbags been? Formation was almost 4 hours ago, what did you get your little dicks stuck in a fresh whore last night?" and so on for about 15 minutes, he didn't let up. But after he was finished yelling and belittling us, he calmly asked, so what happened?

We gave the readers digest version pretty much just skipping up to the part about going to the top of the mountain and falling asleep because we drank too much (obviously leaving out the part about the drugs) and waking up this morning too late for formation and not knowing where Eric and Pete were. At that point we were treated with motivating speech about how we knew the rules about going outside of the camp beyond the limits without a pass and how we were irresponsible to go up there so late and not make it back in time, and on and on.

We were told to return to our rooms, get in uniform, and stay there until we were called on. (The get in uniform part was disconcerting as it was a Sunday, and everyone just lounges around in "civies" all day on Sundays)
So we did as we were told. It was about 5 hours later that Pete shows up at my room, all banged up, a little bloody with some scratches and bruises, with a story about how he got up to piss sometime in the night and must have stumbled and fell a good distance down one side of the mountain, and how when he woke up with a huge lump on his head, he made his way back up to the top only to find that none of us were there, at which point he walked the entire way back. (We have all at some point questioned him on this, it was a 25-30 mile walk, which while we have all done that distance before, it was with water, and without a hangover or injury. It seems pretty hardcore and far fetched to claim that he did that hike in the condition he was in). Anyway, he had no idea where Eric was, so we began to fear the worst.

Pete and I went to Sergeant Perry's room to explain this to him at which point he laid into both of us again for ruining his Sunday. He sent Pete to the medic and sent me back to my room, where I stayed uninformed until the following morning.

As it turns out, the ended up sending a search party out to the Mountain where they found Eric later that afternoon unconscious, and bloody. They had to bring in a helicopter to Medi-vac him out off the mountain in one of those stretchers on a rope. We didn't see Eric again for 3 weeks.

That morning me, Pete and the Philipino guy were brought before the Commanding Officer to explain our actions. We told the story as innocently as we could, but were still found to be acting in a manner unbefitting of a soldier. We all received reprimands, thankfully none of us were stripped of any rank, but we all spent the next 30 days working various extra-duty type jobs such as Staff Duty (which was essentially manning a desk and phone for all hours of the night) and area beautification (picking up litter, painting walls, and my favorite punishment of all-time, painting the underside of edging rocks).

Three weeks later Eric returned from the Military Hospital in Seoul, and told us his story.

Like Pete, he got up sometime in the night to piss and while walking into the trees must have not seen where he was going, because he remembers taking a step and nothing being beneath his foot when he went to set it down. He said he remembered that first fall all the way down, every bump and jar, but when his head hit something, he lost consciousness. He said he remembered waking and it was daylight and he could hardly move but he heard the gurgling of running water so he figured he should move towards that sound, but somewhere along the crawling to the water he fell again and lost consciousness again. From what he said, he thought that this happened to him another 4 or 5 times, because he couldn't remember each time what happened the previous time, but honestly, doesn't that sound a little like a piece of tragic comic relief being forced into the story? I always thought so, it's just far too horrifically funny.

The last thing he remembered before waking up in the hospital several days later was being lifted out of the woods on the stretcher. He said he remembered that because the stretcher kept spinning on him every time he would wake up, the spinning made him so dizzy that he passed out again.

Then he woke up in the hospital in Seoul on Wednesday afternoon to find out he had broke an arm, had several hundred stitches, and worst of all cracked his skull, he had his X-rays showing a nice size fissure across the left side of his skull just above his ear.

Eric made a full recovery, as did Pete, we all escaped any serious punishment for our "conduct unbecoming of a soldier", and we all left Korea within the year with many more stories to tell, but none as grand and vivid as the Soyo Mountain Adventure.

I wonder if 13 years after the fact, my friends from that year in Korea might remember the story any different. Eric, Pete, and Philipino guy (I'm really sorry) if you're still out there and stumble across this, send me an email - michael@trefry.net - let me know how you’re doing and how you remember the story.