Mountains as Moral Landscapes
- 4 days ago
- 8 min read
How Hiking in East Asia Cultivates Reverence, Discipline, and Shared Purpose
At 7 a.m., as the sun rises over Seoul, the nearby granite slopes of Bukhansan are already alive. Elderly hikers in neon visors tap their trekking poles like drumbeats, exhaling clouds of mist into the crisp, pine-scented air. Office workers, sleeves rolled over stiff shirts, clutch cups of coffee while negotiating uneven stones. Someone unwraps kimbap at a wooden rest stop, the seaweed crackling softly. Another fidgets with a headlamp they won’t need until night, yet carries anyway, as though the ritual of preparation is part of the ascent itself.
Below, Seoul stretches away in glass and steel, shimmering under the morning sun. Up here, the city feels distant. The hum of traffic is replaced by wind sighing through pine needles, the bark of a dog echoing from a far-off neighborhood, and whispered greetings of “Annyeonghaseyo” (“Hello! Are you doing well?”) linking strangers in quiet fellowship. Boots scrape stone, sometimes startling a bird or sending a flock of sparrows into sudden flight. Mist curls around jagged ridges, catching sunlight in golden streaks, making every rock, every tree, seem sentient.
From the summit, the city reveals its hidden logic. Seoul doesn’t sprawl, it stacks. Apartment towers cluster in the Han River basin, hemmed in by ridgelines rising like folded paper. Highways twist sharply around rock outcroppings. Neighborhoods stop abruptly where the slope begins, as if the mountains claim authority over the city’s growth. The land commands attention, and the urban fabric bends in quiet obedience. Humans live here not over nature, but alongside it.
This is no accident. Almost 70% of South Korea is mountainous. Japan’s summits, which include sacred Mounts Fuji, Tate, and Haku, account for about 73% of its land. The Philippines, strung along the volcanic Pacific Ring of Fire, is also more than 70% mountainous. In China, around 33% of land is mountainous, but seven of its peaks, primarily located in the Himalayas in Tibet, are higher than 8,000 meters (26,246 feet) above sea level.
Buildable land is precious in South Korea, Japan, and the Philippines. Cities crowd in the narrow plains and river valleys. Highways wind between ridges. Apartment blocks spring up wherever the terrain allows. Mountains are neighbors, pressing against apartment windows, edging highways, and framing subway stops. Hiking here is never just recreation, it is ritual, release, discipline, and identity. Each trail tells a story. Each summit offers a lesson. Every step is a chance to observe, reflect, and connect.
In many East Asia countries, hiking is an essential pastime, and trails are moral landscapes. While hiking remains a robust form of exercise, it also cultivates reverence, discipline, and shared purpose. Trails teach patience when hiking traffic slows to a crawl on a narrow ridge, humility when wind bites through layers, and communal ethics that ask not just “Did you reach the summit?” but “How did you walk? Who did you help along the way?”
The Philippines: Akyat Bundok and Communal Reverence
In the Philippines, hiking, or akyat bundok, is as much about people as peaks. Trails wind through forests thick with orchids and moss, past streams tumbling over limestone, beneath jagged peaks etched into clouds. Boots sink into dark soil, roots tangle underfoot, insects hum lazily as hikers pass. The climb isn’t a race, it is a shared journey, marked by laughter, whispered advice, and passing water or snacks to a struggling companion.
Local guides don’t just lead, they tell stories. They point out ancient rice terraces, recount spirits inhabiting sacred groves, and teach the delicate balance between humans and land. The mountain is both a teacher and mirror, reflecting patience, endurance, and respect for others.
And age, injury, and circumstances are no barriers to mountain walking.
In a video made several years ago for Nomad Terra Crawlers, Philippine hiker Pia Solon recalls that, despite knee pain, “This climb reminded me that every step matters. With each breath and each footfall, I felt life again, felt capable, felt connected.”
Even those with prosthetic limbs keep climbing. In the same video, Alex Agustin, who has a artificial leg, shares: “I don’t want to stop hiking because I want to inspire more people.”
Edwin Gatia, another senior climber, reflected on the differences between generations. “Basically, the main difference is that during our time there was a lot more of the element of adventure … the quest for the unknown and excitement that went with it. Today, people climb because it’s fun and more recreational than adventure. But as long as I can, I’ll keep climbing … and as they say, old climbers never die, they just drink away,” he said on the video.
The experience becomes more than encouragement, it is a philosophy of persistence, community, and living fully. Whether climbing mountains, recovering from injury, or simply breathing in the forest air, the mountain trekkers of the Philippines carry it forward with every step.
South Korea: Sacred Peaks, National Identity, and Discipline
In South Korea, hiking is woven into life’s fabric. Trails explode with color on weekends—neon jackets, pastel visors, scarves fluttering in the wind. Mountains are sacred, home to san-shin, guardian spirits, and aligned with invisible spiritual currents called pungsu-jiri, believed to shape fortune. Many hikers chase the summit, but a growing movement values slowing down, observing, reflecting, and honoring the path itself.
In a video, Kang Dong-Ik of the Korea National Park Service explains: “People go hiking to escape the bustle of the city, but when they get to the peak, there are so many people that instead of relieving stress, they find new stress. The solution is ‘slow peaking’—hike slower, feel the nature, see the valley instead of rushing to the top.”
An anonymous South Korean hiker in the video adds a personal perspective: “You have to come up [the mountain] to be healed,” she said. “It feels so good.”
Even along crowded trails, philosophy manifests in quiet gestures: a bowed head at a shrine, a hand offered to help a climber over a rock, shared laughter at a steep slope. Pauses matter as much as steps. Hiking near urban life, the air feels different, thicker with expectation, yet lighter with possibility.
Japan: Shinrin-Yoku and the Mindful Mountain
In Japan, hiking is inseparable from mindfulness and attentiveness to seasonal change. Shinrin-yoku, or “forest bathing,” encourages participants to immerse themselves fully in forest environments, reducing stress and promoting overall health.
Dr. Qing Li, president of the Japanese Society of Forest Medicine, explains in his book Forest Bathing: How Trees Can Help You Find Health and Happiness: “The best way to deal with stress at work is to go for a forest bath. I go for shinrin-yoku every lunchtime. You don’t need a forest; any small green space will do. Leave your cup of coffee and your phone behind and just walk slowly. You don’t need to exercise, you just need to open your senses to nature. It will improve your mood, reduce tension and anxiety, and help you focus and concentrate for the rest of the day.”
Japanese trails are carefully maintained, and hiking often coincides with seasonal rituals, from cherry blossoms in spring to fiery autumn leaves. Walking becomes meditation, a practice of aligning oneself with the rhythms of nature and society. Every step is intentional, every breath attuned to the scent of pine, cedar, and damp earth.
Forest medicine complements this mindful practice. Dr. Li, a pioneer of shinrin-yoku, notes that even brief immersion, two hours in a forest or city park, can lower stress hormones, reduce blood pressure, boost immunity, and improve sleep. He emphasizes that “shinrin-yoku lifts depression. It can improve concentration and increase your memory. You can visit city parks to enjoy shinrin-yoku. Even a short visit brings many benefits. It’s about connecting with the forest, feeling life in the trees and the air around you.”
In Japan, the forest is felt as more than scenery; it is a teacher, a healer, and a space for reflection. Hiking here is not just exercise; it is a mindful engagement with life itself.
China: Taoist and Confucian Influences
China’s mountains, while covering a far smaller percentage of the nation’s area than in South Korea, Japan, or the Philippines, are considered to be teachers, temples, and mirrors of the self. Trails meander through mist-heavy forests where pine, cedar, and bamboo scent the air, the soil squishing underfoot after rain. Streams leap over rocks, frogs croak in hidden pools, and birds dart through branches, startling hikers into silence. Roots twist like serpents across paths, and the wind carries faint echoes of distant temple bells.
For centuries, Taoist and Confucian traditions have treated mountains as arenas for moral and spiritual cultivation, spaces to refine virtue, harmonize with nature, and strengthen discipline. Retreats, fasting, and meditation are exercises in aligning the body, mind, and spirit. The climb itself is the teacher, testing patience, humility, and awareness at every switchback.
A Taoist practitioner recounts a 2025 summer retreat: “By walking slowly through the forest, chewing young pine needles, and absorbing the qi [vital energy] of the mountains, the body feels lighter and the mind clearer. … It’s not about escape but about reconnecting with the world and oneself.”
During a three-day fasting and cultivation retreat, the same practitioner adds: “The rain soaked our clothes but seemed to wash something deeper. Our hearts felt lighter and clearer. All that remained was us together with this mountain, this rain, this wind, and this mist.”
Sacred peaks in China like Wudang, Tai, and the Five Great Mountains see the blending of human artistry into natural beauty. Terraced paths wind past temples, pagodas, and incense-filled shrines where bells chime faintly in morning mist. Martial arts students practice forms along slopes, their movements harmonizing with the rhythm of the forest. China Global Television Network (CGTN) host Jiao Yang observes: “The underpinning idea is that all living things exist in harmony. Taoism is about cultivating oneself to rise above bodily needs and base desires, and finding harmony with the world, ultimately achieving spiritual immortality.”
Modern hiking balances urban access with sacred preservation. Visitors tread carefully, reminded that the climb is a communion, not a conquest. Every creaking bamboo stalk, slick stone, and swirl of mist gently prompts notice, reflection, careful walking.
Trails as Teachers
Mountains in East Asia are never just obstacles or scenery; they are teachers. Every stone underfoot, every gust of wind, every shared laugh or helping hand on the trail offers a lesson in patience, courage, and empathy. Trails stretch the body, awaken the heart, and root people in something larger than themselves. They teach how to move through life: to tread thoughtfully, lift others as the trekker climbs, and notice the world with care.
When hikers return to the city below, they carry with them the rhythm of the mountains, the slow inhale of forests, the disciplined climb of rocky paths, the reverent hush of sacred peaks, an internal map that guides how they walk through the rest of their lives. Mountains may remain unmoved, indifferent to ambition, yet anyone who listens leaves changed. Every summit is not a destination but a living classroom, reflecting the best of who a person can be when they let the world teach them in its patient, towering way.
*Jana Perez-Angelo is a Denver-based writer and multidisciplinary creative and digital strategist passionate about brand storytelling and purpose-driven content. Her work has been featured in Relevant Magazine, Medium, and Faithful Life.