I took the subway to a mountain: How Seoul has made hiking effortless

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I took the subway to a mountain: How Seoul has made hiking effortless

Published: 05 Feb. 2026, 07:00

Audio report: written by reporters, read by AI

Views on the trail up to Baegundae Peak [ALICIA CARR]

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On a frosty Tuesday morning, dressed in UGG boots, old jeans and a heavy wool coat, I exited the subway at Bukhansan Ui Station and was instantly met with views of the national park encompassing Mount Bukhan. I had loose plans to hike the famous Baegundae Peak.

Was I ready for a technical climb with 800 meters (2,600 feet) of elevation to scale? Probably not. Did I know where I was going? Not really. I was counting on the Seoul Hiking Tourism Center to solve all of those problems for me.

"K-hiking" has become the latest trend among foreign tourists in Korea. In 2025, 582,077 foreigners had visited national parks around the country by September. Easy access to mountains, immaculately maintained trails and even free Wi-Fi at some summits are just a few of the draws for tourists craving an outdoor adventure without ever leaving the city.

The Bukhansan Hiking Center was located only a five-minute walk from the subway station. [ALICIA CARR]

At the three Seoul Hiking Tourism Centers around the city, visitors are offered a surprisingly luxurious introduction to the activity, with comfortable lounges, dressing rooms, lockers, full gear rental and assistance in planning your hike — though notably, no showers. As an avid hiker, it was an experience I was eager to test out.

The center at the base of Bukhansan National Park sits just a five-minute walk from the subway station — though, in my case, it admittedly took a little longer. I walked straight past the building not once, but twice. In my defense, the center is tucked away on the fifth floor, with minimal signage visible from the street, making it a place you’re unlikely to find unless you know exactly what you’re looking for. Regardless, being able to take the subway to a mountain was nothing like what I was used to.

When I arrived, I was greeted by the soft hum of elevator music and a friendly staff member who ushered me inside. The center was empty. Not another hiker or tourist in sight. It seemed, unlike me, most people had reached the sensible conclusion that going hiking in the middle of winter might not be the best idea.

The staff began to take my sizes and fitted me with boots, crampons and a full hiking outfit from Black Yak, a high-end Korean outdoor brand favored by locals and pros. It was quite the upgrade from what I had arrived in. I suddenly looked the part.

That morning, I had harbored some mild reservations about renting hiking gear that had likely been used by countless others. But, in the moment, I didn’t even question it. The gear looked practically brand new and it only cost about 14,000 won ($10) for the full day.

I was impressed. In my native New Zealand, such a service is unheard of. You could maybe borrow gear somewhere in the city before you drove two hours out of town to the start of the trail. But a rental service with such a huge range of affordable gear right at the trailhead? Never. And there was certainly no public transportation to the mountain.

After changing into my new outfit and stowing my belongings in a locker, we moved to the lounge area, a dedicated space for hikers to plan their trip, pack their gear and rest ahead of their big climb.

The staff pulled out several maps, reached for an array of brightly colored highlighters and, in perfect English, began outlining my different trail options. I eventually settled on the route to the Baegundae summit.

It was here that I discovered we were, actually, nowhere near the start of the trail. I was given two options: Take a taxi or walk 45 minutes up the road. My enthusiasm wavered for a moment as I silently questioned the so-called accessibility of Seoul’s mountains. Bukhansan was still remarkably close but just not as immediate as I had initially assumed. I started the Strava exercise-tracking app on my watch and I set off on foot anyway, highlighted map in hand. Initially thought to be a bit of an inconvenience, I found the walk revealed how seamlessly the mountains and the urban landscape intertwine.

An annotated map provided by the staff at the hiking center highlights the trail to follow. [ALICIA CARR]

By the time I reached the trailhead, I was out of breath and already stripping off the many thermal layers my mother had encouraged me to wear. I had walked just over two kilometers (1.2 miles), almost the length of the trail itself, but at least I was getting my steps in, I guess.

After taking a quick breather, I began my climb on a decently steep and rocky path, making a mental note to be careful on the way down. Someone could easily roll an ankle. The trail didn't seem to have any clear markers but it was easy enough to follow, and there were wooden signposts every now and then.

Despite it being nearly midday, the trail was eerily quiet. Other than two other hikers smoking on the roadside a kilometer back, with whom I’d made unwilling small talk, I hadn’t seen a soul. For a well-known hike in one of the world’s busiest cities, the quiet was a welcome surprise.

Stopping for a snack break at a junction in the trails, I was shocked by the amount of infrastructure on the mountain. I had to be several hundred meters high at this point, but there were picnic benches, staircases, boardwalks and, as I would soon discover, even multiple buildings. Eating my samgak gimbap (triangle seaweed rice roll), I contemplated how they had managed to haul the materials up such a distance. I was hardly complaining. Hiking with the solid ground of a boardwalk beneath my feet felt like luxury.

There was a significant amount of infrastructure on the mountain top. [ALICIA CARR]

Ascending further up the mountain, the trail grew busier as it merged with other paths and trailheads en route to the highest peak. Under the shade of tree cover, my surroundings became increasingly snowy and icy. Around me, hikers in Nike Air Maxs slid backward and struggled to regain balance. I marched forward, grateful for the crampons rented from the hiking center, which were now firmly strapped to my boots.

I knew immediately when I was nearing the summit. The final 300 meters were an iconic scramble up the side of a sheer rock face. You had the assistance of only metal handrails and fixed cables to pull yourself up. I had seen the photos. But, standing there, exposed to the piercing wind, the section felt far more dramatic in person.

Shuffling the final few steps up the icy granite, I breathed a sigh of relief and exhaustion as I arrived at the peak. I paused the Strava on my watch: about two and a half hours to the top. It hadn't been an overly difficult or steep hike, with the exception of the last few hundred meters, but tackling the trail in the peak of winter added the risky variable of snow and ice. I was quietly pleased to have made it up without slipping.

In sync with my fellow hikers, I fished my phone out of my pocket and began to snap a few pictures. Expecting free Wi-Fi might be a stretch, but of course, I had all four bars of network service even on Seoul's highest peak. I filmed a quick Snapchat video and instantly sent it to my friends and family back home, something I have definitely never been able to do on a mountaintop before.

Standing at the summit with Seoul stretching endlessly below, it struck me just how effortlessly the city blurs the line between urban life and the outdoors. Only hours earlier, I had stepped off the subway wildly underdressed and underprepared. Now, I was standing on the highest peak in Seoul.

Back home, and in much of the world, hiking usually means long drives from the city, limited infrastructure and a degree of self-sufficiency that leaves little room for spontaneity. In Seoul, it is different. K-hiking is trending, and after a day like this, I could see why — even a serious mountain feels remarkably within reach.