A 4.2-kilometre-long gondola deposited me at the base of the scenic North Peak.  Mount Hua’s four exposed peaks consist of numerous rocky summits, each immersed in Taoist and historical significance, and peppered with forests of pine. The mountain’s striking beauty and view over the Qin Mountain Range attracted Taoists as early as 200 BC. From this base, temples and teahouses are accessed by stone paths snaking to the four peaks. Supplies are transported by hardy porters somehow balancing heavy boxes on sticks across their shoulders. I followed them towards my destination, navigating steep, slippery steps carved directly into solid rock. The trail’s proximity to 1,000-metre plummets did not seem to rattle the porters, nor the crowds of cheery Chinese tourists of all ages and fitness levels.  

“Ni hao!” As I walked towards the south and east peaks, I was greeted constantly by curious locals. Nobody wore hiking boots, although I did notice that everyone was wearing white gloves. When I left hot and humid Xi’an that morning, the temperature was in the high 20s, but up here it was getting cold, fast. Snow dusted the trees and pathways. Gloves made sense to hold onto heavy iron chains that bracketed the steeper trails. Attached to these icy chains, at Gold Lock Pass, were thousands of engraved locks, a legacy of visitors and their rusted blessings through the decades. Vendors and engravers sold padlocks for visitors to bolt their blessings permanently to the mountain.

Anticipating it might be cooler at altitude, I had brought along a thin hoodie. Unfortunately, I had not anticipated Mount Hua’s 2,160-metre elevation would freeze the air, mist my breath, and deposit thick snow. The higher I walked, the more my thin sweater became woefully inadequate for its task. But I’d already come a long way, and the rare yet helpful signs in bad English confirmed I was heading in the right direction. After a solid hour of walking, heavy tourist traffic petered out and I found myself alone on the path to Changkongzhandao, the “#1 Steep Road in Mount Hua.” I exited a beautiful mountain temple, walked around a boulder, and almost spewed my pistachio snack right off a sheer rock face. 

A narrow-cut path hugged the edge of a terrifying cliff. Further along, a sign outside a small ticket booth indicated it would cost a few dollars to continue. I handed over the RMB to a somewhat surprised attendant, and received a harness and set of carabiners. No waivers, no briefing, no reassurances. My hands were freezing, and in an act of compassion, the attendant took off his own thin white gloves and gave them to me. He must have thought I was a foreign idiot way over my head. He was right.