Hiking in Beijing’s White River Valley
The descent into the valley.
The trip up–and the one down, for that matter–would end in one of two ways. We’d arrive at a fancy casino to play baccarat against Xenia Onatopp or with us teetering over the edge, sorting out the best way not to fall down the mountainside.
At least, that’s how it felt as we wound our way up the serpentine mountain road to our trailhead for our hike in the White River Valley a few hours outside of Beijing.
For folks unfamiliar with mountain travel, myself included, it can be a hair-raising adventure. But it’s well worth it. Because what awaited us was a hike with the most picturesque riverscape juxtaposed by the tree-filled mountainside.
The week before, I signed up for the adventure through a local outfit called Beijing Hikers. They’ve led groups on various treks throughout the Beijing area and other parts of China for over twenty years. Folks I’ve interacted with since arriving had nothing but good things to say about their trips, so I took the opportunity to explore outside the city.
I have hiked locally in Washington, DC. But this was nothing like the National Park that runs through the northwest quadrant of America’s capital city. Where Rock Creek Park has a higher canopy providing hikers with constant shade, sharper but shorter climbs, and a smaller river, Miyun’s White River Valley has higher, sharper cliffs of limestone and granite, a slow but more prolonged descent into the valley, and a broader river plain that provides easier access to river crossings by foot.
The White River Valley is a place one could explore for days and still not experience everything. It gave every impression of being a popular destination for folks looking to escape the hustle-bustle of the Chinese capital. Yurts and tents were visible throughout our hike, and a fly fishing competition was underway. And on the way down the mountain, it seemed that there was a whole cottage industry catering to tourists from the city by providing restaurants, more luxurious accommodations for folks unwilling to rough it at night, and maybe even a handful of pied a terres for city folks with a bit more disposable income.
The River Crossing
But as we climbed further up the mountain before arriving at the trailhead, our guide received a call from managers at the two parks we would traverse during our hikes. They asked us to turn around and head back to the city, storms were coming, and the rain was forecasted to be quite heavy likely making the valley extraordinarily dangerous for hikers.
We were near the insertion point, though. And if we pushed it ever so slightly, we’d be able to exit the park before the storms hit. So, the park managers acquiesced and allowed us to continue.
The descent to the river was slow and steady. Our pathway took us over limestone and granite rocks smoothed by centuries of erosion. And as we neared the bottom, it opened up to a wide vista of the flood plain.
Views of the rushing river’s flood plain after making our descent.
Our guide gave us a brief pause to take pictures and debate the merits of a river crossing. An ambitious lot, we decided to go for it. I resisted the temptation to make jokes about the Oregon Trail. It was cold enough to be reinvigorating on a warm July morning and moving fast enough to put up a challenge worthy of attention.
Back on dry land, we followed the dry riverbed–the sound of small rocks and stones crunching under our footfalls–around a bend or two before returning to the water. This crossing proved a different challenge due to the depth and rocks ladden with whatever slippery goo collects on them. We slowly came out on the other side–shoes, socks, and much of our pant legs sodden with river water.
There was a brief pause to speak with the park manager, and then we were off again, following alongside the river from a slightly elevated position–the sound of the river flowing below us. Around another bend or two and we stopped for a lunch break. We ate our packed lunches as our guide serenaded us with her harmonica.
The next portion of the hike called for to follow a trail through the bush. Tall grasses and weeds obscured much of the path. We inadvertently disturbed a nest of some sort of flying, stinging insects. No one was quite sure how many, where they came from, or what they were. All we knew was that once they swarmed, we double-timed it to the next clearing.
Storm clouds rolling in as we ended our hike.
One of the hikers had been stung, and the guide tended to the sting at the clearing. After ensuring the hiker was good to finish, we pressed on, no longer bound by the bush or tall weeds. This section was flat and high above the flowing river below us. We followed this bit until a clearing that ran to the riverbank. In front of us was a bridge of stones unevenly placed to form a footpath across the river.
From there, it was a straight dirt path beneath a thick canopy to an elevated walkway running along a sheer mountainside with the meandering river below us. The hike ended with a steep set of stairs and a locked gate, which was finally opened by the park manager, who, I believe, thought we had already exited.
As we set our packs down, gathered ourselves, and took much-needed restroom breaks or sips of water, our tour guide and driver set out a small picnic of chilled watermelon, beer, Coca-Cola, and other salty snacks. After that brief respite, we all loaded into the van and headed back down the mountain’s serpentine-like road filled with switchbacks and short tunnels. The forecasted rain started just as we were leaving and hasn’t let up over the last 48 hours–and it doesn’t look like it will either.
We arrived back in Beijing proper two hours later. I took the twenty-minute walk home, arriving soggy and tired. And fell asleep nearly two hours before my regular bedtime.
I’ve already signed up for another hike in August and planning for a third in September. I’m looking forward to them both and exploring the rich offerings of the natural world around Bejing.
