Mystical night at seaside arboretum built by former US intelligence officer

Chollipo Arboretum sits directly beside the sea off Chollipo. Korea Times photo by Lee Han-ho

By Hankookilbo

• Published Jun 27, 2026 12:01 PM KST
• Updated Jun 27, 2026 5:11 PM KST

Chollipo Arboretum in Taean, South Chungcheong Province, emerges as tourist magnet

A faint sea mist blankets the forest floor, thick with broad ferns. Patches of earth show through the dense undergrowth, while fragmented rays of sunlight filter through the thick maple branches overhead.

The clock has just turned 6 a.m. The hour is too early even for the most popular destinations to be crowded with travelers. The same is true where I stand, at one of Korea’s best-known arboretums overlooking the sea. Across its vast 589,429-square-meter grounds, not a single soul is in sight. Only the distant horns of ships entering port and the calls of birds overhead echo through the trees.

It is a rare, tranquil privilege that only those who begin their day at Chollipo Arboretum in Taean, South Chungcheong Province, can enjoy. It is well known as “a garden overlooking the sea” and “an arboretum where visitors can spend the night.”

The arboretum has other rarities as well. It is Korea’s first private arboretum. It was built on a salt-laden coast, an unusual setting for an arboretum. And it was founded by the first American to become a naturalized Korean citizen.

Born an American, died a Korean

The arboretum was founded by Min Byung-gal. He was born in West Pittston, Pennsylvania, in 1921 and never knew then that he would later change his name — Carl Ferris Miller — to a Korean one and spend his final years on Korea's west coast, where he died in 2002.

He served in the U.S. Navy as an intelligence officer before being assigned to the U.S. military government in Korea in 1945, established shortly after the peninsula’s liberation from imperial Japan.

He had experience in finance and economics, a background that helped him join the Bank of Korea (BOK) after leaving the military, where he worked until his retirement in 1982. Before leaving the military, while working as a financial officer, he met Min Byung-do (1916-2006), who was working at BOK. They became so close that they became sworn brothers.

Miller later changed his namer to Min Byung-gal, fashioned from Min Byung-do’s surname and the generational syllable they shared, “Byung,” while “gal” was adapted from his English name, Carl, to sound more natural in Korean. Min Byung-do would later serve as the seventh BOK governor and transform Nami Island in Chuncheon, Gangwon Province, into the tourist destination it is today.

But all of that still lay ahead. When Miller first arrived in Korea, in his 20s and full of vigor, meeting locals and forming personal bonds, he had no thought of making this foreign land his permanent home. Still less could he have imagined buying a stretch of salt-soaked red earth called Chollipo.

It all started with a random farmer worried about his daughter’s wedding expenses. Unable to raise the money needed to marry her off, the farmer decided to sell his land and began looking for a buyer.

As it happened, there was a random finance man, a white American, who came to Taean every summer for vacation. By then, he had already taken the Korean name Min Byung-gal and was working at the BOK, but those were incidental details.

What mattered was that the land — barren soil by the sea, saturated with salt and constantly battered by harsh coastal winds that made agriculture impossible, and therefore less a piece of property than a burden at the time — was actually bought. Min acquired the 20,000-square-meter plot in 1962. It was the first of more to come, because as word spread, local residents rushed to his doorstep to sell him their land as well.

The immediate task after the purchase was to make the land usable in any way possible. A pine grove and pond were created first, the grove serving as a windbreak against the fierce sea winds and blowing sand, and the pond as a reservoir of fresh water for the plants.

After that came the planting of trees, one by one. Somewhere along the way, the once-barren land began to take on the shape of a proper arboretum, which formally opened in 1970.

By then, the arboretum had become Min’s life’s work. Nine years later, he formally became a naturalized Korean citizen. His remains, too, were laid to rest within the grounds of the arboretum.

Chollipo Arboretum is guided by a simple philosophy: “an arboretum where the trees are the masters.” It may sound self-evident, but the idea makes sense when one considers how often the boundaries between arboretums, recreational forests and gardens remain blurred.

The arboretum’s policy is to minimize artificial intervention in the growth of its vegetation. An arboretum guide explained that staff members had spent years debating whether vines should be removed once they began climbing the pine trees.

“Some people criticized us after seeing the vines completely covering the pine bark, asking whether we were failing to manage the plants properly,” the guide said. “But we decided to accept this, too, as part of nature and manage the plants by finding a balance in which they can coexist.”

Deadly threats such as pine wilt disease, of course, are strictly prevented through advance control measures.

Because of this philosophy, the arboretum remained devoted primarily to research and conservation and did not open to the public until 2009, seven years after its founder’s death.

The decision came after the Hebei Spirit oil spill devastated Mallipo Beach, the region’s largest tourist destination, in December 2007, and plunged the local economy into a prolonged slump. A proposal emerged to develop Chollipo Arboretum into an anchor attraction that could help revive the area.

The arboretum lived up to those expectations. It has since grown into a destination visited by more than 200,000 people each year.

At this time of early summer, the most arresting corner of the arboretum is the Astilbe Garden. Known in Korean as noruojum, literally “roe deer’s urine,” the native plant takes its name from the distinctive smell of its roots. Abroad, however, it goes simply by its botanical name, Astilbe, and is treated as an elegant flower, delicate enough to be used in bridal bouquets.

The garden is home to 120 taxa of Astilbe. Awash in soft whites, pinks, reds and purples, the landscape takes on the muted charm of a pastel painting. June and July are the peak season, and the feathery plumes are now rising in dense clusters. Because they are planted in wetlands resembling rice paddies, visitors can also spot marsh plants such as duckweed among them.

The ponds, too, are beginning to stir with the first blooms of water lilies and lotus. In Miller Garden, the 65,623-square-meter public section of the arboretum, the large and small ponds that anchor the visitor route were originally built as reservoirs to supply fresh water to the plants. Now, they have become some of the most photographed spaces in the arboretum.

Once the water lilies begin to spread across the surface, the ponds, shaded by bald cypresses, take on the look of a watercolor. Between the two lies a small rice paddy, managed through duck farming. Recently, a group of fluffy ducklings joined the farmer’s family as its newest members.

Overnight stay and tour of restricted grounds

The truest experience of the arboretum comes from staying overnight in the gardens. Scattered throughout the grounds are seven houses in varying styles, built at different points in the arboretum’s history — traditional Korean tiled-roof homes and thatched cottages that have stood there since its early years, as well as Western-style houses with unobstructed views of the sea off Chollipo.

Each is named after the nearest tree. The traditional tiled-roof houses are named for the holly, cherry tree, crape myrtle and black pine; the thatched-roof house for the dajungkeum; and the Western-style houses for the tamarisk and evergreen spindle.

The arboretum operates from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m., meaning ordinary visitors must leave once the gates close. The same does not apply to guests staying at the houses inside the grounds, who are free to wander beyond regular opening hours.

The privilege comes into its own during the long days of summer. Four hours pass between sunrise and the arrival of the first daytime visitors, while sunset comes roughly two hours after the last of them have left. For a generous stretch of time, guests can roam an arboretum emptied of crowds, feeling as though they have rented the entire place for themselves.

A dreamlike walk through the gardens in the dawn mist, or a lingering stroll as the reddish glow of sunset settles over the grounds, is an experience unavailable to ordinary visitors — and difficult to find at any other arboretum, for that matter.

Those staying overnight also have the privilege of joining a morning walk, in which the first 12 guests to sign up are guided through parts of the arboretum normally closed to the public. Those restricted grounds make up nearly 90 percent of the entire arboretum; only the roughly 11 percent known as Miller Garden is generally open to visitors. Guests staying at the Eco-Healing Center outside the arboretum may also apply.

During my visit to Chollipo Arboretum, the tour took me through the Magnolia Garden, one of the best-known restricted sections of the grounds. Magnolia season had long since passed, but the enormous leaves of the bigleaf magnolias — some as large as a person’s head — were still something to behold.

Also inside the garden was Magnolia House, which the founder built so that his mother could leave the United States and come live with him in Korea. From the outside, it appears to be a traditional Korean tiled-roof house. Step inside, however, and it reveals a Western-style bathroom and modern domestic facilities that Min had included for his elderly mother, so she could live comfortably in a foreign country.

Just like the other houses, Magnolia House has a giant white magnolia growing in its front garden.

Photo spot carved by fierce waves

Travelers spending a night at Chollipo Arboretum are also encouraged to visit the nearby Padori sea caves, roughly six kilometers to the south, or about a 15-minute drive away.

The name Pado, meaning “waves” in Korean, reflects the area’s notorious currents and reefs. The passage was used by grain-transport ships and diplomatic vessels in medieval Korea traveling from the south toward the capital. Even then, the route was known as Nanhaengnyang, or “a passage exceedingly difficult to cross.”

Along the shore stand the sea caves, marks left by the waves over millennia and ideal vantage points for striking photographs. The two enormous openings form a natural frame around the glittering West Sea and, depending on the hour, the sun itself. A rock pillar divides the caves from the outside, though they join into a single chamber within. Beside the larger formation is a smaller cave of the same structure.

The site can be reached only at low tide, making it essential to check the tide schedule beforehand. Even when the timing is right, visitors must cross a stretch of rocky shore encrusted with sharp shells, so sturdy, protective footwear is equally essential.

This article from the Hankook Ilbo, the sister publication of The Korea Times, is translated by a generative AI system and edited by The Korea Times.