3 Life at the American gold mines in northern Korea: When tigers reigned

Situated in the mountainous region of northern Korea, the Oriental Consolidated Mining Company (OCMC) was surrounded by rough, unforgiving terrain that was both isolated and beautiful. Many of the immediate rugged peaks were bare, their forests stripped by the concession’s incessant need for timber. Further away, other hills and mountains were still covered with trees and thick brush — a precarious sanctuary for deer and other small mammals.

Pheasants, pigeons, ducks and geese, as well as various other species of bird, graced both the sky and, like the deer, the miners’ tables. Aside from the miners, there were other predators. Large birds of prey ruled the sky, while predators lurked in the forest, drawn by the plentiful game — and occasionally, humans were among their prey.

Born in Busan in 1904, Charles John Pedersen, who later received a Nobel Prize, described his brief stay at the mining concession where his father worked:

“I spent my first and last winter at the mines when I was 4 years old. The region was known for severe weather due to the confluence of the Siberian steppes, Mongolian Gobi Desert and the mountains of Korea. Large Siberian tigers still roamed the countryside and were frightened away with bells on the pony harnesses. Wolves killed children during the cold winter nights, and foxes slept on roofs against the chimneys to keep warm.”

While Pedersen’s narrative is romantically descriptive and fairly accurate, it cannot truly be regarded as an eyewitness account — he was too young to have reliably remembered the events and likely relied upon his father’s experiences.

William Guy Boydell, an Australian miner, used to regale his frightened daughter, Justine, with tales of his own brush with a tiger in the 1910s. Many decades later, Justine enjoyed recounting the tales to her friends and grandchildren.

“One cold winter’s night Ahpahjee [father] had emerged from the adit of the mine and was returning to the bachelor's quarters (this happened before he was married), swinging his lantern as he made his way through a light fall of snow. He told me that he was deep in thought when he suddenly sensed that he was being followed so he quickened his step and reached the quarters without incident. However, the next morning the spoor of a tiger was evident leading along the track that Ahpahjee had taken, right up to the door.”

The following day, Boydell, armed with a rifle and accompanied by a group of Koreans, went in search of the great cat. They soon found “the Siberian tiger sunning itself upon a rock.” The Australian’s aim was true and the carcass of the great beast was carried back in triumph.

In the early 1920s, a young boy named James had a near encounter with a tiger — not out in the forest but in the middle of the mining camp. Like many children, James tended to be mischievous and often tried his mother’s good nature and patience. One day, he went too far, and his mother, in exasperation, not only threatened, but followed through and informed his father of his misdeeds.

Soldan Blain was a good, but strict man. When he returned home from his 12-hour shift at the mill, he wasted no time in passing sentence upon his son. James was banished to the covered front porch of their house, where he was to remain quietly seated in a chair until called back into the house. It was late into the night, long after darkness had descended, before the young boy heard his father’s welcomed voice summoning him back into the safety of the house.

The following morning, when Blain was getting ready to go to the mill, he was alarmed to discover tiger tracks in the mud around the house and paw prints on the roof of the porch. The tiger had evidently climbed upon the porch, waiting for an opportunity to spring upon young James if he came out again — either as punishment or to visit the outhouse.

It was a lesson for both father and son, and from that time on, the family was always wary of standing out on the porch at night.

In the early 1930s, the OCMC employed a young Korean as an office boy. He was affectionately nicknamed “Peg Leg” because he was missing a leg. Although the first thought that comes to mind is that he lost his leg to a tiger, in truth, we don’t know how he lost it — perhaps in a mining accident, and management provided him with an office job as partial compensation. One evening, he suddenly hobbled into the office as fast as he could, with a terrified look upon his face. After some time, he explained to the staff that, on his way to the office, a tiger had stalked him. He was fortunate — others weren’t.

Blain’s youngest son, John, also recalled similar incidents when an occasional miner would finish work at night and go home, but would fail to appear the following morning.

“[The managers] would go [out] looking for him and they would just find a spot on the trail where there had been a scuffle and I can remember on one occasion when all they found was a hand. In these cases they having [sic] been attacked by tigers. More than likely ones that gotten old and were not able to catch game so the best game they could find was some man that was walking home at night.”

They say that pictures are worth a thousand words, and the mining camp’s clubhouse had a lot to say.

On the wall were pictures of dead tigers and leopards. One picture showed a tiger that measured 13 and a half feet from the tip of its nose to the tip of its tail.

The horrific tales of miners being hunted at night by tigers, coupled with pictures at the clubhouse, were proof enough for John that dallying about on the road — especially at night — could end his young life. Nearly three decades later, he recalled:

“I can remember as a child going home after having visited at some neighbor’s house and running like the very wind for fear that some big cat would be lying in wait for me. Not realizing that it wouldn't have made any difference. To this day sometimes in a wooded area I get rather a chill. I guess it is the instinct from childhood that returns to us, a person, it is something that you never forget.”

There was another threat in the mining community — equally, if not more, dangerous than tigers: humans. Which is the subject of the next article.

My appreciation to Diane Nars and the Tweed, Blain, Melcher and Chapman families for their invaluable assistance, memories and photograph.