Cruising South Korea: The oppressive restrictions that scuppered our plans

Our cruising dreams of exploring South Korea's islands were grounded by a bizarre set of maritime restrictions, from bridge warnings to mandatory pre-applications for every anchorage

The sea around us was filled with orange and yellow buoys, causing my imagination to go wild with visions of fouled propellers and angry aqua farmers. The markers rose and fell with the swell like a coloured carpet that glowed in the grey, rain-filtered light. Ahead of us, Jehoon Yee beckoned us to follow the route he was taking aboard his small yacht, Frog.

“I hope he’s sure about this route. Look, that ferry is taking a different route through the farms,” I called to Fiona, who was standing on the bow for better visibility.

I followed Frog’s stern as closely as I thought was safe, matching Jehoon’s every twist and turn as he led us through the gauntlet of ropes, nets and buoys. We were about to enter Yokjido, a small island fishing port in the Hallyeohaesang National Marine Park off the coast of South Korea. We’d sailed about 20 miles from Tongyeong – a journey that began in light winds and flat seas, then turned to strong gusts which had me scrambling to ease out the mainsheet, and ended with a dousing of rain as we neared our destination.

Through it all I kept Jehoon in my sights, following his path through the rocky islands and past bays filled with fish farms. I’d met Jehoon on the docks of the Tongyeong Yacht School, where his Yamaha 30 was moored near Teng Hoi, our Hallberg-Rassy 42F. He was deeply tanned and a mischievous glint in his eye contradicted his otherwise serious demeanour.

Foreign visiting yachts were rare here, and after asking the usual questions about where we were from, Jehoon invited us to join him on a weekend sail. “I’ll show you where to moor on some of the little islands around here,” he said.

Jehoon also helped us file the paperwork the local authorities required even for this short cruise – a cumbersome process we were still struggling to master.

Now we followed him around the towering concrete seawall into Yokjido, and to a small floating dock. This was one of six basic marinas that had been recently created by the city Tongyeong to promote pleasure boating on the sprinkling of islands within day-tripping distance of the city.

As I helped Jehoon with his lines I invited him and his friends to come aboard Teng Hoi for arrival drinks. “But we have nothing to bring,” one of his friends said. “We have plenty of soju to drink, just come!” I assured them.

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Minutes later Jehoon and his friends arrived, bearing instant noodles and a big packet of wet wipes. The South Korean sense of hospitality that had prompted Jehoon to invite us along, also meant these sailors could not simply drop in on a visiting yacht empty-handed.

They had to bring a gift – any gift. We humbly accepted their offerings and poured them extra shots of soju, a spirit popular in Korea and Japan, to show our gratitude as we swapped stories.

Jehoon and his friends had to turn back to Tongyeong the next day, but before he left he gave us directions to the public marina in Maemuldo, the next island to the east that we planned to sail to. We spent a day hiking along Yokjido’s soaring cliffs before setting sail. The skies were grey and overcast, but we had a light southerly wind, allowing us to cover most of the 15 miles on a beam reach.

In Maemuldo we again found simple but adequate floating docks, well protected by a massive sea wall, with water so clear we could see the bottom of the harbour. We hiked to the peak, from where we could see other rocky islands rising from the sea.

This was how we’d imagined it, exploring the myriad of islands of South Korea’s coast, interacting with local sailors, visiting small fishing ports, eating at port-side raw fish restaurants where the seafood was kept alive in big glass tanks until ordered.

But we already knew that beyond Tongyeong’s small network of marinas we were unlikely to visit the many islands we could see in the distance. We’d been in Korea for about one month, long enough to have tried, and failed, at finding a path through the country’s oppressive maritime restrictions.

South Korea seemed like the obvious next destination for us after we’d spent almost a year exploring Japan. Our online research turned up very little information on the country’s clearance procedures, but we had friends who’d cruised in South Korea decades earlier and loved it.

We’d been warned about the bureaucracy of cruising in Japan, and those fears had turned out to be greatly exaggerated, so we set off confident that South Korea would also welcome us with open arms. “There’s not much information about cruising in South Korea… that’s good, as it means there won’t be many other cruisers,” I foolishly boasted to friends.

Japan to busan

We’d left Teng Hoi in Japan’s Seto Naikai, or inland sea, over winter. It was late March when we hanked on our sails and steered for Korea with a cold, stiff wind on our nose.

The voyage from the Kanmon Straits, which connects the Sea of Japan with the Seto Naikai, to Busan, South Korea is about 120 miles. In the middle is the Japanese island of Tsushima – the Koreans call it Daemado – which has bridged the two countries geographically and culturally for centuries. It is also a clearance port, making it the perfect place to exit Japan.

We left the main islands of Japan behind us and soon we were beating into 20-25 knots with three reefs in the main and the staysail. Seas of 2-3m slowed our progress and showered the boat in spray, but we pushed on, arriving at noon the next day.

We tied up to a concrete wall in Hitakatsu, at the north-east end of Tsushima, and walked into the village. Buses were disgorging Korean tourists by the dozen, the voices in cafes were speaking Korean, and many shops accepted Korean won as payment.

Tsushima played a key role in defending Japan against invasions from Korea and China over the centuries. It was also a base for the wokou, or Japanese pirates, that once pillaged the Korean coast, and served as a trading port for the rice that Japan imported from Korea. Even today Tsushima uses unique finance and taxation systems that resemble those of Korea, despite Japanese ownership.

Early warnings

After clearing out of Japan we continued westward, again beating. Intermittent cold rain slashed at us from the west, keeping us huddled under Teng Hoi’s hard dodger.

Squalls skidded across the horizon as we motored the final miles through a shipping channel with Busan to starboard and Geoje island off to port. We were navigating across the channel when our VHF radio came to life.

“Where are you going?” a port authority official asked. We explained we were headed for Myeongdong Marina in Changwon, and that we’d already submitted all the requested paperwork.

After a long silence, the official came back to caution us about a ship that was several miles away, and far off our track. We assured him that we were keeping watch and were aware of the traffic.

The warning struck us as over-vigilant, but it was only later that we recognised it as a harbinger of our Korean cruising experience. We were in high spirits, buoyed further by sighting otters that surfaced near our boat as we neared the marina.

A commercial shipping agent, who is a friend-of-a-friend, volunteered to help us navigate our first experience with the Korean bureaucracy as we cleared in. Myeongdong is a brand new marina, and was still awaiting its new clubhouse and onshore services.

It was also a one-hour bus ride to the nearest shops and restaurants, so after a few days we decided to move on.

Southern appeal

South Korea’s best cruising grounds, and most of its yachting culture, are concentrated on the island-dotted south coast. Many owners keep their yachts on the south coast and travel from Seoul to go sailing, because the more industrial west coast has muddy waters and extreme tidal ranges. The east coast has pristine waters, but the coastline is featureless with few welcoming ports, making the south the country’s natural maritime playground.

We made plans to island-hop our way west, sizing up various anchorages to call at on the way. That was when reality set in.

We learned that any voyage of more than 10 miles from our port of clearance required us to apply to authorities both for permission to leave our port, and permission to enter a new port. Every time we wanted to change anchorage or visit a nearby island we needed to apply for permission several days in advance, providing exact departure and arrival dates – and if we were delayed by weather, all of the paperwork had to be redone.

Each port clearance costs 10,000 Korean won (around £8), and local sailors are also subject to the process and fee. We soon learned that each province, office and individual officer had their own interpretation of the rules.

Some Port Authority offices insisted we use PORT-MIS, their online registration system for commercial shipping, which is only accessible to licensed shipping agents. At the time of our visit, South Korea didn’t have any agents specialised in pleasure craft, meaning we’d need to hire a commercial shipping agent at significant cost.

Moving to a new province also required us to clear customs, immigration and quarantine at both ends. Adding a twist to the red tape, we communicated with officials using their personal email rather than a general office address, and if they went on holiday the entire process needed to be restarted with a new contact.

The officials appeared confused by our requests. Foreign visiting yachts in the past had either ignored the requirements, pretended to be a local yacht, or had remained in one port rather than cruise.

Han Kim, a director of the Gyeongnam Sailing Federation and the manager of a marina in Busan, offered us help and advice on a daily basis. He explained that recent security incidents had led to increased scrutiny of foreign yachts.

In 2020 a Korean man entered the country with a yacht he’d bought in Croatia, carrying an undeclared firearm that he used to shoot his girlfriend. Drug smugglers had used South Korean ports as trans-shipment points, creating further alarm. We were also reminded repeatedly by South Koreans that their country is technically still at war with North Korea.

Kim told us the number of foreign yachts visiting South Korea each year is in the single digits. “I think some people that have attempted to come may have been put off by the paperwork,” he observed.

So we decided to simplify our plans and sail directly to Tongyeong which, like Changwon, is in the province of Gyeongnam and is a short day trip down the coast. There was no wind, so we motored, which was just as well as the inside route forced us to wind our way through endless fish farms that filled the protected waters.

We’d noted a bridge we’d need to pass under on the north side of Geojedo. Charts showed it had 20m clearance, only 1m higher than our mast. We checked the tides, and spoke to local sailors, all of which reassured us that we’d have several metres of clearance and that they regularly passed underneath it with taller masts.

But one mile from the bridge the Coast Guard called us on the radio. “There is a bridge in front of you. It is a great danger to you,” they informed us.

I explained that the charts, tides, and local sailors all indicated that we were safe to pass through, but they were unconvinced and commanded us to stop. We were drifting within sight of the bridge when a Coast Guard boat pulled up next to us and a phalanx of boiler-suited, hard-hat wearing officials crowded their bow, waving and shouting in Korean and blowing whistles.

One of them pulled out a loudhailer. “Danger! Danger! Very big danger! You must turn around!”

I attempted to argue, shouting across the water, but Fiona turned me back to the helm. “There’s no use, you’ll never change their minds,” she said. We detoured 10 miles to avoid the bridge, with the Coast Guard boat motoring behind us for half an hour before returning to base where they continued to watch us on AIS.

In the next hours they called us on the radio several times, asking us to change our heading by a few degrees or take a different route. They even telephoned the agent who’d helped us clear into the country to ask him about our voyage plans. Part of me was incensed at their interference, but we were also amused they were taking such an interest in our safety.

At the Tongyeong Sailing School, we found our sailing tribe, with new friends like Jehoon eager to offer their help with finding fuel and parts, or navigate bureaucracy. The city, and the province of Gyeongnam, have ambitions to turn the area into a marine sports hub. Han, who completed the Clipper Round the World Race in 2015/16, has played an instrumental role in bringing the Clipper Race to Tongyeong in 2026.

Explore ashore

Once it became clear we’d not see as much of Korea as we’d hoped from our boat, we travelled inland instead. We went to a Busan Giants baseball game, stayed at a temple where we learned martial art basics from the monks, and revelled in Seoul’s sleek art museums and plentiful parks.

South Korea was electing a new president during our visit, which encouraged us to learn more about its history. Colonised by Japan, divided from North Korea after World War II by domineering American generals, it then suffered decades of brutal military rule before the bloody birth of its democracy in the 1980s. The country is dotted with museums to the democratic struggle, and its modern commitment to peace.

The inland travel was fun, and gave us a deeper appreciation of Korean culture, but we were on a sailing voyage after all and had not yet given up our aspirations to see more of the coastline. Our new local sailing friends helped us identify a string of islands to visit on our way to Jeju, South Korea’s most popular tourist island, about 110 miles south-west of Tongyeng.

This route would take us to ports in neighbouring South Jeolla Province, which increased the complexity of our plans. Fiona spent two weeks researching, emailing, telephoning and filling out forms. Then, just when we thought we were making progress, an official told our agent we were not allowed to enter port unless for repair or to change crew.

Disappointed and frustrated, we decided to instead sail directly to Jeju which, as its own province focused on foreign tourism, demanded less paperwork. Han was deeply apologetic and dismayed at the difficulties we were facing. He even wrote a letter of petition to the government, hoping to push South Korea towards realising its potential as a cruising destination.

Another tangle

We left Tongyeong and motored to nearby Bijindo, an island with a bay created by a narrow isthmus of sand, where we anchored for the night. After seven weeks in port, Teng Hoi’s hull had grown a thick beard, so we scrubbed the bottom and basked in the freedom of our only night at anchor in Korean waters.

The next day we set off for Jeju amid light winds, alternating between motoring and slow sailing whenever we had enough breeze. But soon we came across the huge floating masses of seaweed that pollute these waters each spring.

We manoeuvred around the first few clumps, but then the engine bogged as a mass of seaweed wrapped around the propeller. We reversed, but the weed clung fast. Finally Fiona donned a mask and dove into the water with a knife to cut it all away.

That night we passed through large fleets of squid fishing boats, whose brilliant lights lit up the sea for miles around and created eerie outlines of the rocky, remote islands we passed.

Jeju is known for three things: rocks, women and wind. As an island created by numerous volcanic eruptions it has plenty of jagged black rocks along its coast.

The famous haenyo are female divers who dive off its coast without scuba gear, to harvest abalone, sea urchins and other sea food. And the island was indeed windy, with unpredictable weather.

Soon after we arrived in Jeju we decided to make one more attempt at cruising, sketching out a plan to sail around the island, a voyage of about 120 miles, with stops in a few small fishing ports along the way. We soon ran into familiar challenges, and found the fishing ports that looked so inviting were closed to yachts. Instead we rented bicycles and made a six-day loop around the island.

We followed the black, rocky coastline and saw haenyo diving and bringing seafood ashore. And we pedalled hard against the wind, all the time thinking these would be excellent sailing conditions.

After a month in Jeju our South Korean visas were about to expire, and we’d finally accepted that cruising its coastline was out of our reach. We pointed Teng Hoi back towards Japan, catching steady southerly winds on our beam for a fast, smooth passage across the Japan Sea.

A few days after arriving in Japan we received a message from Han. He’d met with government officials and had been granted agent access to the PORT-MIS online registration system.

“So now I can help visiting yachts deal with all the paperwork,” he said. Fiona and I looked at each other, recalling the small islands, remote fishing ports and quiet bays we’d researched but were unable to sail to. Should we turn around and try again?

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