Widespread Damage in South by Korean Coast Continues

The charred pine stung her nostrils and the smoke stung her eyes. The resident of Seoul, 42, had driven south to volunteer three hours earlier, moved by news of wildfires ravaging her nation. Now she was confronted by a wall of heat and ash. “I just wanted to help,” she said to herself, holding onto a water bottle. Her small act of kindness encountered a disaster greater than she’d ever dreamed of — a fire that would reshape South Korean history.

The Turning Point

It started small. Sancheong County–March 21, 2025: A spark flares. Maybe it was a lawnmower, maybe an indifferent flame at a gravesite. No one knew for sure. By Friday evening, that blaze had consumed 500 hectares of forest. Dry winds screamed, driving the fire east. Uiseong County ignited next. Then Andong. In just days, more than 20 fires raged through South Korea’s southeast, a region of jagged mountains and sleepy villages.

The numbers tell a grim tale. The fires had burned 38,000 hectares by March 27 — larger than any the country had ever experienced. Homes crumbled. Temples burned. Lives ended.

Voices From The Community

Kun Yeong-nam, 72, sat on a curb in Uiseong, gazing at the charred remains of her house. She’d lived there 52 years. “It’s all gone,” she said, her voice breaking. “The fire came so fast. I grabbed my phone and ran.” Her wrinkled hands swiped through photographs of what had been — her garden, her kitchen, her life.

In Andong, a 30-year-old, Park Ji-hoon, spoke between gritted teeth. “My upstairs and next door both burned down. There are a lot of grandparents around here. They have nowhere else to go now.” He looked over at an elderly neighbor who limped by carrying a bag of clothes.

Standing among the ashes of a 1,300-year-old sanctuary was Deungwoon, the head monk at Gounsa Temple. “The buildings, the relics — 1,300 years of history, all gone,” he said softly. “Everything that we could save, we saved,” he said. “The fire took the rest.”

The People Behind The Story

Kim Hyun-jungA Seoul office worker who volunteered her time, she drove three hours to help people only to see destruction up close.

• Kun Yeong-nam: A grandmother who lost her home of five decades, she is a symbol of resilience among Uiseong’s elderly.
• Park Ji-hoon: He’s an angry young man from Andong who says he wants to rebuild for the most vulnerable in his community.
• Deungwoon: The monk who saw his ancient temple burn, he holds on to faith through loss.
• Lee Han-kyung: South Korea’s disaster chief, he’s at the helm of the fight against the flames, the toll haunting his every move.

Timeline of Events

• March 21: A fire breaks out in Sancheong County, burning 500 hectares by night.
• March 22: Wildfires spread to Uiseong and beyond. Four people are killed, including two members of the fire brigade. A state of emergency is declared.
• March 24: More than 9,000 responders and 120 helicopters fight the fires. The toll rises to 18.
• March 26: Helicopter crash in Uiseong, pilot killed The area burned doubles to 36,000 hectares.
• March 27: Death toll hits 28. On historic sites such as the Gounsa Temple, they’re gone. Rain comes — too much, too late.

Community Impact

The fires didn’t burn just trees. They uprooted lives. More than 37,000 people have fled their homes. Villages reduced to ghost towns. In Uiseong, 500 residents crowded into shelters. In Andong, schools didn’t close and became refuges as flames approached a world heritage site, Hahoe Village.

Elders suffered most. Many in their 60s and 70s could not get out fast enough. All nursing homes were evacuated in chaos. The economic blow hurts, too — factories, farms and tourism sites are in ruins. Once a peaceful getaway, North Gyeongsang province is facing years of recovery.

Behind The Scenes

Few are aware of the burden on responders. The Korea Forest Service ordered helicopters not to fly following the March 26 crash, worried about more casualties. Eight of their 48 Russian-made choppers were grounded — sanctions had cut off spare parts. “We’re spread thin,” a firefighter said off-record, sweat running down his face.

Locals speak of warnings that went unheeded. The region had been long plagued by dry conditions since late 2024. Leaves piled up, untended. Winds grew fierce. Yet, no one expected this. Human error — gravesite fires, welding sparks — struck the match, but nature stoked the fire.

Visual Journey

Picture Uiseong at dawn. Smoke thickens, a gray veil over the hills. Helicopters buzz like enraged bees, dumping water that hisses into steam. Down below, a village boring a hole through the night: rooftops ablaze, sparks climbing into the air. The air tastes acrid, dense with ash.

In Andong, Hahoe Village is on the brink. Traditional hanoks, sun the curve of their roofs, while in a desperate ring firefighters spray water. The nearby stream mirrors the fire’s dance. A single cow moos, confused within the chaos.

The ruins of Gounsa Temple smolder. Blackened beams protrude from the ground like shattered bones. A stone Buddha — spared by chance — gazes over the wreckage — serene, untouched, like a witness to millennia turned to hours.

Lessons Learned

Kim Hyun-jung learned fast. “I thought I could contribute with a few water bottles,” she said. “But this is bigger than me. “We have to prepare better — fires like this will come again.”

Kun Yeong-nam drew strength from loss. “I’ve experienced hard times in the past. I’ll start over. What else can I do?” Her determination breaks through the despair.

Deungwoon reflected deeper. “Nature teaches us humility. We build, we pray, but fire is indifferent. We must respect it more.”

An exhausted Lee Han-kyung told a local station: “Large wildfires are our future. We need more hands, more tools. This can’t happen again.”

Wider Context

The fires in South Korea are part of a global trend. Climate change desiccates forests, superheats winds and prepares the ground for catastrophe. This March’s heat — nearing 10°C above average — was five times more likely when you accounted for warming, say researchers at Climate Central. Drought had persisted since 2024, making pine forests ready-made kindling.

Wildfires are raging louder and louder around the globe each year. California, Australia, Greece—now South Korea joins the list. Humans launch them, but a warmer planet propels them. And without action, warn experts, these blazes will rewrite more histories.

In Uiseong, the wind still blows. It’s October of 2023, and there is data out there. Kun Yeong-nam, we are still there too, looking up from her curb, eyes wet but steady. “We’ll rebuild,” she says. “We always do.” Her words linger in the smoky air — a promise, a prayer, a tentative hope for a nation wounded but intact.