Across Iceland
by W. Bisiker · English · Gutenberg #46772 · 378,325 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Across Iceland
Author: W. Bisiker
Release date: September 5, 2014 [eBook #46772]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ACROSS ICELAND ***
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
--Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
--Because of the large tables in this book, it is recommended the use
of a monospaced font.
--There are two Sun symbols (a circle with a dot in the middle) in the
caption of illustration at page 70 and page 73. They are noted as Sun
symbol].
--Bold text is enclosed in equal signs: =bold text=.
ACROSS ICELAND
[Illustration: THE CAMP AT HVERAVELLIR.]
ACROSS ICELAND
BY
W. BISIKER, F.R.G.S.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS
AND
AN APPENDIX BY A. W. HILL, M.A., ON THE PLANTS COLLECTED
LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD
Publisher to the India Office
1902
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
THE PARTY 1
CHAPTER II
THE FAROES 6
CHAPTER III
THE FJORDS 16
CHAPTER IV
ACROSS THE NORTHERN INHABITED FRINGE 26
CHAPTER V
THE INTERIOR--TO HVERAVELLIR 51
CHAPTER VI
THE INTERIOR--STRYTUR AND ITS LAVA 61
CHAPTER VII
THE INTERIOR--KERLINGARFJÖLL 72
CHAPTER VIII
THE INTERIOR--HVITARVATN AND GULLFOSS 80
CHAPTER IX
GEYSIR AND THINGVELLIR 95
CHAPTER X
THE CAPITAL--REYKJAVIK 112
CHAPTER XI
IN THE WEST--TO REYKHOLT 121
CHAPTER XII
BARNAFOSS AND THE SURTSHELLIR CAVES 137
CHAPTER XIII
GILSBAKKI TO STATHARHRAUN 152
CHAPTER XIV
TO ELDBORG AND HELGAFELL 163
CHAPTER XV
STYKKISHOLM AND BERSERKJAHRAUN 172
CHAPTER XVI
THE NORTH-WEST PENINSULA 181
CHAPTER XVII
THE NORTHERN FJORDS 192
CHAPTER XVIII
ACROSS COUNTRY FROM AKUREYRI TO HUSAVIK 196
CHAPTER XIX
THE EASTERN FJORDS 207
APPENDIX I.--ON THE PLANTS COLLECTED 217
APPENDIX II.--LIST OF THE PLANTS 226
INDEX OF PLACES 233
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The Camp at Hveravellir _Frontispiece_
PAGE
In Thorshavn (Faroes) 9
The Waterfall, Seythisfjord 20
Pack-saddle and Boxes 27
Akureyri at Midnight 29
The Spit at Oddeyri 31
The Oxnadalsá cutting through a Hard Dyke 33
Moraine Accumulations and Cloud-effects at Thverá 37
The Wrecked Plane-table 40
The Northrá 41
Saddling up 42
Crossing the Herradsvötn 44
Silfrastathr Church. Asleep at Midnight 47
Crossing a small Snow Slope 52
Hveravellir--the Sinter Terraces 59
A Volcanic Vent of the Fissure Type 69
A Survey Photograph (No. 169) from Gránanes 70
A Survey Photograph (No. 183) looking towards Kerlingarfjöll 73
Ascending a Snow Slope 74
Kerlingarfjöll--Fire and Ice 75
Immense "Erratics" 81
The Pack-train crossing the Hvitá 86
A Fine Gorge in the Side of Bláfell 88
Gullfoss--Front View with "Rainbow" Effect 89
Gullfoss--Side View 89
Gullfoss--the Upper Fall 90
Gullfoss--the Fall into the Ravine 91
Gullfoss--the Ravine below the Falls 92
Below Gullfoss--Castellated Dykes 93
The Sinter Ring of Geysir 100
The Funnel or Crater of Geysir 101
Almanna-gjá--in the Rift near the Waterfall 108
Glaciated Lava Surface near Thingvellir 110
The Business End of Reykjavik by the Governor's House 115
Reykjavik--Interior of the Cathedral 117
Thorlakur and his Wife and Children at his Farm-house 123
The Thyrill Mountains 128
Miss Hastie Trout-fishing 130
Typical Icelandic Farmers 131
A Forest near Barnafoss 133
The Cascades at Barnafoss 139
The Northingafljot cutting across the Lava 143
The Double Depression in the Lava at the Entrance to the
Surtshellir Caves 144
In the Surtshellir Caves near the Entrance, showing the
water-worn lines 145
Surtshellir--the Icicle Cave 150
A Lava Arch 153
Ropy Lava at Barnafoss 154
Hannes and the Farmer in Consultation 160
Small Vent Cones 161
Hannes and Jón loading up a Pony 169
The Columnar Basalt Island, Sugandisey 173
The Berserkers' Road through the Lava-field 177
A Basalt Mountain Cone due to Erosion 183
A "Glorified" Shadow on the Fog over Veithileysa 190
Lava Pillars near Nes 201
Uxahver Geyser in Eruption 203
Bathstovukver Geyser in Eruption 204
The Procession at Seythisfjord 212
Seythisfjord--on the Outskirts of the Crowd round the Monument 213
Farewell Faroese! 215
LIST OF MAPS
Central Iceland--Plane-table Survey by the Author _to face page_ 61
Author's Route near Statharhraun _page_ 159
Author's Route--Akureyri to Husavik " 197
Map of Iceland to illustrate the Author's Route _at end_
CHAPTER I
THE PARTY
These notes, besides describing a journey made during the summer of
1900 across Central Iceland from the north-east to the south-west, give
an account of further travels by land in the west, and by sea along the
coast and into the fjords of the north-west, north and east coasts.
The voyage to Iceland was made in one of the vessels owned by the
United Steamship Company, a Danish company trading from Copenhagen to
Leith, and thence to the Faroes and Iceland.
We were six in all--a semi-scientific party. There was Miss J. A.
Hastie, a woman who has travelled much in Europe, Asia, Africa,
and America, and who is not unacquainted with our Colonies at the
Antipodes, or with the islands of the South Seas. She was specially
interested in the botany of the country, in its folklore, and in the
people. Then there was Captain W. H. Cope; he had been at sea for the
greater part of his life, and had in the course of his journeyings
seen much of the world; he was our nautical adviser, and we referred
to him in matters connected with the sea. W. Glen, Miss Hastie's
cousin, was known as the "handy man" of the party. If anybody was in
difficulties, Glen was always on the spot to lend a helping hand. He
produced all sorts of things at the right moment. Did any one require
a screw-driver, then Glen had it; want a corkscrew, Glen could supply
it; a pair of scissors, he produced them--some string, a strap, it was
all the same. If a camera struck work, Glen could render the strike
ineffective, for he carried two, and could lend one without interfering
with his own photographic work. A. W. Hill, of King's College,
Cambridge, was our botanist--who describes what he saw. H. H. Thomas,
of Balliol, paid special attention to the geological formation of the
country that we traversed, and he was frequently to be seen, camera
in hand, taking shots at interesting formations--a glaciated lava
surface, a volcanic vent, or an immense "erratic" boulder or "perched
block," for instance; he also sketched industriously, and sometimes
paced the ground compass in hand in order that he might record in his
note-book the direction of a line of fissure, or the position of hot
springs along that line; or something else of interest to geologists
in particular. I was the geographer, whose mission it was to make a
map of a small portion of the country traversed, to get a general idea
of its conformation, and to note valleys and mountains, ice-fields
and snow slopes, lava flows and hot springs, mighty rivers and tiny
rivulets. I undertook to chronicle the events of the journey and to
"take shots"--photographic shots--at men and things. We were all more
or less devoted to sport, and frequently the desire to kill took
possession of us, especially when we caught sight of duck, grouse,
or golden plover--or, when we came to stream or river where trout or
salmon were known to abound, we had a desire to cast a fly. But it was
maddening to know that our desires could not be gratified, for where
were gun and cartridges, rod and line? The man who had undertaken to
look after that branch of our preliminary arrangements had failed us at
the last moment, and it was not till too late, when we were embarking
at Leith, that we learned that he was not coming with us. It was not
his fault, poor fellow, but his misfortune. He had come a cropper from
his bicycle, falling on his head, had remained unconscious for more
than twelve hours, and had been forbidden by his medical advisers to
travel--all this we knew nothing of until we were embarking at Leith,
when it was altogether too late to procure another sporting outfit to
replace that which we had fondly believed to be already on board ship,
but which was really lying many miles away, far beyond our reach. But
I will hasten over a subject that awakens the most tantalising of
recollections, for many were the opportunities that were missed.
One Saturday in June 1900 we embarked upon the steam-ship _Ceres_, and
early in the afternoon set sail from Leith on our voyage North. All
the morning the weather had been fine, and it promised to continue so
before we started, but we had scarcely reached the open sea before
we entered a fog, which increased in denseness as we progressed. As
a consequence the steam-whistle was sounded every few minutes, much
to the discomfiture of many of the passengers on board; but Miss
Hastie seemed to rise above such petty annoyances, for she took her
seat on deck immediately beneath the whistle, and this spot was her
resort during the whole voyage, notwithstanding the fact that the
fog continued at intervals for the greater part of the journey, and
that the steam-whistle frequently made day hideous with its noise.
Conversation with her when the fog was densest was difficult, for it
was punctuated--very incorrectly as a rule--by the shrill blasts that
broke in suddenly and without warning, often causing the thread of a
discourse to be lost, or an interrupted remark to fall flat on being
completed, or perhaps repeated, when silence once more reigned.
As a result of the fog we proceeded at half speed only, and during
the night the whistle was most aggressive, causing one's slumbers to
be somewhat broken. In my own case the steam-whistle was not the only
disturbing influence at night, for my cabin companion had a noisy way
of enjoying the repose of the just, and often the intervals between
the blasts were filled in with sounds that resembled the rumbling of
thunder, and not very distant thunder either.
The second day out was a repetition of the first as regards fog,
progress made, shrill whistling, etc. The vessel glided on slowly and
smoothly, and we employed the time, when not eating and drinking, in
the way usual at sea--by reading, chatting with our fellow-passengers,
and comparing notes of former travels, varied now and then by a
"rubber," or a stroll on deck for exercise. Meals were served at the
following hours: 8 A.M., coffee and rusks; 10 A.M., breakfast; 3 P.M.,
dinner--the chief meal of the day; 8 P.M., supper. At breakfast and
supper there were many dishes of smoked, uncooked food--fish, meats,
sausages, etc.; but the members of our party did not take very kindly
to these uncooked delicacies, and they were left for those who relished
them--the Danes, Germans, and passengers of other nationalities, of
whom there were many on board.
The fog cleared in the evening and the South Ronaldshay light was
sighted. Several members of our party looked with no little interest
at the headland, especially our nautical adviser, Captain Cope, for he
had had a very unpleasant and dangerous experience thereabouts only
two months before: he had been wrecked not far from it in the Shetland
steamer, the _St. Rognvald_, which broke up and became a total loss.
The vessel struck in the middle of the night, and he escaped in a very
light and airy costume, consisting of a suit of pyjamas and an overcoat.
Next morning the weather was remarkably clear and bright until
breakfast time, when we entered other fog banks and remained more or
less in them until late in the afternoon; but on nearing our first port
of call we emerged into clear weather.
CHAPTER II
THE FAROES
The first sight of the Faroes was impressive. The bold outlines of the
islands were well-marked features. The dip (or tilt) of the ancient
lava flows could be traced from one island to another. A dome-shaped
block, Lille Dimon, was the most striking island, while the almost
perpendicular escarpments of Skuo stood as evidence of the power of the
stormy Atlantic, whose seas continually beat at the base of the cliffs.
Trangisvaag, in the island of Sudero, was the first port of call. In
the fjord leading to it the cloud-effects were many and very fine. As
the warm, moist air coming in from the sea was carried against the
cool faces of precipitous lava mountains, so the moisture condensed
and swept along their sides, at times completely hiding the highest
points from view; but the effects were ever-changing. Fine specimens of
jointed basalt are these mountains; flow upon flow can be traced for
miles in almost horizontal parallel lines. But little vegetation is to
be seen--the total absence of trees, a little grass, and much peat moss
are the features that first appeal to one who is not a botanist.
Ashore one is first struck with the Faroese themselves: they are a fine
race, and retain their native politeness and independence of character;
they are courteous in the extreme to strangers. Most of the men are
fishermen or sailors, and many, through their consequent contact with
English-speaking people, can converse in good understandable English.
A small trade is done in wool, and we met two of the islanders, fine
types of the race, returning from their day's work; they were quite
picturesque figures, for, besides being attired in the national
costume, they had wound round them a quantity of wool, which in these
islands is generally plucked, not shorn, from the sheep's back. The
national costume consists of a sort of brewer's cap, having red and
blue stripes as a rule, a cloth tunic, a waistcoat, and knee breeches
split at the knees, but very rarely buttoned, rough woollen stockings
and skin shoes. The fishermen often dispense with tunic and waistcoat,
and wear in their place a woollen jersey with long sleeves, that has
a strong sheepy smell, having a particular pattern worked in pale
blue and red on a white ground. The women I saw wore dresses of white
striped cotton stuff, no ordinary head covering, but shawls across the
shoulders, which were often pulled over the head, and wooden clogs on
the feet.
All the buildings at Trangisvaag are built of wood so far as the
superstructure is concerned, the substructure often being made of
blocks of basalt. The roofs of the oldest buildings are covered with
grass; the bark of the silver birch is put on the rafters, which is
then turfed over, the grass as a rule growing luxuriantly during
summer--thus are the roofs made water-tight. The most modern houses
are covered with galvanised iron, but as they are not numerous the town
is decidedly picturesque. There are several ancient-looking wooden
buildings, the church being one of the oldest, with a record of fifty
years.
I have stated that most of the male population are fishermen,
consequently the chief trade of the islands is in fish--cod-fish.
The fish, as soon as brought to land, are cut open by women (who all
work at this industry also); they are then washed in water, sometimes
sea-water and sometimes fresh, and stacked in heaps with plenty of salt
between the layers. They remain so for perhaps three months, covered
with tarpaulins held down by heavy lumps of basalt. When properly
salted the fish are washed and spread on a floor laid with slabs of
basalt. When dry, the fish are stored in sheds, where they are packed
in bales ready for export to Spain or Italy, which are the chief
markets for salted cod.
The town of Trangisvaag is on the northern side of the fjord at the
base of high weather-worn basaltic crags, which frown down upon it and
form a grand background. There is a quantity of peat moss on the slopes
at the foot of these mountains, often scored deeply by the numerous
watercourses.
At Trangisvaag it was quite evident that we were approaching the
Arctic circle, for at midnight there was light enough for the houses
and other objects on shore to be seen from the vessel's deck, half a
mile distant, and to enable me to write up notes without the aid of
artificial light.
We steamed out of Trangisvaag fjord in the early morning, but as
the weather was dull and cloudy we could not see much of the small
islands, Lille Dimon (Little Diamond) and Store Dimon (Great Diamond),
for they were cloud-capped and otherwise much obscured by drifting
clouds. A few hours later we anchored opposite to Thorshavn in the
island of Stromo, the capital and chief town of the Faroes.
[Illustration: IN THORSHAVN (FAROES).]
Thorshavn is a very quaint and picturesque place, and many are the
peculiar buildings and dwellings in the heart of the town, where the
streets are very narrow indeed. No general plan has been followed in
the laying out of the town, for the streets run in all directions, up
and down hill, and along valleys or depressions in the ground. The
styles of architecture are various--a single-storied picturesque shanty
of ancient style, with grass-covered roof, having opposite to it a
pretentious modern building roofed with galvanised iron, which rises
high above, its three stories quite overshadowing the humble neighbour.
These turf and grass-grown roofs are a feature in the appearance of
the town. The general absence of trees is striking, though one notices
with something of surprise the almost tropical luxuriance of foliage
in some of the gardens that are more or less sheltered from the strong
winds which so frequently sweep over the islands. The only tree I saw
there worthy of the name was a sycamore in the front garden of a very
picturesque cottage standing on a rather elevated site in the middle of
the town.
We had not all brought oilskins, so Thomas and I visited several stores
in the course of a search for some--at one of them they had coats only
for sale, at another there were nether garments and sou'-westers in
addition, but oh, how oily they were, and sticky! and how smelly! Had
we purchased, no doubt it would have added to our safety when crossing
ice-fields or lava flows, or when ascending snow slopes, for we should
undoubtedly have found ourselves stuck fast to saddles on the occasions
when the ponies were endeavouring to get rid of us by their frequent
stumbles. But we would have none of the oily, sticky, and smelly
garments.
I strolled about, camera in hand, and found that many of the women and
girls were quite anxious to be photographed; at one spot I came upon a
group of women squatting on the ground; as I approached, several others
hastened to join the group, at the same time inviting me to photograph
them, which I did. Shortly afterwards my films came to an end, so I
made a journey to the _Ceres_, which was lying at anchor half a mile
from the shore, in order to reload the camera.
I engaged two young Faroese to row me to the vessel, and on arrival
enjoined them to await me that they might put me ashore again; when,
however, I had changed the films and was ready to return, they were
nowhere to be found--the young beggars had gone off with another fare,
and had left me to my own devices and to the off chance of a "lift"
in another boat. I felt much inclined to make a murderous attack upon
the Queen's English, to say nothing of the young Faroese had they come
my way while pacing the deck in impotent wrath; but I was obliged to
restrain myself, for there was no one with whom I could with justice
quarrel, so I suppressed the rising ire, and went in search of somebody
who could speak my native language. In the end I found a Faroese with
some knowledge of English, and arranged for a passage in a cargo-boat
then about to return to the shore. Soon I was being conveyed from
the _Ceres_ at the rapid rate--for a very heavily laden cargo-boat,
that is--of about a knot an hour. However, I reached the shore in due
course, just in time to join our party at lunch at the hotel, where
they were being entertained by a fellow-passenger. A merry meal we
had, and in the course of it our host joined us in criticising the
appointments of the table, but, in spite of a few makeshifts, they were
not at all bad, and the meal itself was decidedly good.
The voyage to Klaksvig was of much interest, for our course lay in
channels between islands and in fjords. The formation of the basaltic
hills was most striking, the many pyramidal shapes impressing us
greatly. There were numerous dykes in the mountain side, deep ravines
scored perpendicularly in the basaltic formation, where softer
intrusive material had been eroded more rapidly than the rock on each
side. At the entrance to Kalsofjord (the channel between the islands of
Kalso on the west and Bordo and Kuno on the east side) there was a very
strong current flowing against us in a southerly direction; a course
was therefore steered close in-shore to avoid the full strength of the
current in mid-stream. Klaksvig lies in a bay in the island of Bordo,
and to reach it a turn has to be made eastward between the islands of
Kuno and Bordo. At the entrance to the bay anchor was dropped, and
there we remained all night. We were close to the southern end of the
island of Kuno, where a very fine specimen of a pyramidal mountain
frowned down upon us from the height of nearly 2300 feet--it is a
pyramid that might well cause the shade of Cheops, if ever passing that
way, to hide his diminished head and fade into oblivion. We witnessed
some very fine cloud-effects in the course of the journey to Klaksvig,
for the clouds drifting over the high hills often streamed away far to
leeward of them.
During the voyage I often wrote my notes somewhere about midnight, and
this night, while thus employed in my cabin, my "stable companion" took
it into his head that I was preventing him from the proper enjoyment
of his slumbers, and growled out something to that effect; so, to
avoid raising his wrath, I interrupted the course of the notes and
turned in; but it was not to sleep, for I had scarcely laid head upon
pillow before certain sounds from the bunk below made it evident that
unconsciously he was going to turn the tables upon me, and that, by
stertorously enjoying his slumbers, he would prevent me from peacefully
enjoying mine. After several ineffectual attempts to stop the snoring,
I at last fled to the saloon, far out of range of the noise, and there
reposed in peace for the rest of the night.
At Klaksvig Miss Hastie, Hill, Thomas, and myself went ashore. We
hunted the "lions" in couples: Miss Hastie going off with Hill to
seek specimens first of all, while Thomas and I were bent on making
a trial survey of the bay of Klaksvig, just to keep our hands in. We
did this before visiting the "lions," which here assume the shape of
whales, or rather whales' skulls, a number of which have been built up
so as to form a dividing wall between two properties. On one side of
this wall there is a cod-liver oil factory, which we inspected; it was
not quite so smelly as are some factories where shark or whale oil is
produced--but more of that anon! One of the vats was full of a rich
brown liquid, which we were informed was unrefined cod-liver oil. The
oil is exported in that state after being run into casks, many of which
were strewed on the hillside. A pretty picture was seen near the wharf,
where several young women were busily engaged washing cod-fish in a
bath under cover of an open shed. A portion of the town of Klaksvig
is built on a narrow strip of land that separates Klaksvig bay from
Borovig bay--a strip that has been formed partly of moraine debris,
and partly by the silting up of shingle by the sea. Facing Borovig bay
there is a row of boat-sheds that are peculiar in that they are built
of boulders in a small break in the sloping shore, and that the roofs
are formed of smaller boulders laid upon a wooden framework. The roofs
did not seem capable of keeping out much rain, and doubtless they were
not built for that purpose, but for keeping out the snow during winter
when the boats are laid up.
In the evening we left Klaksvig and proceeded into Kalsofjord, past
the great pyramid; but its lofty head was under a cloud, so we could
not admire its full proportions. Passing up the fjord the atmosphere
cleared, and one could not help being much struck with the grandeur of
the scenery. High precipitous mountains rose up on each side of the
fjord; at a first glance, one would say that there was very little land
at their foot suitable for cultivation, or for grazing purposes, so
near to the water's edge did the mountains seem; but we saw many farms
there, and several villages, picturesque places with quaint-looking
buildings, nestling in hollows at the base of the hills. What soil
there is must be very prolific, judging from the population settled on
it. On the west side, and near to the north end of the fjord, there
are some very fine specimens of common basaltic land forms--two grand
corries, a fine dyke, some sheer faces of rock, and as we passed by
the end of the land an almost sheer precipice which faced west came
into view, while standing out at its foot there was a solitary basaltic
column. When coming up the fjord the steam-whistle was frequently
sounded in order that we might hear the very fine echoes for which it
is noted; the interval is a long one, some three or four seconds. At
the corries the sound echoed and re-echoed until it finally died away
in the heights above.
On emerging from the fjord and putting out to sea, we encountered a
slight swell from the west, so the vessel rolled a bit; it was really
not much, but being the first time during the voyage, it was much
disliked by those who were not proof against _mal de mer_. The clear
atmosphere was soon left behind, for we entered another fog bank when
only a few miles distant from the land. At once the music (!) of the
steam-whistle was resumed, and our ears were again tortured by its
shrill blasts.
CHAPTER III
THE FJORDS
Next day rain, fog, and mist prevailed, so there was much whist-playing
and smoking below, and much blowing of whistle above. Towards evening
we were off the coast of Iceland; the land was not visible, for we
were enveloped in fog, but there was no doubt about it, for we could
_hear_ that land was not far distant. It may seem strange, but it was
a fact, we were really feeling our way along the coast by the aid of
the steam-whistle. The land thereabouts rises abruptly from the sea,
and the echoes from the sheer faces of rock enabled the officers of the
vessel to judge their distance. We went dangerously near to another
vessel in the fog, but soon afterwards it cleared off a bit, and there,
just abeam on the starboard side, was the other vessel, sufficiently
close to be a dangerous neighbour in thick weather. At midnight we
were going full speed ahead, but when I awoke at seven in the morning
it was to find that our experiences of fog were not at an end, that
we were again in a very dense one, and that we were lying-to. After
breakfast it lifted sufficiently to allow of a course being shaped for
Northfjord, our first port of call in Iceland. Much of the scenery
of this fjord was obscured by the thick atmosphere, but occasional
glimpses through rifts proved that we were missing many fine scenes
that are on view when the conditions are favourable. The first sight
of Iceland was obtained at Dalatangi Point, four or five miles to the
north of the entrance to Northfjord. In the fog we had gone too far
north. Other glimpses on the way were of a corrie near Dalatangi, and
the face of the mountains near Mjofifjord. Our stay at Northfjord was
of but short duration, and there was no time to go ashore, so the only
view we had of the town was obtained from the vessel's deck.
We had a number of Faroese passengers on board, bound for various ports
in Iceland; they were good types of the race, and I obtained permission
to photograph some of them.
Seythisfjord was not far distant, and in a few hours we were steaming
up the fjord towards the town at its head. The scenery and geological
structure of these fjords were similar to what we had passed through
two days before in the Faroes. Towards the head of the fjord there
are many waterfalls on the mountain-sides; in fact, it is a district
of waterfalls, for there are some fine ones up the valley, where a
fair-sized river and its various tributaries rush down from all sides
in a series of great leaps and bounds over ledges of rocks fifty,
sixty, a hundred feet high, finally joining and tumbling over the
lowest ledge in a grand cascade (which I photographed) to the river
below--the "valley of waterfalls" would be a descriptive name to bestow
upon it.
It was at Seythisfjord that we first set foot upon the soil of
Iceland. We were conveyed to the shore by the steam-launch and boats
from a man-of-war, the Danish guardship, that was lying in the harbour.
We were so honoured because the captain of our vessel was an officer
in the Danish Navy, and it was intended as an attention to him. It
seems that some of the vessels belonging to the Company are captained
by officers of the Navy, who are appointed to the command by the
Danish authorities as a sort of reward for services, for during their
term--three years, I think--they draw their pay as officers of the Navy
in addition to what is due to them from the Company.
On shore our party split up as usual, Miss Hastie and Hill going off in
search of plants, while the "Nautical Adviser," Thomas, and I wandered
along the sea-shore and into the town. We were pestered by an Icelander
having a very crude idea of the English language who had been imbibing
the "lemonade" of the country, and if he had not "three sheets in the
wind," at least there was one little sheet flapping about, the end of
which was flicking at us at inconvenient moments. We tried to shake
him off, but it was of no avail. He had a notion that we wanted a
guide to conduct us into the interior of Iceland, and he claimed to be
very competent and to know everything of the country. We did not doubt
his competency, or if so we did not inform him, but tried to make him
understand that we had made our arrangements for guidance, and that the
men we had engaged were teetotallers. For a long while he dogged our
footsteps, and it was not until we had got clear of the town and were
making tracks up the valley towards the waterfalls that we lost him.
On the way we joined Miss Hastie and Hill, who seemed quite satisfied
with the result of their grubbing amongst what--to those of us at least
who had not been educated botanically--looked like very common weeds.
Together we slowly, very slowly, made our way up the valley, for there
were many stoppages while plants were being dug out and transferred to
small tin boxes that looked like tobacco tins--indeed, I think they
were originally intended to hold the "weed" of the smoker and not
"Weeds--various." So much time was occupied by these stoppages, that at
last it became a question whether we should be able to reach the lowest
and, as we believed, the finest of the waterfalls, for we were expected
to be on board at a certain time, in readiness for departure; the
question was much debated, and there seemed to be a general desire to
discuss the matter rather than to make the attempt to reach the fall. I
determined to try, and was informed that I should miss the steamer.
I could see the misty spray rising from the fall not a mile distant,
so I set out across swamps and peat bogs, caring but little for such
trifles, for I had resolved to see that fall. Well, I _did_ reach the
fall, and after photographing it, crossed the river just below it, and
returned on the other side of the valley. It was a rather difficult
journey, for I had a severe cross-country course to cover, with a
number of fairly long jumps over the mountain streams on the way, but,
nevertheless, I reached the _Ceres_ half an hour before the other
members of the party. Then, strange to say, none of them seemed to
believe that I had reached the waterfall at all; but the photograph of
it is the best evidence that I can offer in support of my contention
that I did.
[Illustration: THE WATERFALL, SEYTHISFJORD.]
The soil at Seythisfjord looked very good, and would doubtless yield
good crops were the summer a bit longer and the ripening power of the
sun rather stronger. There is much peat and boggy land on the slopes
below the steep escarpments on each side of the fjord, and in the
river-flats up the valley; many ponies are grazed here, and as some of
the boggy land is being drained by deep dykes, the number is likely to
increase; the peat that is removed in cutting the dykes is built up at
their sides to form dividing fences.
The valley at the head of Seythisfjord is a fine specimen of the result
of sub-aerial erosion, for its form is due to the denuding action of
frost and snow, wind and rain, storm and sunshine. There is a vast
corrie at the head, which is shelved in a series of steps right down to
the flat through which the river meanders. It is at these shelves or
ledges of the harder strata that the waterfalls and cascades already
mentioned are to be found--there, where the river and its branches rush
over the edge of one terrace and plunge down to the next.
This being our first experience of the Icelanders, our attention was
attracted by the peculiar headdress worn by the women, which is common
to all classes--a small black knitted cap, about four or five inches in
diameter, from which a silver tube hangs suspended at the side of the
head; through the tube is strung a number of cords or silken threads
that hang down as a tassel.
We ought to have sailed late in the evening, but a thick fog settled
over the land and prevented a start. Wonderful echoes can be produced
at Seythisfjord; the steam-whistle was sounded several times, and
the sound echoed and re-echoed again and again, the reverberation
continuing for many seconds before it died away in the distance among
the mountain tops. Fog and misty rain continued through the night and
well into the small hours of the morning; but at about five o'clock it
lifted sufficiently to allow the _Ceres_ to put to sea. Progress was
slow, and the frequent blasts of the steam-whistle that disturbed our
morning slumbers indicated the state of the atmosphere; however, we
entered Vopnafjord soon after mid-day, and shortly afterwards came to
an anchorage opposite the town.
Vopnafjord is one of the homes of the eider duck, and it was on the
rocky islets opposite to the town that we first saw those birds in
their natural surroundings. We borrowed one of the ship's boats and
rowed over to the rocks. It was difficult to get near, for the ducks
were very shy--more so than usual just then, because many had young;
but as they were too young to fly, we did get fairly near by rowing
round their rocks. The nesting season was over, and many of the birds
had gone away. The production of eider down is an industry that is
increasing; the birds are rigorously protected, and a fine of ten
kronur (eleven shillings) is the penalty incurred by any one killing an
eider duck.
In the afternoon we went ashore in a hired boat that leaked very badly;
but we reached the shore without anything very exciting happening.
The return journey, however, was attended with considerable risk,
for in the meantime the wind had risen, and there was a nasty choppy
sea beating against us when we attempted to make the _Ceres_. Water
entered the boat through the leaky spots, and more was shipped; we were
near being swamped, but we made the gangway, and got on board without
anything worse than a wetting. At the various ports of call there was
often considerable difficulty in obtaining a boat, and the passenger
wishing to get ashore had to take whatever craft was available, for
they were very scarce. Often they were dirty and very leaky. Sometimes
a passage was refused, and on one occasion a cargo-boat starting for
the shore declined a fare of two kronur, although going direct to the
wharf not far distant--the Icelander is an independent personage, and
unless it suits his convenience he sometimes refuses a job.
While at Vopnafjord we met with a man, an Icelander, who could speak
a little English; we soon discovered that he was proud of having
acquired a few British swear words. Thomas and I were taking shots at
a number of fish-cleaners at work on the beach, when this man came
along; we had previously been in conversation with him, so he remarked
airily as he passed that the result of our snap would be "a hell of
a picture." We laughed, but he went on a few paces and then stopped
beside a fellow-passenger, a man of strict views and ideas, who was
photographing the same subject. The Icelander, encouraged, I suppose,
because we had laughed, went one better on what he had said to us, and
gave his opinion that _this_ result would be "a blank, blanketty blank
picture"!--he seemed surprised at the freezingly cold way in which his
remark was received.
We left Vopnafjord in the afternoon and in four hours made Langanes,
a narrow, flat-topped peninsula several miles long, a perfectly
horizontal lava flow, with faces that rise vertically from the sea;
the section is exactly the same, whether through the end or side of
the peninsula. The whiteness of the points of rock and of the face
generally, evidenced the fact that many sea-fowl resort there, and that
the rock-face is covered with a deposit of guano.
At midnight we were inside the Arctic circle, and had the weather
been favourable, we should have seen the sun just above the horizon.
But His Majesty was not on view, for though the fog had lifted in the
morning and had enabled us to make Vopnafjord, the weather had been
dull all day, with the sun quite obscured, and the same conditions
prevailed through the night. It was a pity, because it would probably
be our only chance of seeing the midnight sun, for next day we should
be in Akureyri, a town lying at the head of a long fjord, and nearly a
degree south of the Arctic circle, where the view would, we thought, be
obscured by intervening hills and mountains.
Husavik in Skjalfandi was our next port of call, and we arrived there
early enough in the morning for us to go ashore before breakfast.
Thomas and I were interested in a reported "raised beach"--land
originally formed on the margin of the sea, and subsequently raised
by tectonic (subterranean) disturbances to a height above sea-level.
Miss Hastie was also desirous of seeing the raised beach, and trudged
along with us over the hills to the bay where we expected to find
it; but on arrival we could see no raised beach: there was some
volcanic conglomerate, the rounded and smoothed stones of which had
perhaps caused it to be mistaken for a raised beach--unless, indeed,
we ourselves were on the wrong track and had mistaken the spot;
nevertheless, there was nothing else in view that looked like what we
were in search of, so we returned to Husavik over the hills again.
Not long ago these hills were completely covered with fine yellow
ferruginous loam--a comparatively recent deposit; but it is now being
rapidly eroded, and the older moraine beneath laid bare.
At Husavik there is a great accumulation of moraine matter that has
been brought down from the valley at the back. It is a terminal
moraine that comes right down to the sea, which washes at the foot of
its almost vertical face, fifty to sixty feet high. The town stands on
the edge of the moraine, and the only approach from the pier is by a
long flight of wooden steps; goods are conveyed in trucks that run up a
steep inclined tramway, and these are raised and lowered by cables and
the use of a windlass and friction brakes. Behind the town great fields
of peat are being excavated and stacked ready for use as fuel.
On the voyage from Husavik to Akureyri, one of our fellow-passengers
was the Icelandic minister of the church at Akureyri, a man who had
a very fine tenor voice, the best in Iceland according to repute; at
our request he sang to an accompaniment played on a small harp by a
travelling companion. One thing he sang was the Icelandic National
Hymn, entitled the "Hymn of Praise," composed by S. Sveinbjornsson to
celebrate Iceland's thousand years of freedom. The thousand years were
completed in 1874 (874 to 1874), and the fact was celebrated in that
year with festivities and general rejoicing, the King of Denmark taking
part in them.
On our arrival at Eyjafjord in the afternoon, the weather was clearing
up, and as we steamed up the fjord fine views opened out, and we saw
many excellent cloud-effects. After about three hours' steaming up the
fjord we reached Akureyri, the town next in importance to Reykjavik,
the capital, and came to an anchorage there at about eight o'clock in
the evening.
CHAPTER IV
ACROSS THE NORTHERN INHABITED FRINGE
[Illustration: PACK-SADDLE AND BOXES.]
The next day was a busy one with us, because Akureyri was to be our
starting-point for the journey across the interior, and there were
numerous preliminary arrangements to be made. The fogs and thick
weather had delayed our arrival at Akureyri by a day. We ought to have
set out from Akureyri on the day after our arrival, but the delay at
sea had rendered that quite impossible, as may be imagined when I
mention the facts that besides personal effects there were provisions,
tents, bedding, etc., to be packed; that we were eleven persons in
all (our own party of six, a conductor and manager of affairs, and
four guides), and that thirty-eight ponies were required for our
transport. Of course arrangements had been made for all this long
before our leaving England; ponies and everything else were there,
but all required a lot of "licking into shape." Our manager was up to
his eyes in it all day. The members of our party, however, had less
to do, for when we had bought oilskins and sundries, and had sorted
out and packed our personal effects into boxes specially made for the
purpose--boxes that were to be carried on the ponies, one on each side
of the pack-saddle--we were free to do as we liked for the rest of
the day. It happened to be the anniversary of the Celebration of the
Thousand Years of Freedom, and a festival was being held in Akureyri;
so, on attaining _our_ freedom, we made our way towards the fête
ground, a spot named Oddeyri, a sort of suburb about a mile away, on
a spit of land running into the fjord. There we found the Icelanders
assembled in force. People from all the surrounding country were
there--men, women, and children; all had come on ponies, which were
dotted about in groups, or straying separately over the spit--there
were hundreds of them. The Icelanders were amusing themselves much as
would the villagers at an English country fête. They were eating and
drinking, and engaging in contests of various kinds. Races were being
run, there were gymnastic competitions on "horse" and horizontal bar,
and there was some wrestling also. The last was decidedly good and
interesting. Each competitor grasped his opponent's right shoulder
with left hand, and with the right took a firm hold of the other's
waistband. Then the fun commenced. The opponents danced around each
other, watching for opportunities. Their movements were very amusing,
but some of the throws were very cleverly effected. In the evening, at
about 8 P.M. that is, dancing commenced. A platform had been prepared
for the purpose; this was railed round, and there were seats, on which
the girls sat awaiting partners. The custom in choosing a partner is
for the man to approach the lady of his choice and bow to her; she
acquiesces by rising from her seat, when the couple waltz off together.
Just before the dancing commenced, a good-humoured, rubicund man,
short of stature, whose well-rounded figure denoted that he was not
averse to the good things provided by the gods, ascended a rostrum
at one end of the platform, and from there addressed the assemblage.
To us who were not acquainted with the Icelandic tongue, his remarks
were unintelligible; but by those around who were listening to his
utterances, they seemed to be much appreciated, and their smiles and
laughter showed that the orator, a fluent speaker, was a popular man
and a humorist of no mean order; indeed, one had but to look at his
expressive face when he was speaking to learn that he was a "funny" man.
[Illustration: AKUREYRI AT MIDNIGHT.]
Between the town of Akureyri and the basaltic mountains to the
westward that rise to a considerable altitude, there is, filling
the interval, a series of morainic hills, the material of which has
come down the Eyjafjorthará valley, or from the mountains beside it.
These hills present the appearance of a terrace partly worn down and
scored by the action of water and melting snow. No doubt the basaltic
mountains once formed the side of the fjord. An hour or so before
midnight, Miss Hastie, Thomas, and I climbed the hills to the terrace,
in the hope of getting a glimpse of the midnight sun, for the night
was almost cloudless. The sun was shining brightly, but it was quickly
approaching some mountains near the entrance to Eyjafjord, behind which
it would soon be hidden. We failed in the object of our climb, for the
mountains referred to were of considerable elevation. Time would not
allow us to attack the mountains in the rear of Akureyri and ascend by
midnight to an altitude above that of the obscuring hills, so we had
to descend unsatisfied. Though we did not actually see the _sun_ at
midnight, we could see its _light_ shining on the mountain tops two
or three miles away, and we knew that it was above the horizon. So
good was the light that Thomas and I took photographs of the town, one
looking north and the other south, just at midnight--with stop _f32_,
exposures of one minute and one minute and a quarter were required for
medium plates.
We were to have made a start at eleven o'clock the next morning, but
fate was against us. At the appointed hour the members of the party
were ready and waiting, but guides, ponies, pack and riding saddles,
tents, provisions, etc., were _not_ ready, and we could not well
start unless they were. Saddles and gear required many repairs--most
of them had been hired, and they were not in the best condition. Our
manager of affairs was to be seen flitting about settling up accounts,
giving directions to the men, inspecting saddles, bridles, girths,
and gear, and generally trying to reduce confusion to order. For an
hour or more we were amused, but then we began to get impatient. Three
of us got hold of a saddle and bridle, and we tried the paces of a
few of the ponies. In that way we put in an hour or two that might
have proved irksome, for everything was in such a state of confusion
and unreadiness, and the space in which the men were working was
so confined, that _we_ could render no effective help. Instead of
starting at eleven, it was half-past three before we got away--four and
a half hours late!
[Illustration: THE SPIT AT ODDEYRI.]
We made a slight stir as we clattered along the main street of the
town, for it was the largest expedition of the kind that had ever set
out from Akureyri, and the progress of our thirty-eight ponies was
watched with some interest by those of the townspeople who were on the
street. Our way lay beside the fjord, and we proceeded for several
miles in a northerly direction. Our _general_ direction across the
island was, as a rule, southerly and westerly, but it was necessary
to turn the end of a mountain chain before we could shape a more
direct course. On we went, past Oddeyri, the scene of the previous
day's festivities, until we reached the Glerá, where we had our first
experience of fording an Icelandic river. It was not very deep, and it
was but a foretaste of a series of more difficult fordings, not a few
of which were serious undertakings, and not to be attempted without
proper consideration. To this river, the Glerá, the formation of the
spit at Oddeyri is due. The detritus brought down by its waters and
deposited in the fjord has been gradually banked up by the tides and
storms coming up Eyjafjord. Along the shores of the fjord we passed
over extensive ancient moraines; then by a detour we worked round the
edge of the moraines, which form the end of the mountain range, and
entered Horgadalr (the valley of the Horgá). From a spot where we had
lunch, or whatever meal it might be called--it was our first since
breakfast--we overlooked the valley of the Horgá. On the far side
there was a green, fertile-looking spot, and large buildings, which
we ascertained to be the Akureyri agricultural grounds and college,
presided over by Professor Jón Hjaltalin. To the right the river ran
into the fjord through the valley, once, no doubt, an indentation of
Eyjafjord. At the mouth of the river a small delta is in course of
formation, which should develop into a spit similar to that at Oddeyri.
[Illustration: THE OXNADALSÁ CUTTING THROUGH A HARD DYKE.]
Proceeding up the valley of the Horgá, many interesting-looking peaks
attracted our attention. The valley and its branches having been
eroded out of basalt, the mountains and valleys are characteristic
formations--pyramidal peaks, steep escarpments, deeply-cut gorges, with
roaring torrents rushing down in a series of waterfalls and broken
cascades; there are vast quantities of scree on the mountain-sides
covering the terraces of the lava flows, and accumulations of similar
material at the foot of the mountains, forming a talus. Moraine heaps
are also numerous. Higher up the valley, just above the confluence of
the Horgá and the Oxnadalsá, there is a very striking scene, where the
last-named river has carved its way through a very hard dyke, the sides
of which extend into the river, and stand there like an immense wall
with a gap through it. While proceeding up Oxnadalr (the valley of the
Oxná = oxen), which is very picturesque, we saw some fine cloud-effects
as the moist air condensed and drifted just below the mountain tops.
The river Oxnadalsá takes its name from the valley, Oxnadal. This is
one of the few exceptions from the general rule, which is for the
valley to take its name from the river--_dal_ = valley; so, instead
of Oxnadalsá, the rule would make it Oxná. Along this valley all the
depressions in the hillsides are filled with quantities of peat. Peat,
peat bogs, and swamps are very common throughout Iceland, and in most
of the depressions in the hillsides and along the river valleys a peaty
growth is to be found.
For several hours in the course of the day we were accompanied by a man
travelling the same way and driving a pony laden with pieces of rather
ancient shark. When travelling in company, the ponies have a way of
crowding together, and unless very careful, one becomes painfully aware
of the fact when box or bundle brushes in no gentle way against one's
legs. Now the strange pony with the ancient shark at its sides was of
a very friendly disposition, and evinced a desire to fraternise with
our ponies, choosing the riding ponies for his special attentions, the
result being that we had some difficulty in avoiding contact with the
evil-smelling stuff. With this exception not many incidents worthy of
special mention occurred on this our first day in the saddle; there
were several breakdowns, however. The saddlery was not in the best
possible condition; it was mostly old and weather-worn, and a great
deal of it was very rotten. This became more apparent the farther
we went: breakages were numerous, straps snapped, and pack-saddles,
bundles, and boxes broke away and were deposited by the wayside;
while the ponies, glad to have got rid of their loads, careered gaily
on. There was much bustle and confusion, rushing of guides (the men,
whether acting as guides or not, are all called guides) after the
ponies. "Helvit!" they would shout, as another strap broke and a bundle
trailed on the ground, bumping against lumps of lava, by the pony's
side; then they would urge their steeds into a fast run or a canter,
whistling a soft, long-drawn-out note to induce the pony in front to
stop. To urge on the pony they utter a shout that sounds like a cross
between "haw" and "hoch." "Hoch! hoch!" they shout, and sometimes bring
their whips down with a swish upon the haunches of the nearest pony.
When they wish a pony to stop or to slacken speed they whistle gently.
We soon found that it was useless to click or to shout "Get up!" or
"Wo!" to a pony. He did not understand it, so we had to make use of the
sounds that they could recognise.
The first day's journey was not a very long one, seven hours only in
the saddle, and we reached our first camping-ground at about half-past
ten. Thverá was the name of the farm-house beside which we camped.
The buildings were of very primitive construction; they were built in
the usual Icelandic style: turf walls and roof; wooden floors to the
best rooms, and earth or lava blocks to the others; glass windows.
The kitchen in most of the humbler class of farm-houses is a picture,
and this one was typical; it was lighted only from the roof, and the
openings served also to ventilate the room and to act as smoke shafts.
A peat fire was burning in the corner of the room, and the air was
filled with the smoke that rose from it and circulated round the room
before escaping through the openings in the roof. It had an earth
floor, and at the side of the room there was a well about twenty feet
deep, that supplied beautifully clear water for culinary purposes. A
large cauldron stood over the fire, containing some savoury mess in
course of preparation for the family's next meal.
We had four tents, two large ones and two smaller; but on this occasion
we only made use of one of them, for four of our number slept at the
farm-house. For the rest of the journey across Iceland, however, all
four were in use. The two large ones were square "Bell" tents: one was
used for meals, and in it the conductor and his four guides slept at
night; in the other, Hill, Thomas, and I camped. Miss Hastie used one
of the smaller tents; while the "nautical adviser" and the "handy man"
occupied the other.
We did not make a start the next day till half-past one; it was
several hours after that agreed upon, but we very soon learned that
unpunctuality, delays in starting, and consequent waste of time would
mark the journey; this was chiefly due to the rotten state of the gear,
for several hours were spent every morning in patching up and tinkering
at the packs, boxes, and saddles that had come to grief during the
previous day--each day had its record of breakages and damage, and
each morning its hours devoted to making repairs. All this was very
annoying, and it made another guide almost a necessity to relieve one
of the English-speaking guides, so that he might go on with us while
the others were occupied with the repairs. This would have caused
things to work better, but unfortunately no other guide was available.
We were already on the edge of the fringe of population inhabiting
the regions near the seacoast, and we were fast approaching the
uninhabited interior; there were no spare hands on the farms that we
passed, so we were obliged to go on short-handed--short-handed _only_
because of the continual breakages. The guides that we had could not
have been improved upon: they were all first-class men, each was up to
his work, and worked with a will; they were all Icelanders possessing
small farms of their own, and two of them, Sigurthur and Hannes, spoke
excellent English; Thorlakur was a beginner at it, but we generally
managed to understand one another; the fourth man, Josef, was the only
one who had no knowledge of our language. We were on excellent terms
with all the guides, so things worked smoothly between us.
[Illustration: MORAINE ACCUMULATIONS AND CLOUD-EFFECTS AT THVERÁ.]
On leaving Thverá our way, as we ascended some three or four hundred
feet to the head of the valley, lay at first over a vast accumulation
of moraine matter, piled high up on all sides. Our camping ground had
been at the foot of this accumulation, and opposite to it on the other
side of the valley there were also great heaps of similar stuff, while
on the highest part of the range there was a very fine pinnacle rock,
rising several hundred feet higher, and standing out sharp against the
clear sky.
I had a bad day of it, being quite out of luck. The conductor
accidentally backed his pony upon me, and my right foot was crushed
and bruised beneath one of its hoofs; but worse was to come. About an
hour after we had started, and when we were getting well up into the
moraine, I heard a shout. "Helvit! Helvit!" cried one of the guides.
On looking ahead I saw a pony running amuck through the rough broken
lava and great boulders; he had got rid of most of his load, but
something green was trailing at his heels. In horror I watched the
pony's wild career, for the "something green" I recognised as the cover
of my plane-table--one of the instruments that I had brought for the
purpose of mapping a portion of the interior. This plane-table had
been strapped on the top of some packs containing bedding, in order
that it might ride on something soft and in safety. I comprehended
what had happened. As usual something had given way, the packs and my
plane-table had got loose about the pony's heels, and all had been
kicked off _except_ the plane-table, which had been made fast by one
of its straps to a ring in the pack-saddle, and as the strap was sound
it had held on. Well, there was no mistaking its Willesden canvas
cover--there it was, trailing along at the pony's heels, being kicked
and banged against boulders great and small, just as they came in the
way. Bumpity-thump it went along the ground, and with a crash it struck
the boulders! The table was ruined, for it trailed a mere crumpled mass
without definite shape. There was an end to prospects of mapping. I
watched the pony's career for a moment, more in sorrow than in anger,
then I urged my own pony into a canter, and came up with the runaway
just as one of the guides caught him. The wreck of the plane-table was
soon detached from the pack-saddle; a hasty inspection proved that my
fears were confirmed: the table itself was represented by a couple of
strips, the rest of it was missing; the tripod stand and the alidade
ruler were also missing. The guides scoured the neighbourhood of the
pony's course, and after a while one of them turned up with one or two
strips of wood, pieces of the plane-table, and placed them beside the
others. I looked on listlessly until another guide brought in a long
green case. This did not seem to be much damaged, so I hastily examined
the contents (the tripod stand and the ruler), and found to my joy that
they were practically uninjured; a few bruises to the legs did not
matter much, for they did not affect the stability of the stand--both
alidade and stand could be used! I then turned to the wreck of the
table itself and examined the pieces; they were not complete, two or
three were missing, but I noticed that although all the screws had been
wrenched out, and the apparatus for fixing the board to the stand had
also been wrenched off, yet the breaks and splinters were all along the
grain of the wood. The guides went over the ground again, and brought
back one or two additional strips. I then roughly put the pieces
together, and found that except for a few splinters I had got them all,
and that _none_ was broken _across_ the grain; the two cross-bars for
the back, the last pieces found, were also unbroken. It looked as if it
might be roughly mended, _if_ only the necessary tools were available.
[Illustration: THE WRECKED PLANE-TABLE.]
The views in the valley of the Oxnadalsá were fine, and the river
scenery where the water had carved deep down through the lava and tuff
was very bold, the red and blue tints of a quantity of scoria on the
steep banks adding to the effect.
In the evening we crossed the water-parting, or divide, between the
Oxnadalsá and the Northrá rivers, and at night camped beside a farm
known as Fremrikot near the head of the valley of the Northrá river
(Northradal). It was a picturesque spot, and the Northrá is typical of
the smaller rivers of the country, the valley filled with alluvium and
the river meandering through it, though when in flood not much of the
alluvium can be seen.
[Illustration: THE NORTHRÁ.]
In the morning I amused myself by taking photographs. I caught the
women and children from the farm sitting with their backs against
an earth-built fence looking with interest at, and discussing, the
preparations then being made for a start; these preparations are shown
in the view looking down the valley of the Northrá where saddling up is
nearly completed.
We received a check this day, and made very little progress. We started
gaily enough and fairly early, as times went with us--that is, we
got away a quarter of an hour after mid-day--and pursued our way
along Northradal. There were several fine gorges with torrents coming
down from the mountains into the Northrá; one especially attracted
us, where a big snow-water torrent rushes between great buttresses
of rock standing on each side. There is a bridge across the gorge,
for the torrent is quite unfordable. After about two hours' riding
down the valley of the Northrá to its confluence with the Herradsvötn
we soon reached Silfrastathr, where, in a picturesque spot, there
are a farm-house and a small octagonal church. Here we lunched and
made a long halt while the guides went on to ascertain whether the
Herradsvötn, one of the big rivers of the journey, was fordable. It
was past five when they returned with a local guide and the news that
it could not then be forded, because the water from that day's melted
snow was coming down and the river too much swollen. On a warm day the
snow in the mountains melts rapidly, and a large increase in the volume
of the water results; so that there is much more coming down in the
afternoon than in the early morning before the sun's heat causes the
snow to melt.
[Illustration: SADDLING UP.]
Farther on, when describing one of the quicksand rivers that we
crossed, I refer to the dangerous nature of their passage; but I find
it necessary to make special mention of the subject here, for while
revising these notes, bad news reached me concerning the Herradsvötn.
In July last year an accident happened at this river which resulted in
the death of our "conductor" of the previous year. We did not regard
the Herradsvötn as a quicksand river, but it seems to be one, for the
account of the accident states that our conductor's horse got into
a quicksand and threw his rider, who was carried down the river so
quickly by the swift current that no assistance could be rendered, and
he was drowned, his body not being recovered until two days afterwards.
Poor fellow, his first crossing with us was accomplished safely, and I
little thought that I should have to record his death as the result of
the second attempt. I happened to take two photographs of this river,
one having Maelifellshnukr in the background, and showing the many
streams into which the river is split up, the other showing the members
of our party about to cross the first stream. Fourteen of the ponies
can be seen in the latter, but the great majority of the pack-ponies
were ahead, out of the picture--it was impossible to get a string of
thirty-eight ponies into one quarter-plate view; the conductor leads
our party, and is the first following the tail of the pack-train, he
with right hand behind back. The danger in these quicksand rivers is
due to the fact that the sands are continually shifting; in the summer
each day has its flood of snow water which scours the bed of the river,
removing the sand from one place and depositing it in another, so that
one definite course cannot always be followed when crossing; what is a
good ford one day is impassable the next. With a river split up into
about twenty streams the difficulties of fording can be imagined, but
not appreciated until experienced, and the dread with which all the
guides regard the rivers where quicksands are known to exist cannot be
wondered at.
[Illustration: CROSSING THE HERRADSVÖTN.]
As the river was not fordable, there was nothing for us to do but
await the falling of the water, and then attempt the passage. The delay
enabled me to try my hand at repairing the plane-table. The "handy
man" was useful on this occasion, as on many others, for he produced
from his capacious pockets a wonderful knife. Now this knife had a
screw-driver blade that enabled me to countersink a number of holes
in the cross pieces, thus permitting the short screws to "bite" in
sound places in the broken pieces of the table. In a couple of hours
we emerged triumphantly from a room in the farm-house that we had
"commandeered" as a workshop, with the patched-up wreck bearing some
semblance to a plane-table; it was certainly not in any way perfect,
but it looked as if it might with care be used.
In the afternoon I was about to take a photograph of the farm-house;
there were several girls standing in front of it, who, when they saw
me point my camera, at once took to their heels and ran away (much to
my surprise), laughing merrily as they disappeared through an open
doorway. Thereafter when they saw me camera in hand they always bolted
for the house; this made me determine to have a photograph of them; so
I lay in wait, and when next they were running away, I took a snap as
they were making straight for the doorway; the photograph, however, was
a failure.
Maelifellshnukr, a prominent feature in the landscape here, is a
mountain between three and four thousand feet high; it is prominent not
only from Silfrastathr, but it can be seen from many places within a
radius of sixty or seventy miles, and I afterwards saw it from several
widely separated spots.
The pronunciation of some of the Icelandic words is rather puzzling to
a new-comer; for instance, the first part of the name of this mountain
is pronounced as if spelt may-lee-fettle--_tl_ instead of double _l_.
The churches in Iceland are often put to strange uses (strange to
foreigners, that is); many are the property of the farmers on whose
land and beside whose houses they are built. A clergyman often has
three or four of these farmers' churches in his district, and he holds
occasional services in them. It is a custom, when the farm-house has
not proper guest-chambers, for travellers to sleep in the church, and
_we_ did so in that at Silfrastathr, Miss Hastie using her own tent as
usual. Our beds were arranged some on the floor and others suspended
between the seats. The following photograph of the interior of the
church taken at midnight shows some of our party peacefully slumbering
in their beds.
Next day we made an early start, for we got away soon after ten
o'clock, in order to ford the river before the melting snow caused
the waters to rise. There was a considerable difference in the level,
for I found on going down for my tub that a small branch in which I
had the previous afternoon tested the temperature of the water was
non-existent. This temperature-testing had caused some fun, for in
using my sling thermometer for the purpose, I tied it to the end of my
riding-whip, and thus held it suspended in the stream. Hill, catching
me in the act, made a sketch which he entitled: "Our lunatic fishing
with his thermometer as bait," and handed it round at our evening meal.
The report of the local guide as to the state of the river was a
favourable one, so we proceeded down to the Herradsvötn, and prepared
against probable wettings. Each had his own fancy for keeping out the
water. Miss Hastie wore india-rubber top-boots--I have omitted to
say that she rode astride, by far the best way for the rough work in
Iceland; the "nautical adviser" used waterproof leggings, the "handy
man" top-boots, Hill sheep-skin top-boots of native manufacture,
Thomas did not seem to care whether he got wet or not, while I put on
india-rubber shoes and chanced the rest. There were some interesting
and picturesque costumes in the group.
[Illustration: SILFRASTATHR CHURCH. ASLEEP AT MIDNIGHT.]
When all was ready, the local guide led off with some of the pack,
three of our own guides following with other sections of it; the
conductor went next, and the members of our party followed; I stayed
behind for a few minutes to photograph the crossing of the first branch
of the river, and then brought up the rear with the other guide.
The river runs over a very broad bed and is divided into something
like twenty streams, so a considerable time--about half an hour--was
occupied before the last stream had been forded. The water was rather
deep in some of the branches, and came up just to our knees. We made a
very satisfactory crossing, and reached the other side without incident
worth recording; a few hours later it would have been impassable again.
The river was no doubt "up" when our conductor lost his life.
While crossing the river there was a very distinct mirage effect when
looking down it towards the sea. Some of us took shots with cameras,
but nothing resulted; it was too distant.
Two days before, and again during this day, there were breakages
innumerable; the state of the pack-saddles, packs, straps, girths,
bridles, etc., was simply disgraceful--there is no other word for it!
Several falls had been due to the breaking of reins or girths, and
by the end of the day there was scarcely a member of the party who
had not come to grief in this way. Thomas, who was riding a spirited
beast, came two croppers through his reins breaking: the second time
his pony rolled upon him and he strained a muscle in his side; this was
unfortunate, for he felt the effects more or less to the end of the
journey. From the river valley, where Thomas had one fall, we ascended
to the top of Tungusveit, a long narrow ridge that extends for about
twenty miles, dividing the Herradsvötn and Svartá rivers. These long
ridges, with rivers flowing in parallel lines on each side, form one
of the geographical features of Iceland. Many of them are to be seen in
different parts of the country. From this ridge, on which there were
many "erratic" boulders, a fine view of Maelifellshnukr was obtained;
at the foot of the peak beyond the Svartá there is a series of morainic
hills.
At Maeælifell below the mountain there is a parsonage and farm-house,
where we halted for a light luncheon. At these farm-houses milk and
coffee can always be obtained, and sometimes excellent homemade
biscuits and cake also, and these delicacies were forthcoming here. The
Icelanders are noted for the good quality of their coffee, which may be
regarded as the national drink.
Up to this point we had followed the more or less beaten tracks pursued
by farmers and others in travelling from farm to farm; but we were
now on the extreme edge of the fringe of population, and were about
to plunge into the uninhabited interior. We decided to attack a route
that had been used years before by the settlers and farmers--when
the present good and frequent service of coasting steamers was not
running--to convey fish, other provisions, etc., from and to the coast
and across the island, and we found it a very interesting one.
We proceeded up the valley of the Svartá for a few miles over
accumulations of river deposits, till we reached Gilhagi farm-house,
where we halted for our mid-day meal. This was the last house met with
on the north side of the desert and ice-bound interior, and we did
not again see signs of habitation till arriving within two days of
Reykjavik.
Mention must be made of an amusing misunderstanding that had occurred
on the score of matches. It seems that the "nautical adviser" before
leaving Akureyri had inquired of the conductor whether he had plenty of
matches, and the latter had replied that he had plenty--and so he had
for the ordinary requirements of the camp, but not for the general use
of smokers; the conductor in his reply had thought only of the camp,
while the other had asked from a smoker's point of view, hence there
was an approach to a famine as regards the smokers, and it was pathetic
sometimes to see the "nautical adviser" and the "handy man" carefully
husbanding a match, in the hope that the supply would hold out to
Reykjavik.
At Gilhagi the women were washing wool; there was a fire in the open
beside a small stream of water, and on the fire a cauldron, in which
the wool was boiled; it was afterwards washed in the running water.
CHAPTER V
THE INTERIOR--TO HVERAVELLIR
We were delayed for about two hours while waiting for the farmer to
conduct us over the mountains; it was necessary to take a local guide,
for none of our own men had ever been over the ground. When we did
move on we tried to make up in pace for the delay; we made good time
in ascending steadily from the valley over great accumulations of
moraine matter and by ancient tracks through hummocky land. Riding
through this hummocky ground sometimes requires the exercise of
considerable caution. The continuous traffic of generations across the
hummocks wore innumerable tracks, which have since been kept open by
the weather, and deepened in some cases. Many of them are very deep,
occasionally reaching almost to the knees. One has to raise first one
foot and then the other to prevent their being badly crushed, or to
avoid being unhorsed by contact with the sides as the ponies go on at
a fast jog-trot. One member of the party caught both feet against the
sides of the ruts, with the result that he was thrown forward, when he
affectionately clasped his pony round the neck.
As we continued to ascend we met with a new experience, for we had to
ride up one fairly long snow slope and several smaller ones, following
in the tracks of the pack-train over the beaten-down snow. We were then
at a considerable altitude, perhaps 2500 feet, and we entered what is
known as Litlisandr, the little sand waste. Its name does not quite
describe it--waste it is, and desolate enough, but there is not a great
deal of sand in the part that we traversed, and we passed through its
middle. It is an elevated moraine, comparatively flat, with a number
of small lakes whose existence is due to a series of drift dams. It
was very cold while we were crossing Litlisandr, for the icy wind
was blowing strongly in our faces, so the latter part of the day's
journey--a long one, for we did not reach camp till just a quarter
of an hour before midnight--was made under considerable personal
discomfort.
[Illustration: CROSSING A SMALL SNOW SLOPE.]
The going was very rough, and some very steep slopes had to be
descended after crossing the _sandr_, and nothing but the sure-footed
ponies of Iceland could have got down them in safety. These ponies
are hardy little beasts, averaging about twelve hands; born and bred
in the hills, they are accustomed to forage for a living in the
roughest country, and their experiences there cause them to become
the sure-footed beasts that they are. They seem to run on three legs,
for they always have a spare one ready for emergencies. Some of them
stumble badly, but as a rule they do not, and it is a very rare
thing for a pony to come down. It is wonderful how hard they keep on
nothing but green feed; they never see a bit of "hard tack," yet, when
required, they can jog along for twelve hours or more and be fresh at
the end.
After descending from the _sandr_, we traversed more moraine matter
until we reached our camping-ground at Athalmansvötn. Here there are
two lakes, and it was on the banks of the more northerly Athalmansvatn
that we camped. At the end of our journeys, especially when arriving
late, as we did on this occasion, our hands and feet were icily
cold--so cold that, to induce a better circulation, we were wont to
seize mallets and drive in tent pegs, or to do something else requiring
vigorous muscular exertion.
On our way over the _sandr_ we saw the most magnificent sunset effects.
Indeed, it was often our luck to witness the glories of an Icelandic
sunset.
Towards morning a gale of wind struck us, and threatened to blow our
tents into the lake. Fortunately the tents and their cords were sound,
and the pegs driven well into the ground, so we escaped the discomfort
of a sudden exposure to wind and weather.
Next day we reverted to the usual habit of starting late; but on this
occasion it was excusable, for our dinner, or supper, or whatever name
may be applied to our third meal, was not finished till past 1 A.M., so
a start at 1 P.M. was not so late as it appeared. As it was difficult
to draw a line between day and night, an hour or two one way or the
other did not matter very much.
Some of our party had hurts which they nursed tenderly: the "nautical
adviser" had a knee, Thomas a side, and so on; and great was the
consumption of "Elliman's" and "Homocea," advantage being taken of the
halts to rub in one or other of these remedies for ills of all kinds;
but the "nautical adviser" and Thomas did not seem to take much heed
of their hurts when they were in the saddle, for they rode hard enough
over the rough moraines that we crossed. At first our course lay over
soft peaty ground, but afterwards we were obliged to pick our way over
expanses of great boulders. We had to ascend for a while, but suddenly,
from the ridge at the highest point in our ascent, there was opened to
us a fine panoramic view of two of Iceland's great ice-fields, Hoff
Jökull and Lang Jökull. A number of prominent peaks stood out boldly,
chief among them being Hrutafell, Skeljafiall, Kjalfell, and those of
Kerlingarfjöll.
Our next experience was in crossing a wind-blown sand desert, where
the wind blew the sand in clouds across our path and we had ocular
demonstration of the work performed in such regions by the wind, where
great clouds of sand sweep onward day after day, encroaching upon the
land and continually altering the surface features. Although this is
a genuine _sandr_ it is not so marked on the maps. We covered several
miles before we got clear of this sandblown desert and entered a region
of ordinary moraine matter.
After lunching beside a small brook we continued over the moraine to
the river Strangákvisl. The pack had gone on ahead while we were at
lunch, but one guide was left behind to pilot us across the river,
which is noted for the number of quicksands in its bed. There is a
considerable spice of danger in crossing these quicksand rivers, for
a pony sometimes gets into the soft treacherous bottom, and the rider
runs the risk of a ducking, even if nothing more serious happens. The
guides have a wholesome dread of the rivers where quicksands are known
to exist, and not without due cause. No definite and fixed course can
be taken--the quicksands are always changing their positions. The guide
went first, as usual, and we were preparing to follow, when suddenly we
saw his pony falter and then plunge wildly as he sank into soft sand.
The guide was about to jump into the water in order to relieve the
pony, and to distribute the weight over a greater area--this is always
done as soon as the nature of the bottom is ascertained--when the pony
struggled upon a hard bottom and righted himself. Another course was
then chosen, and we all got over without finding any quicksand.
A succession of moraines brought us to the banks of a broad river,
the Blandá, having several channels and a reputation for quicksands.
By this time we had caught up the pack-train, but we waited while it
crossed the river, one guide staying behind to pilot us after the pack
had safely accomplished the crossing. The guide marked with big stones
the point of entrance and then watched intently--as did we all--the
passage of the river by the pack. It was forded, however, without
misadventure, so we followed carefully in the track pursued by the
train. The conductor's pony slipped in the middle of the river and
nearly threw his rider into the water, but a quick recovery by the pony
prevented a disagreeable wetting and an uncomfortable ride. We had a
third river to cross before the day's fording was over. A quantity of
moraine and hummocky land intervened, but that was traversed without
incident worth recording. The third river is a second Blandá, a branch
of the other Blandá; it is really the main river whose proper name is
the Beljandi, but the people do not recognise that name, or so speak of
it. Although not a quicksand river, most members of the party narrowly
escaped coming to grief. It was very deep at the start, and there were
some deeper holes not far from the bank; it had to be entered at a
very sharp angle, and with a bit of a drop close to the steep bank.
Miss Hastie was the first nearly to come to grief: her pony suddenly
dived into one of the deep holes, and she herself was taking a header
when her pony made a wonderful recovery from its plunge into the hole,
and set her straight again; she, however, was unfortunate in straining
her side, but she afterwards pluckily kept on the way; all the others
following, with one exception, got into one or another of the deep
holes; but they all escaped complete submersion, though wetted about
legs and feet. I was the exception, for I was riding last--a position
that enabled me to profit by the misfortunes of the others and avoid
all the holes. I had a way frequently of bringing up the rear, because
of stoppages made to take passing shots with camera at things of
interest. This camera was always strapped to one of the rings of
my saddle, where, on a comfortable pad on the off-side, it rode in
safety--except when I happened to bring my whip down heavily upon it
instead of upon the pony. The result of these stoppages was, that there
was sometimes a delay in the crossing of a river, or a wait at an
awkward spot, or at a point of divergence. It often happened that in
coming up with the main party, I found my companions shivering from the
effects of inaction in a cold wind--the wind _is_ cold when it blows
from one of the ice-fields--and in a frame of mind that must have been
affected by the wind, judging from the freezingly cold manner in which
I was received.
After crossing the river, we continued along near to its banks for
several miles. In a pool just below some small rapids, the only rapids
we had seen, there were several swans. Our course lay, as usual, over
moraine matter and hummocky land, but there was a big patch of black
sand composed of fine lava particles that we had to cross. Thus we
proceeded until reaching Hveravellir, our next camping-ground, where we
found a complete change in the appearance of the country.
We seemed to have got clear of hummocks and boulders, and to have
reached the margin of fairyland, for we found ourselves, with grass
around, looking at a series of hot springs, fumaroles, and sinter
terraces, down which azure blue water trickled, lodging in a number of
basins in the terraces, and adding by its colour to the beauty of the
scene. Visions of the delights of a natural warm bath rose before me
as I looked upon the terraces, recalling the luxury of bathing at the
Pink Terraces in New Zealand, before their destruction by the eruption
of Mount Tarawera. There are many pleasures in anticipation, for we did
not enjoy warm bathing here; we had none; the water was too hot and
the basins too small--though there was one small pothole in which the
water was not very hot, where one could, with the aid of a big sponge,
imagine better things, for the water did not look clean and sparkling
and blue as in other basins.
Miss Hastie might have had an awkward experience at the spring where
she elected to perform her ablutions, of whose periodical activity
she was at the time unaware. During breakfast, one of the guides
informed us that the small geyser Miss Hastie had been using as her
hot-water tap had "gone off." Subsequent experience proved such pools
untrustworthy for washing of any kind. A number of handkerchiefs left
by themselves to soak were found an hour or two later making their
way down an escape hole in the basin, and one that had been entirely
absorbed by suction was _not_ returned during a subsequent eruption by
the dishonest geyser.
We erected our tents beside a blue warm-water stream facing the sinter
terraces, and as the next day was Sunday, we camped there for two
nights. We all took a number of photographs of the terraces and the
hot springs, and tried to catch the small geysers when they erupted, as
with a few exceptions they did at short intervals; it is true that the
eruption was not very violent, and the water was not thrown to a great
height, three feet, perhaps, being the maximum.
[Illustration: HVERAVELLIR--THE SINTER TERRACES.]
The next day was devoted to exploring the surrounding neighbourhood,
and the different members of the party were struck with different
features. Thomas and I set off together. We made for the higher ground,
and looked round; we at once saw that we were at the edge of a recent
(geologically) lava flow. About four miles distant there stuck up two
horns, which we afterwards discovered to be the only prominent remains
of the cone of the volcano, Strytur, whence the lava had been ejected.
Strytur stands in the middle of the long strip of country lying
between, and about equidistant from, the two great ice-fields, Lang
Jökull and Hoff Jökull, the area of each of which is roughly about five
hundred square miles. The strip is about _fourteen_ miles wide at its
narrowest part (not eight as shown on the existing maps), and extends
north and south about twenty-five miles. Strytur is on the divide, or
water-parting, between one system of rivers flowing north and another
flowing south, and it stands on the highest part of this strip of land.
The lava, as it issued from the volcano, flowed north and south down
gentle declivities, and spread out east and west almost to the outlying
ranges on the margins of the ice-fields. North it extends to just
beyond Dufufell, and south almost to Lake Hvitarvatn. I had come to
this part of the country intending to make a quick survey of it as we
traversed it from end to end; Thomas also wished to note its structure,
so we both looked with interest over the expanse of broken lava spread
out before us. It was the roughest possible country to survey (as was
subsequently proved), and we were not altogether taken with the task
before us. We made our way to a prominent peak of lava that rose forty
or fifty feet above the general level, and thence looked around. I
wanted a line on which to base my survey, and I decided that this peak
and a similar peak, lying in an easterly direction about a mile away,
would be suitable elevated ends for a base line.
CHAPTER VI
THE INTERIOR--STRYTUR AND ITS LAVA
I commenced my survey the next morning before breakfast, when I went
out to the first position on the lava-peaks and there set up the
plane-table, that table which had so badly come to grief at the heels
of the runaway pony a few days before. My drawing-paper had been kicked
to pieces and was quite useless, and it was only by a chance that I was
able to attempt a survey at all. At Edinburgh, just before starting,
Thomas bought two or three small sheets of drawing-paper for his own
work, in order to be independent of my supply; it was lucky that he had
done so, for I was thus able to borrow from him. The size of the sheets
was much smaller than mine, and they did not nearly fill the table;
it did not much matter though, for part of the table was quite unfit
to work upon, because of the long holes where splinters were missing;
of course, the area of country capable of being mapped on a sheet was
reduced according to the size, and it meant the use of a greater number
of sheets of paper, which was a disadvantage; but the board of the
plane-table _could_ with care be worked upon, and there _was_ paper
available. Having set up the plane-table in position, I erected a
flag-post and returned to camp to breakfast. I found that Thomas had,
in the meantime, made a small survey on his own account of a line of
fissure running through the hot springs of Hveravellir, and had located
the position of the springs on that line.
The morning was so beautifully fine, and the sun shining so brightly,
that we breakfasted in the open at tables erected in front of the
tents. We photographed the camp and the party, with the guides at ease
close by. The frontispiece is from a negative, the property of Miss
Hastie, which was taken by the conductor. Our meals were not always
taken under such favourable conditions--the weather, as a rule, was
not good enough. We generally had them under cover of a tent, where
we messed in much closer quarters, small accidents being not uncommon
in consequence. One morning they were more numerous than usual: the
soup took a long time to boil, and when at last it was hot enough, the
conductor stumbled and spilled some of the precious liquid over the
"handy man," who would have preferred an internal application; then
somebody upset the coffee; soon afterwards ominous creaks were heard to
proceed from where the "nautical adviser" was seated on his camp-stool,
which finally collapsed, and our heavy-weight measured his length on
the ground. But such incidents as these, trivial as they were, served
to enliven us; they were specially diverting when the weather was
adverse.
The weather gave promise of great things, so Thomas and I started away
for our first position full of good intentions. I soon got to work, and
made excellent progress with my plane-tabling; but gradually there was
a change, the sky clouded over, and before long rain began to fall;
now, to work at a plane-table in the rain is impossible, so I had to
stop. We decided instead to measure along our base line towards the
second position at the other end of it. We started in a drizzling rain,
which increased as we proceeded; it was very difficult work, for the
line was over the roughest possible lava-field. We made good progress,
however, but when we had measured thirteen-sixteenths of a mile, it was
raining so heavily that, wet through as we then were, and with boots
filled with water, we resolved to abandon work for the day. After we
had started in the morning, the rest of the party proceeded to the
next camping-ground, a few miles farther on, at Thjofadal--a valley at
the foot of the big mountain of the region, Hrutafell. For this camp
we made tracks over a perfect wilderness, where the fantastic shapes
assumed by the lava were most wonderful. There were vents innumerable,
including a number of the fissure type; arches, too, that had resulted
from side pressure; also many other peculiar forms: pillars, circular
vents, etc. On nearing Thjofadal we emerged from the lava and entered
upon the moraines at the foot of the range bordering the great
ice-field of Lang Jökull. Passing over one of the spurs running down
from this outlying range, we dropped by a steep descent into the valley
of the Thjofadalsá, a small stream on the south side of the ridge
known as Kjalhraun (lava ridge) that crosses the lava-field by way of
Strytur, the highest spot in it.
The next morning Thomas and I returned to our first position.
Originally most of us had intended to make an attack upon Hrutafell,
the giant peak of Lang Jökull; but the rain had delayed my work by
the greater part of a day, so Thomas and I had to give up all idea of
attempting the ascent. The idea was finally abandoned by the other
members of the party, but a preliminary survey of the difficulties was
made by the conductor, who thought that he could see a way that might
render a successful ascent possible. The "handy man," being released
from the Hrutafell expedition, offered to lend a hand in measuring
the remainder of the base line, so he accompanied us back to position
number one; we also took Thorlakur, one of the guides, with us. On the
way, which was along the foot of the range outlying Lang Jökull, we had
to pass over a small snow-field, close to which we came upon a good
specimen of ropy lava.
After taking several photographs from my first position, we proceeded
along the base line to where a staff had been left to mark the point
already reached, and thence continued our measurements to the second
position at the other end of the base. We found the two positions
to be nearly a mile and a quarter apart. A more difficult piece of
measurement could not be imagined, taken as the line was over the
extremely rough surface of a broken-up scoriaceous lava-field. We
remained at the peak forming the second end of the base line for
several hours, during which period I was very busy at the plane-table.
We then proceeded towards the volcano, Strytur, across the lava, and
found it a scene of the wildest and most fantastic desolation--a
constant succession of rough lava, ropy surfaces, vents, arches,
snow-fields, and small lakes of icy coldness formed by melting snow.
Occasionally we had an unpleasant variation, for there were many bogs
that appeared to be quite solid until the plunging of a pony, as it
sank into one of them, told us that the apparently hard-looking surface
was a mass of mud with a number of lava blocks and stones set in it.
Arrived at Strytur, another indescribable scene of desolation met our
view. The lava was twisted and contorted in the wildest manner, and
mixed in the utmost confusion. The volcano has two craters, inner and
outer; the former rather more than three-eighths of a mile, and the
latter nearly five-eighths in diameter. The two horns are of peculiar
shape: the western horn being but an isolated pinnacle rising less than
a hundred feet above its surroundings; the eastern horn is another
isolated peak, but though one side of it is perpendicular, and goes
deep down into the inner crater, the other side falls gradually away in
the typical slope of a volcano. These two horns stand up as distinct
landmarks, and can be seen from a great distance to the north; in the
south, however, they are hidden, by intervening hills and mountains,
from many places that are but a short distance away. The inner crater
contains much lava debris, some of the blocks being of enormous size,
while in several places there is snow of unknown depth.
My third position was on the highest point of the eastern horn. The
wind was very cold, blowing as it was direct from the ice-field, and
my companions who had but little work to do had a trying time of it
in such an exposed position. They stood shivering in the cold, but
descended after a while to the foot of the horn, whence they whistled
away at short intervals in an endeavour to hurry me over the work;
but as there was no rain, I had, in spite of cold winds, to stick to
it, and take advantage of the opportunity to work at the plane-table.
I was hailed with delight when I did descend--delight at the prospect
of getting away from such a bleak, inhospitable spot. The view from
Strytur looking towards Hrutafell and the ice and snow field of Lang
Jökull is very fine. Once more we crossed the lava-field and made the
best of the way to our camp at Thjofadal.
Next day I was obliged to go on with my work without a companion,
and had not a smooth time of it altogether; things did not go right.
Over-night I had determined to fix my fourth position on the mountain
Rauthkollur, the highest point at the southern end of the outlying
range of Lang Jökull. I set out alone, for Thomas was in trouble with
his side, and the "handy man" did not look upon the expedition with
much interest, for the weather was most unfavourable for any one
not having special work to do--rain, hail, snow, and blow were the
conditions that held during the whole of the time that I was away from
camp. The way lay up a steep gorge between the mountain and a spur
running down from near the end of the range; the slopes of the gorge
were covered with scree that gave way at every step, and often I slid
back several yards before I could stop myself. The climb was a stiff
and very uncomfortable one, laden as I was with instruments, glasses,
camera, and plane-table; but by sticking to it I gradually ascended
yard by yard. I got off the scree whenever possible, and climbed up
the course of a small mountain stream; but there were many waterfalls
that could not be climbed, which caused me to return to the scree again
and again, often sending the loose material flying down in a series of
landslips. Higher up I skirted several small snow-fields, where better
progress was possible, for the scree at the edges of the snow did not
slip away so freely. The ascent would have been easy enough had I not
been so heavily and awkwardly laden, or had my hands been free.
At the summit of Rauthkollur a glorious view rewarded me. In front
stretched the great ice-field of Lang Jökull; away to the left was
the giant Hrutafell: three of its glaciers faced me, while a fourth
could just be seen at right angles to the others. The back of this
mountain merges in a series of hills that are set in the ice of Lang
Jökull. Below Hrutafell, and at the foot of the ice-cap of Lang
Jökull, a perfect network of streams came from the snow and ice; it
was interesting to trace their meanderings as they ran into stream
after stream, until finally all joined in one swift-running torrent
and flowed at the foot of the moraines below Hrutafell. Away to the
right I looked along the outlying range, on the end peak of which I was
standing, and down into the valley between the range and the ice-field.
In spite of the adverse weather, my plane-tabling was very successful
from this station; its commanding position enabled me to obtain a good
view of the surrounding country, not only over the ice-field, but
also over the country from which the ascent had been made. I looked
down into Thjofadal, right over the mountain Thjofafell, across the
lava-field to Strytur and Kjalfell, and to the ice-field of Hoff Jökull
beyond. Showers had to be dodged and plane-tabling done when it did
not rain or snow; but I filled up the intervals by taking several
photographs, and by making a boiling-point observation for altitude,
also clinometer observations for calculating the heights of surrounding
peaks.
The return to camp was made at a quicker rate than the ascent; but I
met with a nasty accident, by slipping on a stone in the gorge and
diving head first down a small waterfall into a pool of water below.
The plane-table turned over, and coming upon me, pinned me down in the
water for a few seconds; the camera was underneath in the water, which
was flowing through it, for the outside case was not water-tight. I
extricated myself in course of time, not much the worse for the fall;
a badly bruised knee, the loss of a quantity of skin from hands, and a
few minor bruises, being all the damage that I had received--it might
have been much worse, laden as I was. On arrival in camp I was patched
up, and the "nautical adviser" busied himself in preparing soup and
other comforts for the inner man, for which attentions I was grateful.
The other members of the party had not done very much in the bad
weather, one or two small excursions to spots in the neighbourhood
excepted. Late in the afternoon we struck camp and moved on a few miles
farther, to a spot known as Gránanes, right on the other side of the
lava-fields. Our way lay round by Hrutafell by the side of the river
Falakvisl, which runs in a deep gorge at the foot of the mountain. From
this river we struck across rough lava, then moraine matter, and again
lava right up to the river Svatá. The rivers, as a rule, run along at
the edges of the lava flows; there are some exceptions, however, and
one instance, in the west of the island, I will refer to in its proper
place. One very fine vent we came upon when crossing the lava. Gránanes
was on the other side of the Svatá, just by a spot where the water
falls ten or fifteen feet over a hard ledge of rock extending across
the river. Beyond the river all was moraine matter, great moraine
hills, the material of which has come down from Hoff Jökull and has
been piled up for miles along its margins. Many very fine erratics are
dotted about on the surface near Gránanes.
[Illustration: A VOLCANIC VENT OF THE FISSURE TYPE.]
It was on the moraine side of the river that we made our camp. Round
about there was lying a number of twigs and dried roots, the remains
of dwarf willows that had grown there when the conditions were rather
more favourable. Miss Hastie suggested that we might be energetic and
collect some of these in order to make a fire. It was a cold night, and
the idea of a camp-fire commended itself to us. We gathered together a
number of the twigs and roots, and Hill tried to ignite them. He raised
a dense smoke, but though he worked hard and fanned industriously he
was unable to induce a satisfactory blaze. Anyhow, it was cheering
to see the smoke rising into the air, and we did not mind being half
stifled when occasionally it was blown into our faces.
[Illustration: A SURVEY PHOTOGRAPH (NO. 169) FROM GRÁNANES ([Sun symbol]
E) LOOKING TOWARDS LANG JÖKULL.]
Next morning, after breakfast, I went up to a terrace of the moraine
where I made my fifth station, and fixed its position on the map; I
also did some plane-tabling while preparations were being made for an
expedition to Kerlingarfjöll.
CHAPTER VII
THE INTERIOR--KERLINGARFJÖLL
[Illustration: A SURVEY PHOTOGRAPH (NO. 183) TAKEN FROM [Sun symbol]
E LOOKING TOWARDS KERLINGARFJÖLL.]
When preparations had been completed, some of us started for the
mountains of Kerlingarfjöll, where high up, among the snow and ice,
there are hot springs, fumaroles, and solfataras. The party was a small
one. Thomas, Hill, and I started with the conductor and two guides.
Unfortunately Thomas's side was giving him "fits," and he had to return
after going but a very short distance.
We had a big quicksand river, the Jokulvisl, to cross--a river that
is often highly dangerous, and sometimes, when the water is "up,"
unfordable. We were accompanied so far by the "nautical adviser" and
the "handy man," who afterwards proceeded up the river to view a very
fine gorge in it, which we saw from the other side. The journey was
most interesting; we crossed vast moraines, where enormous erratics
were dotted about on the surface, before we reached the Jokulvisl.
The guides all had a great dread of this river; but we made a good
crossing, for the recent cold weather had retarded the melting of the
snow, and there was no flood in the river, though it was running very
swiftly. The sensation when crossing these swift-running rivers is
very uncanny--one seems to be rushing up-stream against the current,
and on looking at the ponies and their riders in front the impression
is deepened: they seem to be moving rapidly as the water rushes by and
foams round them, but really the pace is very slow, for the ponies
plod along steadily through the water. Even if those in front could
be ignored, the impression of going rapidly up-stream could not be
effaced, for the water would rush by and swirl round one's own pony
just the same. It might be thought that a glance at the opposite
bank of the river ought to dispel the illusion, but even that does
not correct the false impression. After crossing the Jokulvisl, we
proceeded along its banks for nearly a mile to where the river has
carved its way deep down through the lava, and left sides that rise
vertically for a hundred feet or more. There is a fine hard dyke in one
place extending into the river, on the end of which a pinnacle rises
that adds much to the grandeur of the scene. After photographing this
gorge, we proceeded across more moraine matter until reaching some of
the main blocks of the Kerlingarfjöll mountains. In these moraines we
had very steep slopes to ascend and descend; in one case the descent
was so sharp that for safety we all dismounted and led our ponies down
the side, at each step sending down a shower of stones and pebbles. At
Kerlingarfjöll we suddenly came upon a series of inclined snow-fields,
one of which we ascended, traversing it from end to end. It was more
than a mile long, but the zigzag course that we had to pursue made
it seem almost interminable; as it was, we were nearly an hour making
the crossing. The photograph shows the members of the party apparently
soaring up to heaven on their ponies, who in their wild flight seem to
be emulating Pegasus. Soon after we had started up this snow slope,
the clouds descended upon us and we were enveloped in a thick mist; we
could see nothing but just a very limited circle of snow around us, and
thus we proceeded, zigzagging the whole way. We crossed several other
snow-fields, but they were of less extent.
[Illustration: ASCENDING A SNOW SLOPE.]
[Illustration: KERLINGARFJÖLL--FIRE AND ICE.]
When approaching the hot springs, we became aware of their nearness by
the sulphurous smell that came wafting towards us. Suddenly, from a
ridge, we beheld a most wonderful and awe-inspiring sight. All around
there were snow and ice-fields, and from their midst, but on the far
side of a deep valley that intervened, there rose a cloud of steam,
the strong sulphurous smell of which suggested the nearness of the
lower regions. There was a mass of yellow, brown, green, and blue
clayey matter--liparite softened by steam it was--that had been cut and
shaped by ice, snow, and water into a series of cones and cone-like
surfaces, and from crevices in this clay the sulphurous steam escaped.
Below was the deep intervening valley, the valley of the Ásquidsá,
a river that flows from the upper heights of Kerlingarfjöll. To get
down to this stream was a work of no slight difficulty; it required
patience, much hard work, and much coaxing of ponies. We rode through
the snow, and slid down steep slopes of various-coloured clay. These
slopes became so precipitous at last that we all had to dismount
and plod along their sides, coaxing our unwilling steeds to follow.
Presently we reached what looked very much like an _impasse_ at the
end of a valley, the sides of which had gradually converged until
the channel was then scarcely wider than the ponies were broad. The
guides were not to be beaten, however, for they proceeded on foot, and
literally dragged the ponies one by one down this channel, to where
the snow came to an end and there was a drop of two or three feet
into a small stream of water. The guides splashed into this, and by
dint of much coaxing induced the ponies to follow, leading them along
the stream. Right at the end there was a small waterfall, with a deep
pool below. Down the fall they slid, splashing into the pool, where
they stood panting beside the main stream that we had seen from above,
which ran at right angles to the smaller stream. Meantime, Hill, the
conductor, and I had been walking at a slightly higher level on the
top of a gradually descending spur of clayey matter. Down the slope of
this we scrambled on all fours, carrying with us several pounds' weight
of the clay on each boot, to say nothing of what we had on clothes
and hands. From the side of the steep slope we mounted our ponies,
considerably heavier than when we had been on their backs a few minutes
before. We crossed the stream to the hot springs. Some of the ponies
objected to passing the hot, steaming holes, and absolutely refused
for a long time to do so; but eventually all were coaxed or dragged
by. To describe the place is impossible, and mere words are inadequate
to explain the nature of the scene. Photographs that I took do not
give much idea of the place, for they are all more or less failures.
It differs from anything that I saw in New Zealand, because in the hot
spring region in the North Island there is no ice and snow. I took a
boiling-point observation for altitude, and found the elevation of the
stream at the foot of the burning hill to be 3088 feet above sea-level.
I hurried over lunch, and set off with Hannes, one of the guides, to
try to do some plane-tabling; but the Fates, in the shape of dense
mist, were against me, and prevented me from seeing anything more
distant than a few hundred feet. On the upward journey I had noticed a
good position for a new station. On the way down to the spot chosen,
which was below the long snow slope, we mistook our way in the mist,
and went down the wrong slope, coming to an almost sheer descent
before finding out our mistake. We learnt this just in time, however,
to prevent a catastrophe. We retraced our steps by the tracks in the
snow, until we reached the right slope, and there struck the zigzag
track made on the ascent. The intended new station was reached without
further incident occurring.
From the glimpses of the country that I had obtained on the upward
journey, I was convinced that to make a map of these mountains
(Kerlingarfjöll) would require a week of fine weather and a series of
camps on the spot. As nothing of much value could be done in a few
hours, I did not lose very much by the mist having descended over the
country, except the exceedingly fine views. It was disappointing not to
be able to get to work with camera, but under the circumstances nothing
could be done except growl at adverse luck.
After waiting an hour or so for the rest of the party--Hill, the
conductor, and Sigurthur--who came on more at their leisure, we resumed
the descent towards the plains. Suddenly we got below the line of
drifting clouds, and there we beheld some wonderful sights--remarkable
scenes due to a series of rapid atmospheric changes. A small lake
in the lava-field suddenly came into view as we reached the line of
the reflected sunlight. The lake shone out, gradually increasing
in intensity, until it glowed brilliantly with a marvellous light.
The effect as the scene opened out beneath the clouds was weirdly
wonderful. Some of the clouds were of a deep blue, almost purple, tint,
producing, as they overhung a line of bright light and vivid colouring,
a most impressive picture. Away in the distance, on Lake Hvitarvatn,
we could see icebergs floating in their hundreds. These bergs were
great blocks of ice that had broken away from the glaciers flowing
from Lang Jökull into the lake. The return journey was accomplished,
without the occurrence of any untoward incident, at a rate that showed
of what stuff the ponies were made, for they cantered over the roughest
of moraines with scarcely a stumble, and we made excellent time to our
camp at Gránanes. There we found that a real fire had been conjured
up in our absence, and a successful attempt made to bake bread in a
wash-hand basin--an instance of the shifts that had to be made, which
were many and various.
When passing over the sloping moraine matter towards Kerlingarfjöll we
crossed a number of peculiar terrace formations, and we often found
similar terraces on the hillsides in other places also. These terraces
have edges or banks of vegetation, which seem to grow in irregular
lines and to arrest the natural descent of alluvial matter, forming a
series of terraces or steps that rise, as a rule, but a few inches one
above another. The vegetation also collects some of the wind-blown sand
of the deserts, which thus assists in the formation of the terraces.
CHAPTER VIII
THE INTERIOR--HVITARVATN AND GULLFOSS
I was early at work next morning, and did some plane-tabling at
Gránanes before breakfast. Afterwards, when I had finished what I
wanted to do at that station, Thomas and I, accompanied by Thorlakur,
the guide, proceeded to Efriskutur, a mountain four or five miles
distant, on the highest point of which I purposed making my sixth
station. We rode down the river and along the ridge of a long stretch
of moraine where there were some fine "erratics"; one very large
specimen being worthy of a photograph, I got Thorlakur on horseback to
stand beside it while I took a record with camera. Along these moraines
we went until reaching the slopes of Efriskutur, up which we rode to
the summit. I set up the table on the highest point, and got to work;
but the sorrows of a plane-tabler were very marked. A strong wind
was blowing, and my first trouble was when, in an unguarded moment,
I had my hand off the paper; the wind, a very cold and strong one,
caught up the map and tore it from the pins by which it was fastened
to the table; it was being whisked away, when Thomas caught it, and so
prevented it from disappearing on the wings of half a gale into the
valley several hundred feet below. I next found that my tracing-paper
had gone, and that it was impossible to use paper of any kind to work
out the position of the new station, for the wind was altogether too
strong for it to be held down on the map. I got out some drawing-paper,
however, in readiness for an attempt, and in a bit of a lull in the
wind I managed, by cutting holes along the lines of sight, to find the
position--it had not been fixed from other stations, for there was
only one ray to it. We were nearly frozen by the intense coldness of
the wind that was blowing straight from the ice of Lang Jökull, but
fortunately it abated slightly after a while and enabled me to get to
work. Lunch soon afterwards, and the reappearance of the sun, tended to
restore better circulation, and thenceforward all went well, except
that when I wanted to make a boiling-point observation for altitude,
the water-bottle was found to be empty. I had lent it to Hill the
previous day at the Kerlingarfjöll hot springs in order that he might
collect algæ; he had returned it empty, and I had forgotten to refill
it. As we had brought no water with us for lunch, it looked as if the
observation could not be made for want of it; but I remembered in time
that there was a small patch of snow on the mountain-side, not very
far down. Thomas kindly went to get some of the snow, which I melted,
and was thus enabled to complete the observation. Efriskutur is a tuff
mountain; at first we supposed that it was composed entirely of moraine
matter, for on the Kerlingarfjöll side, by which we ascended, the hill
is covered with it. On examining the other side there was no trace of
moraine; there was scree in places, but a great deal of the tuff was
uncovered. When the atmosphere was quite clear in the afternoon, we
saw standing out above the ice of Lang Jökull a prominent peak, a fine
specimen of a volcanic neck.
[Illustration: IMMENSE "ERRATICS."]
Our work done, we made tracks for Hvitarvatn, the lake beside which
we were to camp that night. To the river Svartá we traversed moraine
matter; beyond the river, however, which we crossed, there was no
moraine--nothing but the recent lava from Strytur, which quite covered
the intervening country to the Falakvisl, a river that has carved its
way along the other edge of the lava; on the far side there are great
moraine hills. The Falakvisl is a deep, swift river, flowing between
banks that are very high in places; it drains the valley between
the ice of Lang Jökull and the outlying range north of the mountain
Hrutafell, round which it flows, collecting the streams that run down
from it and from the other mountains and hills south of the divide of
Kjalhraun, the lava ridge by Strytur. This river discharges its waters
into Lake Hvitarvatn, and we followed its course to within a mile or so
of the point of discharge.
We found the camp beside the lake, about a mile from the water;
there was no convenient camping-ground any nearer to it, for the
intervening land was a mere swamp. We were in the midst of wonderful
and magnificent surroundings. The lake was covered with innumerable
icebergs--great lumps broken off from the edges of two great glaciers
that flow from Lang Jökull to the water's edge on the far side of the
lake. It was interesting to note the fact that the farther away the
icebergs were from the glaciers the smaller they were, until on the
margin of the lake where the water was not so cold they disappeared
altogether. Facing us was a great basaltic mountain, Skrutharfell,
set in between the two fine glaciers mentioned. To the left was the
great solid mass of Bláfell (pronounced Blou-fettle, the _á_ like _ou_
in blouse), a mountain that had much snow covering its sides; to the
right, Hrutafell reared its icy head high into the air; behind, there
was the mountain range of Kerlingarfjöll. All this was affected by
the gorgeousness of the sunset effects; the sun was descending behind
the ice-flow, and lighting up ice and snow with the most wonderful
colouring; it was a thing to be seen and remembered--to describe it in
adequate terms is impossible.
The lake was the resort of many swans, which disturbed the slumbers of
at least one member of the party, for they called and squawked in the
most persistent manner through the small hours--I will not say of the
night, for we were having twenty-four hours of daylight just then.
I was moving early next morning, for I intended to get to work at
the plane-table, but the Fates were against me once more, this time
in the shape of clouds which overhung the tops of Kerlingarfjöll and
Hrutafell, completely hiding two of the points of those mountains
that I required to sight in order to fix my position. I set up the
plane-table, however, in the hope that the clouds would clear later on,
and then took a boiling-point observation. After breakfast I waited
in vain for an hour or two for the clouds to rise and the peaks to
clear, for otherwise it was impossible to fix the position. The peaks
_were_ gradually clearing, but time was passing; we had a long day's
journey before us, and a deep and dangerous river to ford on the way,
so a guide could not well be spared to wait an hour or two until proper
observations were possible. I had to make the best of it, so took
sights on a separate sheet of paper to a number of points, hoping that
eventually I should be able to complete. The peaks _did_ clear at the
last moment, and I took sights to them; but as there was not time to
fix the position on the map itself and to take the other sights again,
I did all that was possible under the circumstances, hoping that what
had been done would fit in properly. On returning to England, I found
the observations agreed very well with my previous work.
My work, so far as the map was concerned, was at an end. I cannot say
that it was completed, for the time spent there was too short to permit
of the whole of the country lying between Lang Jökull and Hoff Jökull
being mapped. I had hoped to complete a map extending from Dufufell
and Hveravellir in the north to the mountains of Kerlingarfjöll and
the lake of Hvitarvatn to the south; but several things conspired to
prevent my doing it full justice, the chief of which were that we were
two days late in arriving at Hveravellir, and that the weather was not
quite so good as it might have been.
It was about mid-day, if I remember rightly, when we got under way and
proceeded along near the shore of the lake; we crossed the Svartá close
by where it enters the lake, and at a point just below where the river
falls over a ledge of hard rock ten to twelve feet high. We passed over
great accumulations of moraine matter towards Bláfell, gradually rising
until an excellent view of Hvitarvatn and the myriads of icebergs
floating on its surface was obtained. So we proceeded until we came to
the river Hvitá. This was one of our big rivers, and its crossing was
a dangerous undertaking. The pack, as usual, showed the way and made a
successful crossing. We stayed behind, for the purpose of photographing
the pack when in mid-stream. The photograph that I took shows the
pack-train right in the middle of the river. We followed, and crossed
without any untoward incident occurring; the water was rather deep,
and when in mid-stream it came up to our knees. At this river we saw a
number of sheep swimming across, which is quite a common thing for them
to do.
[Illustration: THE PACK-TRAIN CROSSING THE HVITÁ.]
I afforded some entertainment to my companions in the course of the
day. The pony I was then riding was a confirmed stumbler, and he
blundered along during the whole day, sometimes on four legs, but
more often on three; occasionally he shortened his two front legs and
tried to make good time on his knees. It was not altogether pleasant
riding, for there was great uncertainty as to which mode of progression
he would next adopt. After several bad stumbles he came to grief. He
stumbled, recovered, went on two paces, and then came right down.
He caught me off guard when having a loose seat immediately after
his recovery, with the result that I was deposited, very nicely and
quietly, however, in a soft sand-patch that was handy. I was much
disgusted, for I happened to be just in front of the other members of
the party. But this was nothing compared with the next entertainment
that I gave soon afterwards. We had not proceeded much farther before
some of the rotten saddlery gave way: my crupper broke and a ring at
the back of the saddle was dragged out--my oilskins, etc., came adrift
and fell; but one of the packages did not get free, it hung by a strong
cord at the pony's heels, where it dangled, knocking against them.
My pony did what any self-respecting pony would have done in similar
circumstances--he promptly bolted! Now the ground thereabouts was
not remarkable for its evenness; indeed, it was one of the roughest
pieces of ground that we passed over in the course of the day. He
made excellent time, and the harder he went, the more the package
hit against his heels, until he became quite frantic with fright and
ran amuck. I was at the rear of the party some distance behind when
he started off, but we soon caught up the others, bumping into one,
cannoning off a second to a third, and nearly unseating Miss Hastie,
who was not prepared for the charge. My only fear, as he was such a bad
stumbler and had already been down, was that he would come a cropper
in the course of his wild career and throw me upon a lump of lava; but
as he kept his feet, I stuck to him and at last managed to get him
under control and pull him up. He stood trembling in affright, for the
objectionable package was still at his heels. I dismounted and removed
the disturbing cause, afterwards returning in company with the "handy
man" to collect the goods and chattels that were lying distributed over
the country that had just been crossed in something like record time.
In spite of the bumps and knocks that they received, my companions
enjoyed the spectacle, and it afforded them an opportunity for some
good-natured chaff.
[Illustration: A FINE GORGE IN THE SIDE OF BLÁFELL.]
During the latter part of the day's journey, which was along the high
banks of the river Hvitá, we saw some fair specimens of columnar
basalt. There were times, when we were travelling along on the edge of
these high banks within a few inches of the edge of a drop of two or
three hundred feet, that I did not feel quite comfortable, for my pony
continued to stumble along to the end of the journey; but he did not
come right down again, though several times he had to be pulled up from
his knees.
[Illustration: GULLFOSS--FRONT VIEW WITH "RAINBOW" EFFECT.]
[Illustration: GULLFOSS--SIDE VIEW.]
We came round Bláfell in the course of the day, and there saw a number
of very fine gorges in the mountain sides, deep ravines carved out by
the streams and torrents on their way to the river, the Hvitá.
Our way lay over moraine accumulations nearly the whole of the day, and
during the latter part of it along the right bank of the Hvitá (White
River), a swift-rushing glacier stream that drains Lake Hvitarvatn of
the water there collected from Lang Jökull. There are many deep and
picturesque gorges in the basalt through which the river flows.
[Illustration: GULLFOSS--THE UPPER FALL.]
We camped beside the Hvitá at a spot known as Sandá, which lies just
below the confluence of the Hvitá and Sandá. We were then near the
southern end of Lang Jökull, looking upon the very striking mountains
that fringe its edge, the Jarlhettur (the Earl's Hats) as they are
called, because of the shapes of their upper portions; several of these
peaks are interesting inasmuch as they are, without doubt, the hard
cores of ancient volcanoes--volcanic plugs or necks.
[Illustration: GULLFOSS--THE FALL INTO THE RAVINE.]
At Sandá we remained over Sunday, but as it rained hard we were
confined to our tents nearly the whole day--our Sundays were, as a
rule, very wet, and of six or seven that we had in or about Iceland
only two were fine; it did not matter much, for Sunday with us was
always a day of rest, and the rain only kept us to our tents. On these
occasions much tobacco was consumed and as many matches were used as
economy allowed.
On leaving Sandá our way lay for several miles over a desolate sandy
and stony desert. Farther on there were many evidences of ice-action:
the rounded forms of boulders attracted our attention, as did numerous
ice-scratchings on them; some of the outcropping lumps were beautifully
rounded, and in one place (in the same valley as Gullfoss) after
passing the falls, but just before reaching Bratholt, there was
undoubted evidence that the ice had swept up a slight rise in the
valley before descending the steep slope towards the Bratholt farm.
[Illustration: GULLFOSS--THE RAVINE BELOW THE FALLS.]
[Illustration: BELOW GULLFOSS--CASTELLATED DYKES.]
Gullfoss is one of the sights of Iceland. It is a magnificent waterfall
on the Hvitá, where the white water of the river cascades over a
series of step-like barriers stretching from side to side, and then
plunges finally over a ledge of very hard rock into a yawning abyss
more than a hundred feet deep, whence it throws up clouds of spray
that are carried hither and thither as the wind sweeps first this way
and then that; so thick is the spray, that one's clothing soon becomes
saturated on incautiously getting into it. Gullfoss is one of the
finest waterfalls in Europe, and it is only surpassed in grandeur, if
at all, by one or two others in Iceland. We saw the falls at their
best, for when we arrived the sun was shining brightly and a rainbow
playing over the spray as it rose from the gorge. It is true that the
sky clouded over afterwards, and that rain began to fall before we left
Gullfoss, but we carried away the impression of the broken waters of
the cascade sparkling in the sun, and of the colours of the rainbow
playing on the spray over the ravine. The water has carved out a deep
gorge in the basalt, and below the falls there are many good specimens
of basaltic columns. In the lower part of the gorge there are the
picturesque remains of a very fine hard dyke that has a much softer one
beside it. These remains are to be seen on both sides of the river,
and they have assumed the outline and form of a number of castellated
buildings perched high upon prominent peaks.
CHAPTER IX
GEYSIR AND THINGVELLIR
We were very near the margin of the desert interior, for within two or
three miles we arrived at the farm-house of Bratholt, the first human
habitation that we had seen for ten or twelve days. We had traversed
the uninhabited country and were then entering upon the final stage of
the journey across the island, where we expected to see some of the
better class of farms and farmers. Bratholt farm-house seemed to be
one of the superior kind--it was certainly the best that we had seen
so far. We lunched there, and while the meal was being prepared were
shown over the premises by the farmer's wife and daughters. A fine
specimen of an old kitchen attracted my attention, and I determined to
try to photograph it. The housewife was most anxious to help with the
camera. I had a difficulty in setting it up in a suitable position, so
she volunteered to hold it wherever I wanted it to stand. I tried to
explain that she could not hold it still enough, and that it would have
to be kept in one position for nearly ten minutes; she stood in the way
looking on till I fetched a guide to explain matters, when she left me
to my own devices. It was quite a picture, this kitchen; one of the
curiosities it contained was an old quern with a bone (human?) for a
handle. The room was as smoky as most of the Icelandic kitchens usually
are; in the roof there was a number of skins that had been hung up to
dry or placed there for preservation. Some three-legged pots stood in a
corner on the floor; a fire was burning in a fireplace built of lumps
of basalt, and the smoke that arose from the smouldering peat bricks
hung in the air till it gradually escaped through a hole in the roof.
We invaded the work-room and bed-chamber, which is usually called the
_bathstofa_. As its name implies, this chamber was once the bath-room
of the house; but bathing has gone much out of fashion with the
Icelander, and he no longer considers a tub at short intervals to be
desirable. The _bathstofa_ is now used as a living-room; it is fitted
up with a series of open bunks ranged along the sides, in which the
various members of the family repose at night; but the bunks serve not
only for sleeping purposes--they are often the receptacle for all sorts
of things, and we could hardly help noticing in one a miscellaneous
collection consisting of sugar, stockings, skin shoes, tea, etc. There
were several spinning-wheels in the room, and at our request the lady
of the house set to work at one of them. The family made cloth, various
articles of clothing from it, sheep-skin shoes, and bone spoons with
"Gullfoss" carved on them, for the "trippers" who call when on the way
to Gullfoss. One of the daughters was an expert in the use of vegetable
dyes; she was not at home, but we saw some of her work. We bought a
few things: shoes, stockings, gloves, rugs, etc., and the "handy man"
cleared out the stock of cloth and called for more, but more was not to
be had there. Later in the day, however, we passed another farm where
cloth could sometimes be bought; the "handy man" heard of this, and
we lost sight of him for more than an hour while he was, ostensibly,
making further purchases, though he did not seem to be overburdened
with their weight when at last he turned up. In the evening he remarked
on the beauty of a girl that he had seen at the farm, which raised
grave doubts as to whether the charms of this beauty had not been the
_real_ cause of his long stay there. We thought it mean of him not to
have informed us when in the neighbourhood, and told him so; he smiled
serenely, for we were then a safe distance away--half a day's journey.
We expected to camp that night at Geysir; so when the "handy man"
appeared with his bundle of cloth, we pushed on for that interesting
spot. We had to cross the river Tungufljot on the way; it is a rather
deep and swift-flowing river, but we made an excellent crossing at a
recently discovered ford where the water did not reach much above the
level of our stirrups.
At Geysir there is a region of hot springs, geysers, and blue, boiling
cauldrons, where one can stand on the sinter margins, look deep down
into the blue waters, and imagine whence they come. There is also a
number of holes where liquid mud bubbles and splutters. There are
geysers active, and others quiescent and extinct. Among the latter is
the celebrated Strokur--a few years ago it was very active, but now
it is quite dead; it died during an earthquake that occurred in 1896.
Although the earthquake stopped Strokur, it seems to have caused Great
Geysir itself to play with increased energy. Strokur had to be coaxed
into activity, but it was easily done by feeding it with lumps of turf,
which were thrown into its yawning mouth, wide open always and ready
for a meal. It never failed to give a display when properly fed. It was
when it had had a surfeit, and was likely to be choked with the turf,
that it erupted, ejecting the turf violently, and at the same time
shooting upward a column of boiling water and steam. But all this is of
the past--no quantity of turf will provoke it into activity now; it is
dead, and there is no indication that it was once the scene of violent
disturbance; nothing remains as a record of former glories but a hole
in the ground a few feet in diameter.
It was late in the evening when we arrived. The weather was not what we
should have liked, for it was dull and rainy; there had been much rain
at Geysir during the previous few days, and we were informed of the
fact by a farmer living in the neighbourhood. It is said that Geysir
erupts more frequently during and after a period of much rain, and also
when the wind blows from a certain quarter--I forget which quarter,
but that is immaterial now, for the all-important thing is that it was
then blowing in the favourable direction. Whether there is any real
ground for the reports I do not know, but I record the fact that during
a stay of about fourteen hours Geysir erupted six times, and that the
average is said to be one in twenty-four hours. The first eruption
occurred while we were at supper at about 10.15 P.M. There was a dull,
deep-seated thud somewhere below, a sort of subterranean rumbling
that caused us to inquire of our conductor, who was rather deaf,
what it was. We had previously been informed that certain premonitory
rumblings always preceded an eruption; but we were doubtful whether
what we then heard was the warning. The conductor had not heard it,
and he was endeavouring to explain to us the nature of the sound when
a guide rushed to the door of the tent to inform us that Geysir was
about to play. We hastily left our meal, made an abrupt exit from the
tent, and rushed to the spot. Surely enough it was in eruption, for
great clouds of steam were rising from the crater and rolling towards
us. We got to windward of the steam, and looked towards the crater, and
what a sight it was! High into the air, sixty, seventy, eighty feet up,
there was shooting stream after stream of boiling water, which fell in
showers of spray all around, some descending towards the crater and
meeting on its way the outgoing streams. A ring of sinter surrounds the
crater; it is raised ten to fifteen feet above the general level of the
ground, so the hot water that fell upon it ran off in a ring of little
cascades. It was a wonderful sight, this enormous natural fountain;
it continued to play for two or three minutes before it gradually
subsided and stopped--all was then still, save that the last of the
water was streaming over the edges of the sinter ring, whence a little
steam was rising. As soon as the eruption came to an end, we climbed
upon the ring, which has a diameter of something like a hundred feet;
there is a large depression or basin in it that is filled with water
before eruption, but it was then empty. In the middle of the basin
there is a funnel, said to be about sixty feet deep; at the surface
it is about sixteen feet in diameter. We stood on the edge of this
funnel or crater, looking down into its depths, the water then standing
at a level of something like fifteen feet below that at which we had
previously seen it.
[Illustration: THE SINTER RING OF GEYSIR.]
We returned to our interrupted meal, congratulating ourselves that
we had arrived just in time to witness the fine display, without at
all expecting that we should have another opportunity of seeing such
a spectacle. But, as I have stated, we were lucky enough to see in
all six eruptions, three of which occurred at short intervals during
the night. The first occurred at 10.15 P.M.; the others at 1.30,
3.30, 6.30, 8.30, and the last of the series at 10.45 A.M. The finest
displays were the first, second, and last. The second, that at 1.30
A.M., occurred just after we had turned in, but the warning rumblings
sounded before we had gone to sleep. Each made a dash at some articles
of clothing, and hastening into them, made a blind rush through the
rain to the side of Geysir, where we presented a curious spectacle: we
were a very motley assemblage indeed, and the various costumes it would
perhaps be better not to describe accurately. I have not a photographic
record of the scene--there had been no time to get out cameras, and the
light was very bad.
[Illustration: THE FUNNEL OR CRATER OF GEYSIR.]
There is a smaller geyser, known as Little Geysir, distant about a
quarter of a mile from its more important neighbour. Now, this happened
to be in good working order, for it erupted while we were finishing our
evening meal, sending up spray to a height of from ten to twenty feet,
and continued more or less active during the rest of the night.
Many were the boiling and bubbling springs that we saw along a line
of fissure nearly half a mile in extent. The basins of some of them
were very beautiful, one especially, where the water was of a bright
blue colour and the edges of the sinter basin quite white. The basins
and terraces are composed of the silica that was at one time held in
solution in the water that flowed over them; it was gradually deposited
layer upon layer, slowly lining the vent through which the water was
ejected, and building up the terraces and basins.
We were loth to leave the neighbourhood of Geysir and continue on our
way; but we could not linger, because time was of importance to some of
the members of the party, who had to reach Reykjavik, the capital of
the country, in time to catch a certain steamer. Another day could not
be spared, so on we had to go. We proceeded at first over a quantity of
sinter debris, and then through some hummocky land. After a while we
came to a wood--an Icelandic forest, or one of the nearest approaches
to a forest that Iceland can boast. It consisted of a quantity of
scrubby birch and willow "trees," mere bushes, averaging three to five
feet in height, though some, it is true, attained the height of six or
even seven feet; interspersed amongst them were some geraniums (_G.
silvaticum_). The river Bruará flows through the middle of the wood,
and we had to cross it on our way. The crossing was a peculiar one. At
the spot there is a rapid in the river, with a waterfall just below.
Hard rock stretches from side to side, forming a barrier that is cleft
in the middle of the river; the water flows with very picturesque
effect over the ledge and into the cleft, which is bridged by a wooden
platform; the crossing is effected by the bridge, and by fording the
river on each side of it. While I was photographing the spot with some
members of the party on the bridge, my pony ran away, and crossed the
river, leaving me on the wrong side of it. However, the runaway did not
get very far before its career was checked; it was then brought back,
and I followed in the track of the others.
Farther on in the wood we halted at a wayside farm-house for lunch,
and to rest for a while before continuing on what was likely to be a
long journey. Away we went again, though, through the wood, until we
overlooked the Bruará at a spot where it had worn down the valley to
the level of a plain of denudation, of which it is a fine specimen.
There, below, was the river meandering in a winding course over the
plain; there also were two small lakes, one of which, Laugarvatn,
is of historical interest, for it was there that the Icelanders on
being converted to Christianity were baptized; they objected to cold
water, but a hot spring in this lake causes the water to be warm,
so the objection was overcome, and they were baptized in the warm
waters of Laugarvatn. We gradually descended to the vicinity of
Laugarvatnshellirar, a peculiar volcanic district, where a number of
castellated-looking rocks on the hillsides are very suggestive of
ancient ruins. To the left of them rises the Kalfstindar range, the
peaks of which are the hard plugs of ancient volcanoes that have become
exposed by the erosion of the softer material of the original cones.
Here we came upon recent lava again, and during the rest of the day's
journey we were obliged to travel very slowly, for we had to pick our
way over very rough ground.
The ponies stumbled along hour after hour, much to the discomfiture of
the "nautical adviser," who was in a helpless state, suffering great
pain. Earlier in the day he had been stung on the eye by an insect.
At first he did not feel much inconvenience, but as time passed, his
eye became inflamed and very troublesome; so intense was the pain at
last, that his eyes had to be bandaged. Thus blindfolded he had to ride
on, just balancing himself, and allowing his pony to pick its own way
through the lava as it followed one or another of us. It was a very
dangerous proceeding, because the lava over which he had to pass was
of the roughest possible kind; the ponies had to perform all sorts
of peculiar antics while dodging from side to side, or in climbing
over boulders or outcropping rocks, now going up a steep slope, then
descending one at a dangerous-looking angle. When three or four miles
from Thingvellir, our destination that night, we came to a great rift
in the earth known as Hrafna-gjá (Raven's Rift), a crack going deep
down into the earth, and extending three or four miles in a line
parallel to another even greater rift that will be again referred to.
On reaching Hrafna-gjá, we had to climb down its steep side, there
being a drop of something like a hundred feet to the lava at its foot.
The steepness and unevenness of the descent rendered it necessary for
us all to dismount and lead our ponies down. The day was dull and the
light then becoming bad; but we had to plod on. We were not many miles
from our destination, Thingvellir. We presently saw right ahead what
looked like a line of high precipitous cliffs with a white patch in it.
At first we were very doubtful what the patch could be; but on drawing
nearer we heard the splash of falling water, and from the sound, judged
that the volume was pretty large. We could see nothing distinctly,
though, for it was approaching midnight and the light was failing
fast, so we pushed on along a line parallel to the cliff, unable to
distinguish anything clearly.
It was at Vallholt, close to the margin of Lake Thingvallavatn, that
we halted. There we reached modern civilisation suddenly, for we came
to a large galvanised iron structure which we found to be a hotel,
so we pulled up and dismounted. On inquiring for our tents, we were
informed that they had not been erected, and that we were to take up
our quarters at the hotel. We had not expected this, and as we had
all become somewhat attached to our canvas quarters, we grumblingly
entered the hotel and went in search of our boxes. The arrangement
of the interior was peculiar: a large hall occupied the middle of
the building, extending the full width, and reaching from floor to
roof; at each end of the hall, a passage led through to the end of
the building. On each side of one of these passages there was ranged
a number of cabin-like rooms, each of which contained two bunks, one
above the other, and in a corner there was a wash-hand basin, the whole
being fitted up like the interior of a cabin on board ship--this was
accounted for by the fact that the arrangement had been designed by a
sailor.
Thomas and I had piloted the "nautical adviser" and given his pony a
lead during the last part of the journey, so we three were rather late
in our arrival; but we were met with the cheering intelligence that
supper (it was 11.30 P.M.) would be ready in a few minutes, and that
we were to "hurry up" and make whatever change of costume we deemed
necessary to celebrate the return to some of the conventionalities of
modern civilisation. We were hungry, very hungry, and did not waste
time over an elaborate toilet, but soon put in an appearance in the
large central hall. Here we were regaled with a most sumptuous and
excellent banquet. The soup was all that could be desired, and it was
hot--a very comforting thing when one is half frozen. This whetted our
appetite for the other good things that were to follow: salmon that was
cooked to perfection; then came another excellent dish, and last of all
delicious pastry and cream--the Icelanders, as I have already stated,
are noted for the quality of their pastry. We had growled on finding
that we were to take up quarters in a tourists' hotel, but the quality
of the dinner quite reconciled us to the return to civilisation. We
had been living for more than a fortnight on tinned foods, so we fully
appreciated the good things that "mine host" had provided for us. We
were disappointed in one way; but when a hungry man has fed well he is
not disposed to quarrel with things in general--especially when they
take the form of a fairly comfortable bunk and more room in his cabin
than he would have had in his tent.
Thingvellir and the neighbourhood is a most interesting and historic
place, for it was there, in the tenth century, that the Althing, or
Parliament, used to assemble. The spot whereon it once met, known as
the Logberg (Law Rock), is now a verdure-covered hill, lying between
two remarkable rifts in the lava. Thingvallavatn is the name of the
largest and most picturesque lake in Iceland; the view of it which
we had obtained the day before from above Hrafna-gjá was very fine,
but the atmosphere had not been quite clear; we had seen enough,
however, in spite of rain and haze, to enable us to form an idea of the
beauty of the scene. We were favoured on this occasion, for the air
was clearer and the light brighter, so we were better able, from the
elevated site of the Logberg, to enjoy the fine view. The meeting-place
of the Althing was removed from the Logberg to one of two islands
lying in the lake, but to which of them is questionable, though it is
supposed that it used to meet on the long flat island near Thingvellir,
close to the shore of the lake.
Not only is this neighbourhood interesting historically, but
geologically it claims attention. I have already mentioned the
remarkable rift, Hrafna-gjá; there is another at Thingvellir--I am
not referring to the two rifts at the Logberg, for though noticeable
in themselves, they are but minor rifts when compared with that of
Hrafna-gjá, and still more so when comparison is made with Almanna-gjá
(All-men's Rift) at Thingvellir. It is a most extraordinary break in
the earth, extending for three or four miles across the country in
a line parallel to Hrafna-gjá, showing a face of lava with a drop
of something like a hundred feet. Now what has happened to cause
these extraordinary rifts? The whole of the land between Hrafna-gjá
and Almanna-gjá has fallen in, dropped through about a hundred feet,
and forms a "rift valley." The lake derives its water chiefly by
underground rivers from the ice-field of Lang Jökull, though one small
stream, the Oxará, runs into it. This river tumbles over the edge of
the cliffs by a fine cascade into the rift of Almanna-gjá; but it does
not flow very far (less than a mile) before it escapes through a gap
in the outer wall of the rift by a second and smaller fall. Above the
smaller fall there is a pool known as the Murderesses' Pool, in which
it was once the custom to drown women found guilty of infanticide or
adultery.
[Illustration: ALMANNA-GJÁ--IN THE RIFT NEAR THE WATERFALL.]
There are several legends connected with Thingvellir. One of them
refers to a remarkable jump supposed to have been performed by one
Flossi, an outlaw, who, on being closely pursued, escaped by jumping
across one of the lava rifts of the Logberg hill--an impossible feat
with the rift at its present width, but it is supposed to have widened
considerably. In these rifts of the Logberg there is, deep down, some
beautifully clear water standing at about the same level as the lake.
Over one of the rifts there is a small wooden bridge with a hole in
the middle of it; beside the hole we saw a bucket with a long rope
attached. As the clear water of one of the pools was immediately
below, it was not difficult to infer that this was the source of the
water-supply of the hotel which was in the immediate neighbourhood.
After we had seen all that was of special interest at Thingvellir, we
started on the last stage of our journey across the island; but before
doing so we took leave of two of the guides, Josef and Sigurthur, who
were returning to our starting-point, Akureyri, with about a dozen of
the ponies; for we had no further use for the full pack, seeing that
we expected to reach Reykjavik, the capital, in the course of a few
hours. From this place to Reykjavik a road has been constructed--a
rough one at best, but still a road; the only one of any length in all
Iceland, for it is thirty-six miles long. It commences just below the
lower fall of the Oxará; after a short ascent, a bridge crosses the
river between the waterfall and the Murderesses' Pool, whence it rises
by a steep ascent to the level of the country above the rift. This part
of the road has been cut in the side of the fissure of Almanna-gjá.
From above we obtained a fine view overlooking Lake Thingvallavatn,
but after losing sight of the lake we saw no more of the picturesque
until nearing Reykjavik. An exceedingly fine specimen of a glaciated
lava surface attracted Thomas and myself. My photograph shows it
excellently: in it there can be seen the undulating surfaces of lava,
the _roches moutonnées_, just as they were smoothed by the passing ice,
and there on the surfaces are several "perched blocks" which helped in
the smoothing and scratching process. There was evidence all along the
road not only of the work of frost and ice, but also of that of fire
and heat, for we saw in all directions tuff and lava cones and volcanic
necks.
[Illustration: GLACIATED LAVA SURFACE NEAR THINGVELLIR.]
On nearing Reykjavik we met a number of pack-trains conveying goods
of all descriptions to the farms. It was just the end of the season
when the farmers make their annual journey to the capital. They take
in their wool, dispose of it, and then return with whatever goods
they have purchased. Some of the farmer's women-folk accompany him as
a rule. The women ride their ponies on a saddle peculiar to Iceland.
They balance themselves on their ponies seated sideways, with feet
resting on a little platform that hangs suspended from the saddle by
two straps; they ride by balance alone, for there is no horn by which
they can grip the saddle. All goods have to be transported on the backs
of ponies, for as there are no roads (with the exception of that from
Reykjavik to Thingvellir) so there are no carts or waggons in general
use--I did see _three_ carts in Iceland, one of them in Reykjavik, but
they were used only for hauling goods from the wharves into the towns.
Timber and galvanised iron are carried balanced on the backs of ponies,
the galvanised iron having to be doubled up. A pony sometimes looks
very peculiar as he plods along with an unwieldy load swinging from
side to side. He has an awkward time of it whenever there is a heavy or
gusty wind blowing, and that in Iceland is very frequently. Heavy goods
that cannot possibly be carried on the backs of ponies are transported
when the winter snows cover the ground; rough sleighs are then used for
the purpose.
CHAPTER X
THE CAPITAL--REYKJAVIK
Much to our surprise, when about two miles outside Reykjavik, we met
our fellow-passenger by the _Ceres_, him with whom we had lunched at
Thorshavn on the outward journey. We had left him behind at that port,
and he had intended to stay for several weeks at the Faroes and to
return thence to England; but having found things rather slow there, he
had followed us to Iceland by the next steamer; hence the meeting on
the road.
We created some sort of sensation as we entered the capital of Iceland.
The clocks were striking ten as we clattered down the long main street;
it was a time when the populace were at leisure and on the street,
and they evinced no little curiosity as we rode by them. They were
congregated in small groups, and it was evident to us that we were
being discussed--and no wonder, for we were a motley-looking cavalcade!
We must have presented a very grotesque appearance, clad as we were
in oilskins, and covered with mud from head to foot: it had been
raining at intervals on the way, and we had had a rather disagreeable
journey. We caught glimpses of faces at most of the windows peering
curiously at us and watching our progress through the town. Many
of the members of the groups, by the wayside saluted as we passed
by--the Icelanders are a polite people, as a rule, and they doff their
head-gear in salutation to strangers. So we progressed, being saluted,
and acknowledging the salutes. It was a sort of triumphal entry, for
the news had been carried forward by one of the guides, who was some
little distance ahead with some of the pack-ponies, that we had just
crossed the country by way of the uninhabited interior. All things
come to an end, and so did our journey when we reached the end of the
main street in Reykjavik, for there, at a great wooden building four
stories high, we took up our quarters, and the crossing of Iceland was
an accomplished fact.
If Reykjavik is not a town to be admired, it must be said that the
surrounding scenery is most beautiful; and one of the finest sights I
saw in Iceland was one evening when sunset effects were on hill and
dale and over the sea.
Glasgow House--why so named we were unable to discover--was where we
were quartered. The accommodation was fairly good, though there was a
lack of furniture in some of the rooms. We learned that the proprietor
had but lately entered into possession, and that the furniture had come
from a much smaller house; it certainly required some additions to make
the general accommodation equal to the table kept there. We came in
hungry after our thirty-six miles' ride, so we fully appreciated the
good things set before us by our hostess, a Danish woman, who was a
capable head of the kitchen. The dining-room was on the ground floor,
but a steep staircase led to a large hall-like room above, from which a
number of doors opened into bedrooms.
After we had eaten a most excellent meal--dinner or supper--we went
for a midnight prowl round the town. Our fellow-passenger by the
_Ceres_, an Oxford man, whom Thomas and I had known there, was staying
at Glasgow House, so he accompanied us, and we strolled about the more
retired parts away from the main street, discussing the incidents of
our travels in the interior.
[Illustration: THE BUSINESS END OF REYKJAVIK BY THE GOVERNOR'S HOUSE.]
Reykjavik is not a very large town, as its population of about four
thousand indicates. It is built on the coast and is a long, straggling
place; and although just in the business quarter there are several
streets running parallel or at right angles to one another, yet, with
this exception, the houses are built along the main thoroughfare.
The buildings for the most part are of wooden construction, with
galvanised iron roofs, though here and there a turf-roofed shanty
stands as a reminder that the habitation of the average Icelander has
no galvanised iron about it. Some of the principal business people
are Danes, and many of the houses have been built more in conformity
with Danish ideas than with those of the Icelander. The natives are
fishermen and farmers, and have no very strong predilections for
general business--they are inclined to leave that sort of thing to the
Danes, who are more adapted to it. The clergymen and doctors are, as a
rule, the sons of farmers who exhibit signs of greater brightness than
the average. They first go through a course at the Latin School, and
then proceed to the Theological College or the Medical School; some
afterwards go to Copenhagen to the University there. Both clergy and
medical men are paid by the State, though the latter receive a nominal
fee from their patients. The finest building in Iceland is said to
be the Bank in the main street of Reykjavik. It is a strongly built,
solid-looking square structure. The ground floor is used for banking
business, but the upper floor contains a good collection of Icelandic
curiosities and antiquities--it is known as the Antiquarian Museum,
I think. Old weapons, ladies' saddles, women's national dress, snuff
and various other kinds of carved boxes, gold and silver ornaments,
altar-cloths, altarpieces, and other church furniture, etc., are among
the exhibits. This collection is never open to the public in the way
that similar collections are open in other parts of the world. A
visitor cannot walk in at any stated definite hour--the doors are
always locked against admission unless an appointment is made with
the caretaker of the collection to open them, and if, as in our case,
one happens to be a little after the appointed time, a wait of half
an hour while the attendant guide goes in search of the caretaker may
be necessary. In the Ornithological Museum--a large room attached to
a small house just away from the business part of the town--there is
a fine collection of the birds of Iceland. We tried to gain admission
here without having made an appointment with the caretaker, but quite
failed: the door was locked, and we were unable to make known what
we wanted. The only person on the premises, a middle-aged Icelandic
woman, laughed and giggled and talked, and evinced no little curiosity
regarding certain articles of our clothing. We thought, in our
ignorance of her tongue, that she was making fun of us and of our
dress. When we went away from the Museum, this woman followed us down
town, and on meeting our guide we learnt that our curious friend was
not quite in her right mind--a fact that accounted for her peculiar
actions and manner. We saw the collection of birds on another occasion
by appointment.
Facing a grassy square there are two buildings of importance--one of
these, a wooden structure, is the Cathedral; the other, a massive stone
building, is the Senate House, where the members of the Althing, or
Parliament, meet.
[Illustration: REYKJAVIK--INTERIOR OF THE CATHEDRAL.]
Iceland has recently been granted Home Rule, but at the time of our
visit the Althing consisted of two Houses--the Upper and the Lower.
The Upper House was composed of twelve members, all of whom were
Icelanders--six of these were appointed by the King of Denmark, the
other six being elected by the people. The Lower House consisted of
twenty-four members, all Icelanders, and all elected by the people.
Each House had a President, who was elected by the members. The
President had no vote, so in the Upper House the Icelanders always
tried to elect a President from the members appointed by the King of
Denmark in order to give the people's representatives a majority of
six votes to five. The Governor, an Icelander appointed by the King,
to whom he was answerable, had the right to sit in each House; he
occupied a seat beside the presidential chair. The members of each
House were elected for three sessions; but as the Houses met in every
alternate year only, there was an election but once in six years. A
Prime Minister was appointed by the King of Denmark, but he did not sit
in either House; in fact, the Minister of two years ago had never been
in Iceland. He was a Dane, residing in Copenhagen and knowing nothing
of Iceland or its requirements except from report. The Prime Minister
resembled our Colonial Secretary in his relations with our Colonies,
though there was a difference in that he was _nominally_ answerable to
the Icelandic Althing as well as to the King of Denmark. Bills were
presented in either House by the whole House, by a section of the
House, or by an individual member. The Bills were read three times, and
the House might go into Committee on a Bill at any time. The Committee
might consist of three, five, or seven members in the Upper House--it
was more often three and five--and of three, five, seven, or nine in
the Lower House. Either House might reject a Bill passed by the other
House. The King of Denmark, acting on the advice of the Icelandic Prime
Minister, used to approve a Bill passed by both Houses, when it became
law.
In the Althing there are no parties as we know them, for all the
members are united on high politics, are republican in their feeling,
and most anxious to retain their independence of action. The members
often have differences of opinion about a particular Bill, of course.
The session used to last for eight weeks only, and during that period
the Houses sat daily (Sunday excepted), often having two sittings a
day. The members assembled at mid-day, and if the business was not got
through by four, they adjourned and met again at five. As the Althing
met but once in two years, and the session was so short, there was a
gap of a year and ten months when legislation was at a standstill.
During that period, however, the members were often in communication
one with another, and any Bills that it was desirable should be
presented to the Althing at the next session were discussed in that
way. The press was also the medium for the discussion of desirable
legislation. As some of the members contributed to and wrote for the
newspapers, the pros and cons of a particular Bill were often pretty
well thrashed out before being presented to the Althing. Local affairs
were managed by Sysselmen, or sheriffs, who had great powers vested in
them.
When our party broke up, as it did the next day, I went on board the
_Bothnia_ to see off those who were leaving Iceland. The whole party
had pulled so well together, and had been so successful, that we
separated with feelings of regret that all could not proceed on further
travels in the west of the island.
The day after the departure of those leaving Iceland, Miss Hastie and
I visited Engey Island, one of the homes of the eider duck. On landing
from a rowing-boat that had been hired to convey us from Reykjavik, a
distance of two to three miles, we were delayed for a while by a heavy
shower of rain. When it had abated we could find no one at the wharf
able to speak English, so we made our way to the house of the owner
of the island, for we had been informed at Reykjavik that we should
find some one at Engey to point out the resorts of the ducks. We found
there a young girl who could speak English very well. On learning our
desires she at once offered to conduct us to the ducks, and led the
way, accompanied by a sister, over a series of slippery stones and
rough hummocks, to the ducks' nesting-ground. The season was almost
over, so we did not see many birds in the nests. Most of the eggs had
been hatched, and the parents had departed with their young, or else
were swimming about in the waters around the island. Nevertheless a few
birds still remained in their nests, and we found them comparatively
tame; they were not quite undisturbed by our presence, though, for
they moved away a few yards in an agitated state, leaving their young
to blunder and stumble about all around. In vain we tried to keep the
ducklings from wandering, but they would struggle out of the nest time
after time, the mother walking round us the while with a watchful eye
upon her brood. It is said that the down which the old birds pluck
from their breasts to line the nests may be removed two or three times
before they abandon them. Some of the nests, which were in the hollows
between the hummocks, had bad eggs in them; so that, unless care was
taken in moving from one hummock to another, a bad odour might make
us aware that we had taken a false step. On returning to the house,
the girls who had accompanied us showed the process of cleaning the
eider-down. It is taken in handfuls and rubbed over a wire grating: the
down clings to the wires, while the dirt falls through; the grating
is reversed from time to time, and the down removed from the wires
and rubbed repeatedly until properly cleaned and freed from dirt and
foreign substances.
CHAPTER XI
IN THE WEST--TO REYKHOLT
We spent two days at Reykjavik before renewing our journeyings. We were
a much reduced party, for instead of eleven persons in all, we only
mustered five when, on the third day from our arrival at the capital,
we set out once more. Miss Hastie and myself were all that remained
of the old party, but we were joined by a young Icelandic medical
student, Jón Rosenkranz, while we were accompanied by our old conductor
as "guide, philosopher, and friend," and Hannes as guide. Jón we soon
found to be of a sportive nature, and he never seemed happier than when
something was not going right. When any of the pack strayed, he seemed
to be quite in his element, for he would settle into his saddle with a
bump and go helter-skelter over the country after the straying ones.
Hannes was his especial butt, and though Hannes himself was a mine of
dry humour, yet he at times took things very seriously, and it was then
that Jón was in good form; his eyes would sparkle, and he would slyly
endeavour to "take a rise" out of Hannes, though Hannes, as a rule, was
quite equal to the occasion.
We were bound once more for the interior, and expected to get well
up towards the lakes of Arnarvatnsheithi, to visit the Caves at
Surtshellir, and to see the western side of Lang Jökull, where we
should again enter the uninhabited desert. The greater portion of our
journey, though, would be among the western farms, in country rich in
folklore and made famous in the Sagas.
Our way lay for several miles along the Thingvellir road, then we
turned off to the left and skirted the fjord for a mile or two, soon,
however, striking inland away from the coast. We passed at the foot of
Lagafell, a rather striking mountain having an abrupt escarpment, and
proceeded thence through grassy country to Mosfell. Soon after getting
clear of Reykjavik we were met by one of our old guides, Thorlakur, who
accompanied us to Mosfell, where he possessed a farm, which lay on the
hillside overlooking a green plain well besprinkled with cotton grass.
After lunch we went up to Thorlakur's farm, and made the acquaintance
of his wife and two little girls, who entertained us to coffee. I took
two photographs of the family: one showing the dwelling--a typical
western farm-house of the better class--and the other with Thorlakur
on his pony, and showing a tuff-capped and protected hill in the
background. The grass on this farm was very thick, and in the plain
below the cotton grass was so abundant that it looked as if a number of
white sheets had been spread over the green.
[Illustration: THORLAKUR AND HIS WIFE AND CHILDREN AT HIS FARM-HOUSE.]
After taking leave of Thorlakur and his family, we proceeded on our
way, making a gradual ascent until reaching a spot overlooking a
stream, beyond which there were some peculiarly-shaped brownish hills
that presented a somewhat castellated appearance--from the distance it
was difficult to judge whether they were volcanic necks, or liparite
or tuff formations. On the way the weather, which had been quite fine
to the time of our arrival at Mosfell, gradually changed: we could see
the moisture condensing on the mountains away to our left and straight
ahead, and were much struck with the peculiar way in which the mists
hung over the hills and left a valley quite clear. From the spot
overlooking the stream just mentioned, we descended into the valley
and crossed the river, the Leiruvogsá; then we commenced the ascent of
a long, steep track up the hillsides, between Skalafell on the east
and the great mass of the mountain Esja on the west, towards the pass
known as Svinaskarth. Beyond the river, we entered the region where
the moisture was rapidly condensing, and made our way up the path in
a perfect deluge of rain. We passed hundreds of small streams and
rivulets that came down the mountain sides across our path. We did
not mind the rain, for we were clad in oilskins, and the weather was
not cold--there was a great difference in temperature from that of
the interior and between the ice-fields: it seemed milder, as indeed
it was, and the rain did not strike so cold. We were experiencing the
difference due to the warmer winds from the south and south-west, and
to the effect of the North Atlantic Drift, a continuation of the Gulf
Stream. One peak of Esja to the left was a sharp-pointed brown cone
of liparite, and it stood out as a prominent feature as we ascended.
The pass was very steep in places, and had a number of abrupt turns in
it, and there were many views that would have made fine pictures for
the camera in clearer weather. Descending the pass into the valley of
the Sviná (Svinadal) the gradient was rather severe, so we dismounted
and led our ponies down the steepest parts to relieve them from our
weight for a while. A very noticeable feature in Svinadal was the
number of streams that emerged from the mountain sides, from beneath
the lava flows, and then ran down in a series of cascades to join the
river Sviná in the valley. We followed this river to its confluence
with the Laxá, which flows for a short distance through a quantity of
outcropping lava, _roches moutonnées_ again, whose rounded and smoothed
surfaces stand as evidence that ice once filled the valley. Thence we
proceeded along the valley of the Laxá (Laxadal) beside the river
and through a quantity of moraine matter to Reynivellir, passing the
volcanic cone of Sandfell to the right. Along the sides of this valley
the straight lines of the lava flows can be traced for miles dipping
but very slightly inland from the fjord (Laxavogr), which we were then
in sight of.
We arrived at Reynivellir on Saturday evening and stayed there till
Monday. The weather was not good, and excepting on Sunday evening,
when there was a break that caused some very fine cloud-effects, it
rained almost incessantly. Our first camp was made here, but as through
a misunderstanding only one tent had been brought, which Miss Hastie
used, the rest of the party had to make shift in another way. I elected
to use the church as my place of residence, and had my bed rigged up
in the loft or gallery; this loft was a veritable storehouse, so out
of curiosity I made a rough inventory of the articles I found. Besides
several boxes and sea-chests, there was hanging from a number of hooks
a wardrobe that would have clothed about half-a-dozen persons of both
sexes; then there were some large lockers, ranged along the side of the
loft, that were filled with wool; a number of agricultural implements,
a rocking armchair, and two forms completed the list.
The Icelanders are very hospitable, and travellers are made welcome.
Every farmer who can afford it has one or two guest-chambers that are
placed at the disposal of any one passing through. On arrival at the
farm the traveller is invited to partake of coffee. When this is served
in the best room of the house, the farmer and his wife join the new
arrivals in a light meal, consisting of excellent coffee, and fancy
pastry of equally excellent quality. Some of the Icelandic women are
very good pastry-cooks, and the cakes and pastry they produce often
equal in quality any that could be procured at a first-class London
confectioner's.
At Reynivellir there are a farm-house and a church. The churches are
either Athalkirkja (principal church) or Annexia (farmers' church), and
that at Reynivellir is Athalkirkja. The clergy are appointed and paid
by the Government; but they have farms which add to their incomes. The
religion of the Icelanders is Lutheran. Service was held in the church
at Reynivellir on the Sunday morning while we were there, and all the
members of our party attended it. The minister was attired in black
robes, which he wore with a white ruff and flattened hat; he looked
exactly as if he had just stepped out of a Velasquez picture, for his
face and dress were quite typical. It is a peculiarity of the Icelandic
services that the members of the congregation come and go just as they
please; evidently they consider the service of too long duration, for
many leave the church and absent themselves for periods varying up to
fifteen minutes. I inquired why, and was informed that the Icelanders
being used to open-air life, could not remain still and cooped up for
any length of time, so they left while the service was in progress, in
order to stretch their legs and occasionally to have a smoke. They were
quite regardless of the time of commencement of the service, and came
in at any time during its progress. The sexes did not seem to mix, for
the men were seated, most of them, in the chancel around the pulpit,
while the body of the church was occupied by the women, though a few
men sat in the seats right at the back.
The rain continued to the time of our departure from Reynivellir, for
we set out on Monday in a depressing drizzle. We had a very stiff
climb by a zigzag path up the side of the Reynivallahals mountain, a
flat-topped range having the valley of the Laxá on one side and the
waters of Hvalfjord on the other. After crossing the highest part of
the ridge, we gradually descended to the water of Hvalfjord, passing
Fossá, where there is a small waterfall in a ravine, close by a wooden
bridge that spans it. There was a good view from Fossá over Hvalfjord
and to the head of one branch of it. To this branch we descended by
a long slope on the steep mountain side, and then passed round the
head of the arm, where the Brgnjudalsá runs into it over a ledge of
basalt. We could not help being struck with the two bold scarped ends
of the mountain ranges that come down to the fjord: Muláfjall between
the two branches, and Thyrill beyond. After crossing the Brgnjudalsá,
we rounded the first headland, and proceeded for some distance along
the second arm of the fjord till we came to a black sandy beach, which
was then covered with about six inches of water. This was fully a
mile from the head of the fjord, but we crossed at this point, the
ponies splashing through the water as if they enjoyed that part of the
journey--and doubtless they did. Our way then lay at the foot of the
great escarpment of the Thyrill mountains, a range that has been carved
by the weather into wondrous fantastic shapes, the end presenting a
magnificent castellated appearance--a fine solid block resting on a
sloping base.
[Illustration: THE THYRILL MOUNTAINS.]
One of the Sagas relates how the Thyrill family some nine hundred years
ago resided on the small island of Greirsholmi, which was probably much
bigger than it is at the present time. They had a feud with another
family, who invaded the island; but the Thyrills had received warning
of the approach of the enemy, and they escaped to the peninsula of
Thyrillsnes, where a sanguinary battle was fought. All the Thyrills
were slain except one woman who had been left on the island, and
she escaped by swimming to the mainland with her baby son; she then
ascended the castellated end of the Thyrill mountains and escaped
through the gap between the two blocks into which it is divided. It is
said that when the son grew up, he wreaked vengeance upon the family
that had almost exterminated his own.
From Thyrill we proceeded along the shore of Hvalfjord for two or three
miles, and on looking back, the end of the Thyrill mountains presented
a remarkably fine appearance. From a base of lava and tuff, with a
talus slope above, there rose the main castellated block composed of
upright columns of basalt. Looking the other way towards the sea, the
block of mountains known as Akrafjall, round which the fjord bends,
stands as a striking feature in the landscape.
On leaving the coast we climbed some liparite and tuff rises, and then
passed over a range of hills (Ferstikluhals) northward. From the divide
we had a very good view over the country ahead; in a valley below there
were three lakes having an outlet for their water through Svinadal, by
the river Laxá, into a small fjord named Leirárvogar--this must not be
confounded with the Laxá already mentioned. It should be noted that the
same name is often applied to more than one mountain, river, or town,
and confusion as to the geographical position may arise unless it is
clearly understood which of those bearing the same name is indicated;
for instance, Mosfell (mossy mountain) is applied to several mountains,
Hvitá (white river) to several rivers, and Stathr (a homestead) to
several villages or farm-houses of note. We skirted two of the lakes
in the valley and then passed between the last two, where Hannes made
a deal in trout with a man who was fishing in a stream connecting the
two lakes. We made our way through rain, which had just recommenced
after a fairly fine interval lasting during most of the day's journey,
to the head of the third lake, where we found quarters for the night
at the farm-house of Draghals. Miss Hastie occupied her tent as usual;
but I, not liking the guest-chamber because it was absolutely devoid
of ventilation,--the windows were fixed in their frames and could not
be opened,--took up my quarters in a drying-shed, a large and airy
enclosure running along two sides of the house, which was a fair-sized
galvanised iron structure. Beside this modern excrescence there stood
the old wooden-fronted, turf-walled, and grass-roofed buildings that
were formerly used as the dwelling-house, but were then converted into
kitchen and dairy buildings--ancient and modern were side by side.
[Illustration: MISS HASTIE TROUT-FISHING.]
There were some pretty scenes on the river Draghalsá, an interesting
stream having a number of hard and soft dykes cut through by the water
that descends in a series of waterfalls to a pool, the overflow from
which runs into the lake close by. Both pool and stream afford sport
for fishermen, and Miss Hastie and Jón got quite a good basket of trout
there. I was less fortunate; but as I did not commence until the others
had finished, I concluded that they had caught all the fish in the
stream and had left none for me to catch--but I am not a fisherman, so
lack of skill may have had something to do with the small success met
with.
[Illustration: TYPICAL ICELANDIC FARMERS.]
The people here were typical Icelandic farmers, and the photographs
I took give a very good idea of them. They are not altogether devoid
of humour, and enjoyed my photographing our "guide, philosopher, and
friend," whom I caught sharpening a knife at a grindstone. He was quite
unconscious that I was immortalising him, but the onlooking Icelanders
grasped the point of the situation, and their appreciation of it was
expressed in their faces, which were turned towards me as I took a
snapshot at the group.
On leaving Draghals late in the afternoon we climbed the hills to the
north and came in sight of a fine sheet of water about ten miles long.
This is Skorradalsvatn; it is not very broad, being less than two miles
at its widest part. Just after passing the divide we came upon a fine
waterfall at a spot where the waters of one of the mountain streams
fall a sheer hundred feet into a deep pool below. There are two very
fine gorges here, and they join at the confluence of two streams that
then flow by a meandering course to the lake. The delta of this river
has spread half-way across the lake, where the width is gradually
narrowing; in course of time it will extend right across, and cut the
water into two portions. We then skirted the lake to its head, rounding
it just where it narrows to a river, which flows on as the Audakilsá
towards Borgarfjord. Just beyond the river we came to the farm-house of
Grund, where we took up our quarters.
We remained at Grund a whole day in order that the fishermen might
again try their skill with the rod, and they were successful in
catching a number of trout. It rained heavily during the afternoon,
which was very annoying, for it prevented me from going to explore
the mountains of Skarthsheithi and the vicinity--a pity, for the
group looks a most interesting one. Facing Grund they form a sort of
semicircle, a vast corrie having a yellowish-brown hill in the middle,
a liparite mound; to the left of the semicircle there is another
brownish mountain that is evidently a series of alternations of tuff
and liparite. On the face of the mountains in the centre there are
two small glaciers, while to the right there is a remarkable stepped
pyramid that shows most distinctly the lava flows--flow above flow
being lined out and stepped in the profile, the parallel lines being
distinctly marked not only on the pyramid but also round the semicircle.
At Grund we lost our "guide, philosopher, and friend," whose
engagements required his presence in Reykjavik in the course of the
next few days. In the early morning he departed, and thenceforth we
had to look to Hannes for guidance. Two or three hours after his
departure we set out for Reykholt. Our way lay over some rough rising
lava flows at the back of the farm-house, and these we ascended to the
divide, whence we had a fine view of the valley of the Hvitá. It was
fertile-looking country, but the land is not cultivated; grass is the
only thing grown, for the sun has not sufficient strength to ripen
grain of any kind. Haymaking was in full swing just then, and we saw
the haymakers at work on all the farms as we passed by. Beyond the
Hvitá valley a long range of mountains stretches from near the sea far
inland, the most prominent in the chain being a conical peak (Baula)
some fifteen to twenty miles distant.
After crossing the river Grimsá we entered a stretch of country
composed of many alluvial river terraces. Terrace above terrace had
been formed in succession by the Hvitá and several of its branches
that we crossed in the course of the day, namely, the Grimsá, the
Flokadalsá, the Reykjadalsá, and others. Between the two last named
rivers we had lunch beside the farm-house of Kropprmuli. From the
Reykjadalsá we proceeded to some hot springs, Tunguhver, close beside
the river. These springs emerge from the side of a small hillock,
where they bubble and boil over, and spurt jets a few feet into the
air; the water comes down the hillside in a series of small waterfalls
or cascades. Great volumes of steam rose from the springs, and
unfortunately the wind was blowing it in such a way as to obscure the
whole of the springs, except for an occasional glimpse when the steam
was swirled aside by a strong gust. At one end of the hill, however,
where the springs were very active, the steam was partly blown away
from us, and we saw several of them in violent ebullition. On leaving
this spot we made our way up the valley of the Reykjadalsá, a river
that we crossed nine times in less than the same number of miles. At
a spot close by one of our crossings there was, in the middle of the
river, a small mound that is often the scene of eruptive violence; it
was the site of the geyser, Arhver, which plays at intervals of several
days--weeks sometimes, throwing a small stream of water high into the
air, sometimes twenty feet or more.
At Reykholt, where we put up for the night, there are a church,
parsonage, and farm. The minister was at home, and he came out to
receive us as we clattered into the space in front of the parsonage.
He was a big, broad-shouldered man, as broad in mind as in person, and
capable of regarding things in a large way. He welcomed us in courtly
fashion, and as he spoke good English we at once got on excellent
terms with him. An invitation to coffee was of course accepted, and
we were entertained by the minister and his wife, a woman in striking
contrast to our host in point of size, for she was quite small and slim.
The Reykholt parsonage is on the site of the house of Snorri Sturluson,
the historian, who lived nearly seven hundred years ago. Just below
the house, and less than a hundred yards distant from it, there is a
hot spring known as Skriflir, which seems to have been in existence in
Snorri's time, for rather nearer to the house there is a bath that is
said to have been constructed by him. It is connected to the spring by
an aqueduct, also ascribed to Snorri. The water on issuing from the
spring is boiling, and when it reaches the bath it has lost but little
of its original heat, consequently it is impossible to bathe at once.
When any one requires a tub, the water is run into it from the spring
over-night, then in the morning the temperature is just delightfully
warm. This bath was built in twelve hundred and something; and as
Snorri died in 1241, it is not much short of seven hundred years old.
A large iron cauldron that stood just close to the spring served as
the laundry, for the family washing was done there. Hot springs are
often utilised in this way. At Reykjavik, the capital, the whole of the
washing of the town is done at a hot spring, the Laug, just outside the
town, and daily numbers of women are to be seen going and returning
with their wooden wash-tubs on their backs.
The Reykholt church was the largest that we had seen away from the
towns. The minister informed me that sometimes he had as many as two
hundred persons in his congregation, the number varying between that
and one hundred. His parish was a large one, there being thirty-five
farms included in it. The parsonage was one of the prettiest
imaginable, for its grassy roofs and sides were covered with a
profusion of camomile flowers. I took photographs of front and back,
but they give only a faint idea of the original, devoid as they are of
colour.
In the valley of the Reykjadalsá just below Reykholt there is a
very thick growth of peat; down by the river it was laid bare for a
thickness of more than twelve feet, the thickest seam I saw in Iceland.
CHAPTER XII
BARNAFOSS AND THE SURTSHELLIR CAVES
The sun had crossed the meridian next day before we left Reykholt. We
had coffee with the minister and his wife, from whom we parted on the
best possible terms; they and their children waved their adieux to us
as we proceeded on our way up Reykholtsdal. We struck across towards
the Hvitá, and soon came in sight of that river, a swift-flowing
stream whose milky-white colour denoted that its source must be up in
the snow-and ice-fields of the Jökulls. Along the Hvitá (white river)
valley there were many evidences that the river had at one time been
far wider, for up the valley sides several terraces marked levels at
which alluvium had formerly been deposited. We lunched at Stori Ás,
in view of the conical peaked mountain, Strutr, and Eyriks Jökull. We
were then not far from the bridge that spans the Hvitá and affords
communication between opposite sides of the river, so Miss Hastie and
I walked on while Hannes and Jón were adjusting pack-saddles, etc. I
came upon an interesting specimen of wind erosion at the top of a rise,
where the sandy soil had been blown away from round a turf-covered
mound. We passed through a small birch wood, but the trees were very
diminutive, three to five feet being the average, with a few rather
more; a photograph I took gives the impression of much greater height.
On the opposite side of the river we could see recent lava, and on the
hillside beyond, the farm-house of Gilsbakki. This lava had come from
a considerable distance, for I traced its course from Gilsbakki, right
away past the liparite mountain, Tunga, and beyond Strutr, where it
divides and flows in two streams. This lava determines the courses of
the principal rivers thereabouts, which flow along its edges.
[Illustration: A FOREST NEAR BARNAFOSS.]
Just below the bridge a very remarkable sight is to be seen. For
more than half a mile along the right bank of the river a series of
cascades and waterfalls flow into it. The water issues from beneath
the lava of which the steep bank is composed, and then flows down its
side; it is a very striking proof of the great extent of some of the
subterranean rivers. Just above the bridge there is a very fine fall
in the Hvitá, known as Barnafoss; though fine, it cannot be compared
with Gullfoss in grandeur, and the glory of this part of the river is
the series of cascades on its right bank. The spot is supposed to have
been named from the drowning of two children near the fall--Barnafoss,
the children's waterfall; but the minister at Reykholt declared that
the tale is not true, and that the name is more likely to have been
corrupted from Bjarni, which is a man's name. It is worthy of note
that the birch woods seem to flourish best in the decaying lava in the
scoriaceous lava-fields; it also seems to do well in soil produced
from liparite, for it grows high up on the east side of the liparite
mountain, Tunga.
[Illustration: THE CASCADES AT BARNAFOSS.]
At the Hvitá bridge the party split into two--Miss Hastie going on with
Hannes to Gilsbakki, while Jón and I went along the left bank of the
Hvitá past Husafell, thence onward across the river Kaldá, where we
got among lava and birches. The birches were much of the same height
as those in the Barnafoss wood, though I saw several that stood about
seven to eight feet high. I took a photograph of one of them--one in
which the wood had attained a thickness of some three or four inches;
it was the finest specimen of a birch-tree that I saw in Iceland.
There are bigger birches in the land, for I have seen a photograph
of a clump of about a dozen that are over twenty feet in height, but
they are in a particularly favoured spot on the eastern side of the
island. I got Jón on his pony to stand while I photographed the wood
through which we were passing, for it was a typical Icelandic forest.
On crossing the next river, the Geitá, I found the lava much broken up
and denuded, and there was spread over it a quantity of the alluvial
pebbles that are brought down in times of heavy rains and melting ice
by the rivers flowing from Lang Jökull--it is a sort of flood plain, in
fact. This continued until we reached the Hvitá, but on the other side
of it we once more found ourselves upon the unbroken rough lava. Close
beside this river we came to a halt for the night at the farm-house of
Kalmanstunga, which is situated in a very picturesque spot facing Lang
Jökull, the glaciers and ice-fields of which are in full view; it has
the liparite mountain, Tunga, and a portion of Eyriks Jökull on the
right, and the extinct volcano, Strutr, on the left.
[Illustration: MAP]
In the morning I ascended the rising ground at the back of
Kalmanstunga, and thence obtained an interesting view over the country.
In the foreground beneath Lang Jökull a long valley filled with lava
from beyond Strutr stretches away from left to right; two rivers flow
down the valley, one on each side of the lava, which determines their
course along its edges. The Hvitá flowed on the edge of the lava just
at the foot of the hills whereon I stood; on the far side of the
valley, on the other edge of the lava, the Geitá flowed at the foot
of the outlying hills of Lang Jökull. Away to the right in the valley
between the two rivers, towards their confluence, I could see the
denuded alluvium-covered lava noticed on the way. This alluvial matter
is deposited during floods, when the waters of the swollen rivers unite
and flow over the lava as one.
It was nearly mid-day before we got a start, for there had been delay
over a very important matter. Jón had awakened me several hours earlier
to inform me that there were no candles in the house! Now, candles
would not seem to be a matter of much importance to us, considering
that it was then broad daylight and that we had but little use for
candles in the ordinary way, because daylight continued practically
during the whole twenty-four hours; nor would the lack of them seem to
be a thing to cause a delay in starting; but it was really the case,
for we were about to proceed to the Surtshellir Caves, and candles
were required to enable us to explore their passages. That being so, a
messenger had to be sent to the farm-house at Husafell, where a stock
was generally kept for anybody wanting to visit the caves. The caves
were distant about two hours' ride--one rarely mentions distance in the
ordinary way when travelling in Iceland, because ten miles, say, might
represent a journey of three or four hours, or the same distance might
be traversed in little more than an hour in very favourable ground.
After crossing the rise at the back of Kalmanstunga, we descended into
the valley of the Northingafljot, a clear-water river having its source
in a number of lakes of glacial origin known as Fiskivötn, lying beyond
Eyriks Jökull. The valley is filled with lava from the same source as
that on the Hvitá side of Strutr, whence I had just come. Here the lava
is noted for the number and extent of the caves that underlie it. There
is a sharp rise as the river is ascended, the stream in consequence
being a swift one--so swift, indeed, that it has been able to carve a
way through the lava, which it crosses from one side of the valley to
the other, a very unusual thing. The upper portion flows on the western
edge of the lava and at the foot of the hills on that side; while the
lower, after crossing the lava, flows along by the eastern edge at the
foot of the mountains Strutr and Tunga.
[Illustration: THE NORTHINGAFLJOT CUTTING ACROSS THE LAVA.]
The caves at Surtshellir are remarkable for several things. Their
origin is probably due to a big bubble formation, helped partly,
perhaps, by a crust of lava being forced upward in the form of an
arch by pressure acting from the sides; though there is no doubt that
they have been much enlarged and deepened by the eroding action of
flowing water. An underground river used to flow through the caves,
but as it does not do so now, some lower channel has doubtless been
found. There was evidence of lower caves beneath those visited, for
on stamping on the ground in several places, distinctly hollow sounds
were produced. The falls into the Hvitá at Barnafoss, which are only a
few miles away, lie in the Surtshellir line of drainage, and are proof
that very large quantities of water are still flowing underground in
this neighbourhood; in fact, it is highly probable that a great deal
of water from the numerous lakes, the Fiskivötn, on Arnarvatnsheithi,
escapes underground. There are two entrances to the caves--one near
what is known as the Bone Cave, the other close by the Icicle Cave.
The caves are in a picturesque spot, and beyond the entrance that we
used there lies the great ice-covered Eyriks Jökull, one of the highest
mountains in Iceland. There is a depression in the lava at this spot--a
double depression, in fact, for inner and outer rims indicate them very
distinctly, and it is obvious that the opening in the caves is due to
the falling in of part of the roof. Access to the caves is obtained by
scrambling down the loose broken lava to an opening at the bottom. The
photographs do not give much idea of the roughness of the "going"; from
end to end, except in the Icicle Cave, where difficulties of another
kind were met with, the floor of the caves was strewn with broken lava.
The fragments that have become detached from the roof and now lie upon
the floor are angular blocks of extreme raggedness and hardness, piled
up in confused heaps that test quality of boots, strength of ankles,
and toughness (or tenderness) of skin, to say nothing of the mysterious
capability of hanging on "by one's eyelids" that is almost absolutely
necessary in places.
[Illustration: THE DOUBLE DEPRESSION IN THE LAVA AT THE ENTRANCE TO THE
SURTSHELLIR CAVES.]
[Illustration: IN THE SURTSHELLIR CAVES NEAR THE ENTRANCE, SHOWING THE
WATER-WORN LINES.]
Jón and I were accompanied by the farmer from Kalmanstunga, a man
acquainted with the caves, who had come with us in the capacity of
guide. We scram
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