_THE NORWEGIAN NORDLAND._
THE EVER-PRESENT SALMON—A CHEESE EXHIBITION—THE BLESSED ISLAND
BELT—TORGHÄTTA AND THE SEVEN SISTERS—SCENES WITHIN THE ARCTIC
CIRCLE—VISIT TO THE SVARTISEN GLACIER—COASTING ALONG THE LOFODEN
ISLANDS—SEA FOWL AND EIDER DUCKS—REINDEER SWIMMING ACROSS THE FJORD.
At noon, June 23rd, we stood on the deck of the mail steamer “Kong
Halfdan”; the last passenger with boxes and luggage had come aboard,
the bridge was drawn in, cables thrown off, we drew out from the wharf,
and steamed down the fjord on our long journey to the North Cape.
The captain, mates, and stewards all spoke English, that being one of
the requirements for the holding of their positions, and they were well
informed, social, and obliging. We were satisfied with the fittings of
the steamer which was to be our home during the next eleven days, and
though they were not elegant, they were comfortable, and everything
was neat and clean. The state-rooms, each for two persons, contain
plush sofas at the sides, converted into berths at night, and between
these sofas, beneath the port hole, is a washstand forming a table
when closed. Our luggage and belongings were stowed away under the
sofas, and arranged in racks and on hooks. There are accommodations
for twenty-four first-class passengers. The saloon is at the stern,
fitted with an upholstered plush seat extending around the sides, with
two tables down the centre, at which we gathered three times daily. On
deck is a smoking-room, the chief resort of both ladies and gentlemen,
who spend most of the time there when it is too cold or stormy to sit
beneath the awning, upon the deck in its rear.
At two o’clock we assembled for dinner, consisting of soup, boiled
salmon, entrées, roast meats, and delicious cakes and pastries.
Almost the first word the tourist will learn in Norway is _Lax_
(salmon), for he is absolutely certain to see it upon the table every
day during his stay in the country. During our steamer trip we were
served with salmon three times daily; it came upon the table boiled,
fried, broiled, and smoked; we were served with salmon salad, salmon
jelly, and salmon pudding.
The pudding is the _chef d’œuvre_ of the Norwegian cook’s art. The
fish is first separated from the bones, cut into small pieces, and
after being chopped fine is mixed with eggs, milk, and flour, seasoned
with salt and pepper, and boiled in a mould. It is generally made from
salmon and cod or halibut arranged in layers, and as it appears upon
the table it looks like a mould of strawberry and vanilla ice-cream, or
a variegated Italian cream or blanc mange. Its consistency is somewhat
firmer than the last, and as we eat it for the first time at dinner,
served after the soup, we were full of wondering and questioning as to
what it could be. A lobster or shrimp sauce is eaten with it, and it
forms a palatable dish; we did not relish it as well upon its second
appearance at supper cut into slices and fried.
The smoked salmon is uncooked, and is cured and prepared much like
smoked halibut. It always graces the breakfast table, and we became
quite fond of it, although many dislike it exceedingly.
Notwithstanding the fact that the Norwegian salmon are considered the
best in the world, and we took on new supplies of them at the little
ports, where they had been taken fresh from the water, yet after
sitting down to thirty-three meals in succession where _Lax_ in some
form was always one of the constituents, we must confess that, though
we started upon the voyage with a great fondness for salmon, at its end
_Lax_ had lost all its charms.
But we never tired of the delicious lobsters we had every night for
supper, which were big fellows like those formerly caught along the New
England coast.
As we sat down to the supper table the first evening we imagined
ourselves at a _cheese exhibition_, for arranged down the centre of the
table were _twelve_ different varieties of cheese. What they were named
we never knew, but all tasted different, and ranged in strength from
the mildest of cheese to the _Gamla Ost_ (old cheese), which from its
hoary, wizened, and furrowed appearance, seemed to be the grandfather
of them all. The _Mysost_ is made of goats’ milk boiled until the water
is evaporated, forming a sort of sugar of milk, which is pressed into
square cakes of a light chocolate color, weighing from two to five
pounds. It is generally quite soft, is cut into extremely thin slices,
and at first taste seems to be a sweetened mixture of soap and sand, but
one can cultivate a taste for it and grow to like it. It is a great
favorite with children and ladies, and often appears on the table
enclosed in a case of tissue paper, which is perforated and cut into
various ornamental designs, with a bright ribbon tied around the top.
Both at breakfast and supper the table was covered with an array of
sardines, anchovies, caviar, fat herring in oil, cold hams, smoked
reindeer meat and tongues, and ten different varieties of long cold
sausages, from which one was free to cut liberal slices. The whole
collection looked as if it had made numerous voyages to the North Cape,
and had basked in the midnight sunbeams for several seasons.
We attempted to eat some of the smoked reindeer meat, but it was like
trying to masticate an old rubber shoe, and we gave up in despair.
This collection, taking the place of the _smörgasbord_, constitutes
the regular stand-bys at every breakfast and supper, and in addition
we were served with fish, eggs, and hot meats. There is always an
abundance of food, and good of its kind, but we missed the fruit and
vegetables, which, with the exception of potatoes, cannot be grown in
Norway except near Bergen and in a few localities in the south; and we
tired of the ever-recurring salmon and fish.
The entire coast of Norway is cut up by innumerable fjords, which are
long bays or arms of the sea, penetrating far inland between rocky
cliffs, contracting as they advance until many of them end in narrow
creeks. Extending along nearly the whole coast is a fringe of islands,
forming what is called the “island belt.” The course of the steamer is
between these islands and the mainland, so there is very little motion,
and it is only where there is a break in this belt of islands, when
the steamer crosses a wide fjord where it opens into the sea, or goes
out into the open ocean, that one feels the swell and movement. As the
steamers continue within this “blessed island belt” the greater part of
the way to the North Cape, the voyage is mostly robbed of the miseries
of sea-sickness.
The first night of the journey was Saint John’s eve. Following an
ancient custom, great bonfires blazed along the coast, from eleven
o’clock until after midnight. Wherever there was a small fishing
settlement, little farm house, or solitary hut,—high on a neighboring
rocky point the flames leaped heavenward; both forward and in the rear
the coast glowed with these great spots of fire, and amid the solitude,
wild scenery, and bright twilight, the effect was extremely weird. It
was the evening of the longest day of the year, and although we were
not yet within the region of perpetual day, yet at half-past eleven we
could read fine print with ease, and the captain said it would grow no
darker.
Seen from a distance, a mass of rock forming an island looks like
a man’s hat floating on the water, the crown and broad rim being
distinctly outlined. It is called the Torghätta (market hat), and about
half way up the crown, which is eight hundred feet high, it is pierced
by a natural tunnel, whose east entrance is sixty-two feet high and
west end two hundred and forty-six feet high.
As you pass on the west side and are opposite the tunnel, the opening
at a distance appears like a patch of snow upon the dark rock;
approaching nearer you see the walls of the tunnel, with a view of the
sky through the smaller opening on the east side, yet after advancing a
certain distance in the steamer and looking backward, nothing is seen
but a solid wall of rock, with no intimation of an opening.
There is a legend connected with the rock, that while a maiden was
pursued by her lover, her brother attempted her rescue; the lover shot
and pierced the brother’s hat with an arrow, and the sun shone through
the opening, changing the maiden into stone. Not far away, a curiously
shaped mountain is known as the Giant Maiden, to which the Norwegians
doff their hats as they sail by.
What are called the Seven Sisters is a group of six mountains, the
summit of one being divided into two peaks, rising precipitously three
thousand feet above the water; when we passed them their summits were
veiled in clouds, and the captain facetiously remarked: “They have
their nightcaps on, and like most Norwegian girls are coy and afraid of
showing their faces to foreigners.”
In places along the narrow fjords we saw white marks and stripes
painted on the rocks, and planks painted white, floating in the water,
for the purpose of deceiving the salmon, that mistake them for their
favorite waterfalls, and are thus decoyed into nets.
We stop at little stations with clusters of small red houses; the
natives row out to us in graceful boats with high pointed stern and
prow resembling the Venetian gondolas, bringing us passengers whose
belongings are contained in gaily painted and decorated oval wooden
boxes, of various sizes, ranging as large as a trunk. Heavy boxes of
merchandise and supplies are lowered over the steamer’s side into the
larger boats, the rowers laboring hard, as we steam away, to row
their heavy load to the shore. At every place we leave the mail, for
the steamer has a well-regulated post-office aboard, with a postmaster
and assistant, who worked night and day during the first part of the
journey, but they take their ease later, as we go farther north where
stations are few, and the mail has been mostly delivered.
During the second day we crossed the Arctic Circle in latitude 66°
50´. The coast of Norway presents a wonderful combination of ocean and
mountain scenery. Mountains rise abruptly from the water over three
thousand feet high, their summits capped with snow, and masses of
snow and ice in their rugged rocky clefts; waterfalls leap a thousand
feet down the sides of barren mountains, seeming in the distance but
small cascades like narrow bands of silver; glaciers from the realm of
eternal ice, extending for miles on elevated plateaux four thousand
feet above the sea, push their crystal mass around snowy peaks and
crowd their way between mountains, sweeping away immense boulders and
ploughing deep into the granite walls, on their downward course to
within a few hundred feet of the sea.
The steamer turns up winding fjords between straight walls of rock,
with here and there a less barren aspect, where dark fir and pine
trees clothe the sides, or a solitary farm house in the midst of a
few acres of cultivated land gives token of civilized life. We thread
an archipelago of detached masses of granite; rocky ledges rise above
the crested waves; here little islands, the home of the eider duck and
other sea fowl; there, great solitary islands the abode of fishermen,
who have spread their nets upon the rocks and drawn their boats into
sheltering coves. The way seems lost amid a maze of islands, when a
turn brings us out upon the open sea, where the foaming waves dash
against the rockbound coast, and sea gulls whirl around the steep
cliffs. Over all is the unending daylight glorifying mountain, glacier,
and sea, and with every turn the prospect changes and fresh grandeurs
are disclosed.
As we advanced amid this magnificent scenery we proceeded up a narrow
fjord, where the glorious sight of the Svartisen glacier burst upon
our view. The Svartisen is the second largest glacier in Norway, an
enormous mantle of snow and ice forty-four miles long and covering a
space of sixty-two square miles, spread out upon a plateau thousands
of feet high, from which protrude snowy peaks. From this plateau
descend several glaciers between the mountains, and we now viewed the
one which descends the nearest to the sea. The bright afternoon sun
shone upon this grand glacier, which for ages has been moving slowly
downward, until its glittering mass of snow and ice extends almost to
the blue water. Nothing could be more beautiful than this pure-white
congealed stream, as we view its course, flowing from the great
ice-fields above, amid its dark framing of barren rock, down to the
green slopes at the base of the mountains.
We landed in small boats upon the rocky shore and started to walk to
the glacier, but the distance, which from the steamer seemed but a few
rods, lengthened into over a mile. After two days of confinement upon
the steamer it was a great pleasure to walk along the rocky shore,
gathering shells, sea-moss, and new and strange flowers blooming upon
grassy slopes just beyond the rocks. At last we stood at the base of
the glacier, which towered above us more than thirty feet; great pieces
of ice had been broken off and stood detached in pools of water, or
were piled against each other; as far as we could see, the surface
of the glacier was of pure white, in great contrast with the Swiss
glaciers, so soiled and dirty from piles of stones and great moraines.
As we looked down the deep crevasses penetrating into the recesses of
the glacier, we found that the ice was a beautiful dark blue, rivalling
in tint the bluest of skies. We climbed up the glacier a short
distance, but found it too difficult and dangerous an undertaking, and
were content to walk along its margin, lost in wonder before this great
crystal storehouse.
In beauty and grandeur the Svartisen glacier far exceeds anything we
had seen in Switzerland; even the fine glaciers about Pontresina,
Zermatt, Chamonix, Grindelwald, or those that sweep around the base
of the Eggishorn, are surpassed by this pure-white glacier in the far
North. We were rowed back to the steamer after two hours upon land,
and as we sailed away we watched until the last moment the wonderful
Svartisen, which was one of the most beautiful sights of the whole trip.
As we were within the Arctic Circle we all anticipated seeing the
midnight sun for the first time, and remained late upon deck, but the
heavens were covered with clouds and no sun made its appearance; yet it
was as light as day, and some of the passengers, while waiting for a
glimpse of the sun, were writing letters at midnight.
In these high latitudes, with their combination of ocean and
mountains, one must expect cloudy and rainy weather. At times mist,
clouds, and rain shut out all the beautiful scenery, and it was very
disappointing; yet many views we lost going north, on account of bad
weather, we enjoyed on our way back.
At Bodö we left the “island belt” and crossed the wide Vest fjord,
where we soon began to feel the motion of the sea, to the Lofoden
Islands, grouped in a curve resembling a horn. These islands are a
bewildering collection of mountains, straits and bays, while thousands
of rocky islets form, as it were, a fringe to the larger islands.
The view of the Lofoden Islands as we approached across the fjord
is magnificent; long lines of mountains rise directly from the sea
between three and four thousand feet high, their tops ending in sharply
outlined pinnacles, with patches of snow on the summits and sides, and
often a cloud floating upon the highest peaks. The mountains are great
masses of dark rock wholly destitute of vegetation, except a covering
of green moss which is luminous especially in damp weather.
All day we cruised along the islands, calling at the little fishing
hamlets to leave mail, freight, and passengers. At a small settlement
called Kabelvaag, as we threaded our way among a maze of rocky reefs
and islands, we got aground, and it was nearly an hour before we were
floating again; the water was so clear that we could distinctly see the
rocks and ledges on the bottom, until it was stirred up by the steamer
in trying to get free. At Svolvaer the scenery reached its climax; the
mountains rose almost straight out of the water, their rugged walls
of rock seamed and chiseled by nature into weird forms, with scarcely
room at their base for the little collection of fishers’ huts and
fish-packing houses, dwarfing everything by comparison with their lofty
summits, thousands of feet high.
The Lofoden Islands are famous for their fisheries, as well as for
their imposing scenery. From the middle of January until the middle
of April millions of cod come to spawn off the east coast of the
islands, and are caught with net and line by the twenty-five thousand
fishermen, who flock there from all parts of Norway. The average annual
yield is estimated to be twenty millions of fish, and some years as
many as twenty-nine millions have been taken. Nearly six thousand
boats congregate at the three principal fishing banks, a mile from the
islands, for the winter fishing, which is often attended with great
loss of life, when a gale prevents the boats from returning to the
islands and drives them across the wide and stormy fjord, capsizing
them before they reach the mainland.
The fish are nicely cleaned, split, and hung upon long wooden racks to
dry, and others are slightly salted, carried to the mainland, where the
atmosphere is less damp, and spread upon the rocks. They are shipped
all over Europe, a great quantity being sent to Spain and Portugal. The
vessels bring back Spanish and Portuguese wines on their return voyage
at very cheap rates, and as a result you can buy port and sherry wines
cheaper in Norway than in any other country in Europe, except where the
wines are made.
Upon several of the islands factories have been erected, and the cods’
heads, which are first dried on the rocks, are pulverized and converted
into fertilizers; at many places we saw great stacks and piles of fish
drying on the rocks, and heaps of cods’ heads awaiting transportation
to the factory, whose proximity was made known by the penetrating odor,
sufficiently strong to travel to the North Pole.
The Lofoden Islands are also the seat of the great cod liver oil
industry, and the choicest brands of this life-renewing cordial are
sent on their errands of mercy, broadcast over the world.
The steamer bears us amid new and striking views of the grand scenery
of the islands and also of the mainland, where across the fjord, which
grows narrower as we go northward, long ranges of snow mountains in
ever-changing forms rise from the water, and we are within a circle of
giant peaks of savage and stupendous grandeur.
Many consider this the grandest scenery of the whole Norwegian coast,
and affirm that nothing in Europe surpasses it.
Small local steamers make the circuit of the Lofoden Islands, calling
at all the little hamlets; but to fully enjoy the journey one should be
a good sailor, for along the west side of the islands one is exposed to
the full sweep of the waves of the Atlantic.
To the south of the islands is the celebrated Malström, a cataract
formed by the tide pouring through a narrow strait, where the water
foams and seethes over deep sunken ledges, and presents an imposing
scene when a contrary wind strikes the angry billows.
As we steamed along a fjord in the midst of superb scenery, we remained
on deck watching again for a view of the midnight sun. The sun was
behind a high mass of rock jutting out into the fjord; across the water
the snow mountains glistened and glowed in the sunlight, and the water
sparkled beneath the midnight sunbeams. It was half an hour before we
passed the rocky hill hiding the sun’s disk, and when we arrived at the
point where we should have seen it, the sun was obscured by clouds.
The stilly hour of midnight was as light as day, and even without
bright sunshine the effect was indescribably lovely, as the mountains,
islands, and sea were bathed in the mellow light.
In the far North, millions of sea gulls whirl around their rocky
eyries, and circling over the steamer dart downward to skim over the
water, bearing away a fish as their prey; wild ducks and sea fowl of
various kinds fly through the air, and the greyish-brown eider ducks
are seen on the reefs and rocky islets.
There is a law prohibiting the shooting of the eider ducks, from
which a large revenue is obtained. The ducks congregate on the little
islands, where they build their nests, lining them with the soft
fluffy feathers which they pluck from the breast. The natives visit
the islands gathering the feathers from the nests, which the birds
proceed to reline, thus furnishing the eider down of commerce, that is
so extremely light and warm, and is used so extensively for the filling
of quilts, pillows, and the small square feather beds under which the
Germans especially delight to sleep. The finest of the feathers are
made into wraps and garments that are marvels of lightness and warmth.
We had some eider ducks’ eggs boiled for breakfast; they were four
inches long, with a beautiful bluish-green shell, but their taste was
too strong to be palatable.
Among the cabin passengers was a young Englishman, who stammered so
badly that at times he was wholly unintelligible. He could speak
but a few words of Norwegian, yet he left the steamer at a little
out-of-the-way place intending to go into the interior to fish for
salmon, being very confident that with the aid of his phrase book he
could make himself understood.
As he would stand, apparently for several minutes, helplessly
struggling with his l’s before he could say _l-l-l-l-l-l-lax_,
we wondered if the short Norwegian summer would be long enough
for him to pronounce such simple little words as _gjæstgiveri_,
_bekvemmeligheder_, or _gjennomgangsbilletter_, and others of like
length, that go to make up a Norwegian conversation, and which it would
seem to require the nimblest of tongues to glide over.
What his fate was we never learned, but perhaps the unfortunate
stutterer fell a victim to his own temerity, choked by the first
mouthful of Norwegian consonants, and lies buried beneath a lofty
pyramid of cods’ heads.
Suddenly, on a quiet afternoon, all was excitement on the steamer’s
deck, as we gathered to watch a large herd of reindeer swimming in a
long line across the fjord. Laplanders in rude boats were following
them, shouting and urging them on; the reindeer uttered shrill cries,
resembling the yelping of a dog, swimming in the water with little but
the heads and branching antlers visible, until the leader reached the
opposite shore, and, the others following, they gathered on the rocks
and scattered over a grassy slope, till the Lapps had driven the last
from the water.
The Lapps were driving them to fresh pastures, and the captain told
us we were very fortunate to have seen them, for it is a sight seldom
witnessed, as a calm and still day must be chosen, when the water is
smooth, with as little current as possible, and they also endeavor to
select a time when no steamer is liable to pass.
We came upon them just as the rear of the line was in the middle of the
fjord; the steamer turned to one side, affording us a good view of the
interesting sight, and passed without frightening the reindeer.
Our voyage northward from Throndhjem had been in the province called
the Nordland, but soon after passing the Lofoden Islands we entered
Finmarken, the most northern province of Norway, and advanced through a
series of magnificent fjords to Tromsö.
FROM TROMSÖ TO THE
NORTH CAPE.