THE SOGNE FJORD (_continued_)
Sailing down the Sogne Fjord from the sea coast, the scenery gradually
assumes wilder and grander proportions as we advance. At Vadeim it is
just beginning to be interesting and attractive, and when we come to
Balholm we enter into the finest part of the fjord.
Here are prosperous farms, smiling orchards, and waving cornfields, and
as an effective contrast, glacier and snow-field crown the high and
steep mountains around.
Tradition points to this place as the scene of the Swedish poet
Tegner's "Frithjof Saga."
Among other burial mounds ("grav-haug") {68} of chiefs from the Viking
age at Balholm is pointed out that of King Belè, whose daughter was
Ingeborg, whilst at Framnæs, across the fjord, dwelt Frithjof the
Viking. These names all occur in the "Frithjof Saga."
At Balholm stands an English church, the only one to be found among the
fjords. Built for the use of English visitors in summer-time, its
design is similar to that of the ancient wooden "stav-kirk," at Vik in
Sogn. It was erected recently, mainly through the efforts of the
brothers Kvikne, who during their lifetime have been the means of
transforming Balholm from a mere wilderness to a place of great beauty,
and one of the most important places of resort among the fjords.
In an earlier part of this book reference was made to the life at a
"sæter," or mountain out-farm, a description of which may here be found
of interest.
Many of the peasants who live alongside the fjords are also owners of
large portions of the mountain plateaux in their {69} neighbourhood,
and on these excellent grazing is found in the summer months.
When the heavy work of the spring has been finished on the home farm,
and the snow has left these highlands, and when the vegetation has had
time to establish itself anew, the whole farm household gets ready to
remove the domestic animals to the "sæter." It is a picturesque sight,
this cavalcade, the animals all confusion, cattle lowing and sheep
bleating, their bells tinkling merrily as they skip about, the sturdy
little ponies, heavily laden with necessary goods and chattels,
bringing up the rear. All seem full of glee that they can now have a
few months of ideal grazing on those high lands after their
imprisonment indoors all the long winter.
Climbing and struggling onwards up the steep valley, then through
almost trackless regions of rocks and stunted trees, they at length
arrive at their destination, often after some fifteen or twenty miles
of travelling.
[Sidenote: Life at a "sæter"]
At the "sæter" they rest for the {70} summer months amid rich
vegetation by the margin of a lake or mountain tarn, surrounded by high
mountain-tops. Here they graze on the bosky slopes to the music of
babbling brooks.
The "sæter" houses are mostly small and low, of one story only; they
are usually of a very primitive type, being, in fact, the earliest
style of house building now in existence in the country, this ancient
form surviving here long after it had been abandoned in the home farms.
Attached to the dwelling-house, or forming part of it, is a dairy where
butter and cheeses are made.
A white cheese, "melkost," is made from fresh cow's milk; a very
strongly-flavoured old cheese comes from buttermilk--it is called
"gammelost"; and from goat's milk they make "gjedost" or "brimost."
The women and girls only live up at the "sæter," and in addition to the
cheese and butter making, they must attend to their domestic animals
during the four longest summer months.
{71}
The men come up from the home farm at the week-ends with necessary
provisions, and take back with them the produce of the "sæter."
Bracing is the rarified air of these high lands; and although the sun's
heat is great, it is tempered by the breezes which come from snow-field
or glacier on the higher mountains around.
[Illustration: A sæter, Vetle Fjord]
When the wild berries are ripe, the younger girls climb the heathery
slopes and fill their wooden pails with the cranberries, bilberries,
and cloudberries ("multebær"), which abound in great profusion.
Fagesi, Levros, Pentekol, Buskin: to these and other quaintly sounding
names the cattle answer, the goats also being known individually by
such names as Skjomos, Blegeros, Kvideben, etc.
The cattle have their chosen leader, who wears a bell attached to a
leathern collar around the neck; they are led by its sound, and keep
within hearing distance as they graze. The sheep and goats also wear
bells, {72} nearly all of them, but the sound of these is quite
distinct from the cattle-bells.
At a certain time every evening the cows may be seen slowly making
their way of their own accord to the "sæter" house, where they quietly
wait to be milked.
When it is necessary to call them from a distance, they answer to the
sound of the "lur," a kind of alpine horn. This is made of birch, and
is about four feet long. When blown lustily it gives out notes clear
and sweet, in sound not unlike those of a cornet.
On the "lur" the "sæter" girls are expert performers, and during the
long summer evenings they love to make the mountain crags echo with
delicious airs, which they produce from this primitive instrument.
The cattle know instinctively when there are bears in the neighbourhood.
At such times they hurry to the "sæter" huts, around which they crowd,
and from their melancholy lowing the girls are led {73} to know that
there is danger near. A bonfire is quickly made and kept alight
throughout the night; the "lur" is also brought into requisition.
Thus, by the aid of fire and music, the danger is averted, for Bruin,
being fond of neither, gets himself away as quickly as he can.
Not very many years ago bears were fairly numerous in the high and wild
mountain region which lies between the Sogne and Nord Fjords, but,
owing in a great measure to the more general use of better guns, they
have steadily decreased. The average annual number of bears shot in
Norway between the years 1840 and 1860 was 230. This number has
gradually dwindled down to a yearly average of 40 for the past decade.
Fjaarland in Sogn is a noted stronghold of these animals, and in this
neighbourhood many bears have been shot in recent years.
One old peasant, who lived in Suphelledal here, informed me that he had
during his lifetime shot over 30 bears. As witness to his tale, his
face and scalp showed even {74} then old, but quite distinct, traces of
the rough handling he had received in the pursuit of his favourite
sport. On one occasion, after having lain in wait for several days up
the mountains, he was suddenly confronted by a she-bear with a young
cub. So quickly did she appear from behind a rock, and so close to him
was she, that he had not time to fire before she struck him on the head
with her powerful forefoot, which action tore his scalp over his face
and laid him prostrate on the ground. For a moment he felt the hot
breath of the bear around his ears as he lay with face buried in the
turf. No doubt thinking that he was killed outright, she proceeded, at
a few yards' distance, to scrape with her powerful claws among the
loose earth and débris in order to make a hole in which to hide her
prey.
She stopped from time to time to look up from her work to see if her
victim showed any signs of life, and being at length convinced that all
was well, she went on with her task with greater energy, and {75} from
her strong claws the loose earth and stones flew in all directions.
[Sidenote: Bear-hunting]
The peasant's opportunity, for which he had breathlessly waited,
presented itself. Jumping up, he seized his rifle, and with cool and
steady aim he was fortunate in bringing down by that one fatal shot a
fine animal in the pink of condition. He succeeded at the same time in
securing her young cub, and thought himself to be in great good luck
that day.
Two fine glaciers, Bojumsbræ and Suphellebræ, are in this district of
Fjærland, and both may be visited in a few hours from Mundal. These
glaciers are arms of the great Jostedalsbræ, the most extensive
ice-field in Europe.
The Bojumsbræ is the most important of the two in regard to size, and
the surroundings are majestically grand. King Oscar II. visited this
glacier in 1879.
At the Suphellebræ may be seen and heard at any time huge masses of ice
falling over the precipice which cuts off the lower from the upper
glacier.
{76}
At the foot of the lower glacier are several very beautiful
ice-caverns, deep blue in colour, from which flows the pale-green
ice-water on its way to the head of the fjord which is not far distant.
[Sidenote: Glaciers of Fjærland]
The valleys in this district are wild and grand. There is, however,
rich grazing land, and the peasants are all well-to-do; they retain in
primitive fashion the habits and customs of their ancestors, and are
very hospitable and kind-hearted.
The people of Sogn--"Sogninger," as they are called--are, on the whole,
a powerful and gifted race. Those of Outer (Ytre) Sogn are, as a rule,
placid and even-tempered, and the natives of Inner (Indre) Sogn are
quick, lively, and excitable. Their dialect ("Sognemaal") is clear,
rich, and full-sounding. It is one of the dialects most resembling the
old Norwegian language.
Sogn was at one time the seat of mighty families, and many a warlike
company of Vikings has sailed from this fjord. The ancient kings of
Norway occasionally {77} visited Sogn, but not always in a friendly way.
An old historical saga tells of a visit which King Sverre paid the
"Sogninger" to take vengeance upon them for the killing of his bailiff
at a place named Kaupanger, near Sogndal. Kaupanger, by Sverre's
orders, was burned, and so were the houses of Sogndal. The inhabitants
of these places fled to the mountains and woods, where they hid
themselves and thus escaped.
[Illustration: Fjærland, Sogne Fjord]
Immediately after this event King Sverre met his antagonist, Magnus
Erlingson, at the mouth of the Sogndal's Fjord, at a place called
Fimreite. Here it was that the rival fleets came into contact. The
king gained the decisive victory, and thus secured to himself the crown
of Norway. This engagement was fought in the year 1184.
On the left bank of the Sogne Fjord is Slinde. At this place, near the
close of the thirteenth century, lived Audun Slinde, one of the
powerful chiefs whom {78} King Erick dispatched to Scotland to fetch
his bride, the Princess Margaret.
Outside the churchyard at Sogndal stands a "bauta sten," an upright
column of stone, on which is the runic inscription: "King Olav shot
among these stones."
As we proceed along the main Sogne Fjord we obtain glimpses down branch
fjords, and beautiful vistas open out. Mountain torrents and
waterfalls are seen on every side threading their steep descent among
the crags, now gliding over smooth glaciated rocks, now wriggling in
tortuous, snake-like fashion, then a sudden leap over a steep
precipice, ending with a final splash into the waters of the fjord.
[Sidenote: A steamer's cargo]
At sunset the new-fledged moon peeped over snow-topped mountains, which
are ruddy with the sun's last rays. The fjord water around is dashed
with purple and pale gold, rose, and emerald. A large, cumbersome
boat, laden to its utmost capacity with sheep and lambs, puts out from
shore {79} to meet the awaiting steamer. The boat is roped to the
steamer's side; the sheep, handled tenderly, are transferred from it to
improvised pens on the steamer's foredeck, the sheep in one compartment
and the lambs in another. There is also a large open packing-case,
which contains the youngest lambs.
A chorus of deep bass and thinnest treble continues spasmodically. The
shepherd is among his flock, his whole time taken up in keeping watch
and ward over them, especially over the lambs, whose feats of jumping
tax to the utmost his patient watchfulness.
As the steamer ploughs along, a pleasant breeze plays on the surface of
the now steely grey water.
The snow on the high mountains changes colour to a pale lilac, and the
moon brightens as twilight advances, while over in the west the first
faint star of evening glimmers in a sky of palest amber.
As we proceed the fjord contracts, the {80} mountains are higher and
steeper, in places almost perpendicular, and the waterfalls rush down
with greater impetuosity into the dark fjord.
We now turn into the Nærö Fjord in brilliant twilight, and some of the
grandest and wildest scenery of Sogn is presented to our view. We
observe that the kind shepherd is covering up with a sackcloth the
smallest lambs, which are in the packing-case on the fore-deck, as a
protection from the cool night air, which is rather inclined to be
frosty, even on this lovely night of May. The farther we advance up
this fjord, the more sombre and overpowering is the impression we
receive of this magnificent fjord scenery.
[Illustration: Næro Fjord]
We now approach the little hamlet of Dyrdal, romantically situated at
the entrance to the narrow valley of the same name. Here huge
mountains rear their massive walls into the twilight sky. The Nærö
Fjord is narrowest at this point, being only a few hundred yards wide.
The sound of the steamer's syren now {81} echoes with a metallic ring
from one mountain to another in diminishing cadence of sweet notes, and
in reply two large boats put out from shore to meet the steamer. With
much struggling the woolly flock is transferred to the boats from the
steamer, the sheep and lambs appearing quite happy--to judge by the
sound of their voices--at the prospect of being on terra firma again.
At a lonely farm situated in the wildest part of Nærö Fjord it was my
happy fortune to stay for some days in the merry month of May. On my
arrival there, and in compliance with a signal from shore, the steamer
slows up, and a boat is brought alongside. A friendly good-bye to the
obliging captain, and I am rowed ashore, where I meet the kind owner of
the farm, my host. He and his good wife ("kone") show me through the
house, an excellent example of a "bonder's" home of the olden time.
The principal living-room is about twenty feet square. The walls
display {82} unusually thick baulks of timber, while the huge beams
show distinctly the marks of the axe which fashioned them. The heavy
doors are nearly square in shape, with lock and handle of antique
design in wrought-iron. On one side of this room stands an elevated
open hearth ("peis"), over which hangs a crane, and to this is attached
a huge copper cauldron. The smoke from the peat fire escapes through
the roof by a very wide open chimney. A clean-scrubbed massive table
almost fills one end of the room by the side of the wall-benches.
High-backed chairs, several spinning-wheels, and a carpet-weaving frame
help to fill up this spacious apartment.
To reach the room set apart for me I must climb up wooden ladder-like
steps. My room, simply but comfortably furnished, was fresh and clean.
On the left side in a dark corner was the customary low, wooden,
box-like bed, which I saw at a glance was, for one of my stature, much
too short. It was piled high with {83} some soft material on the top.
This covering proved on examination to be a 4-feet square air-tight bag
containing eiderdown about a foot deep. Under this was only the
thinnest cotton sheet, and I began to wonder how these two as a
covering could possibly remain together in harmony throughout the
night, and as to whether they were calculated to cover all one's limbs
at one and the same time.
On being very considerately asked on the following morning how I had
slept, and if I would like an extra eiderdown on, I courteously but
firmly declined.
[Sidenote: In the Nærö Fjord]
At 8 a.m. came breakfast-time. On the table were placed several kinds
of native cheese, brown bread, butter and potato-cakes, dried mutton
("spege kjöd"), and boiled potatoes, four boiled eggs, and a large bowl
of creamy milk. In addition to these delicacies, a cup of excellent
coffee was brought in. The meal nearly ended, and not having made much
impression on this mass before me, the good {84} wife again invited
me--almost coerced me--"to make a good meal," and seemed quite
disappointed to find that my capacity was so limited.
Similar fare was my portion for the other meals, varied only with
boiled goat's flesh, ptarmigan ("rype"), and hare or wild reindeer.
These kind-hearted peasants did all in their power to make my stay
comfortable. They enjoyed a little gossip from the world outside their
fjord, and it was interesting to hear them talk in their very
pronounced and ancient dialect ("Sognemaal"), which is as unlike modern
Norwegian "as she is spoke" as the English of Chaucer's time is to our
own modern tongue.
At Styve, the wildest and most impressive part of this narrow fjord,
the massive peaks of Steganaase tower overhead, on their tops a crisp
powder of new snow--this was at the end of October--and across the
fjord rise up perpendicular buttresses of mountains of equal grandeur
and {85} awe-inspiring character. The fjord is here about 4,000 feet
deep.
At twilight the full moon was just struggling from among wreathing
mists which clung around the high peaks, indicating at the same time
the presence of showers of fine snow above, and as we proceeded light
snow-flakes descended, falling lightly on the steamer's deck.
We were now ploughing through crackling ice, which floated in detached
patches on the surface of the water.
In winter-time the fjord from here to the hamlet of Gudvangen is
completely frozen over, the steamer being quite unable to proceed
farther. The fjord is at that time a highway for sledge traffic to and
from the steamer. In this manner the mails are conveyed over the ice
to Gudvangen, where other sledges are in waiting to carry them overland
to Vossevangen.
Gudvangen is so completely enclosed by huge mountains that the sun's
rays do not reach it during four months of winter. {86} The sun lights
up some of the nearer tops, however, about mid-day, but then only for
about a couple of hours, when all becomes grey again.
In winter and early spring destructive avalanches of snow and rock
shoot down with terrible velocity into the fjord and valley from the
precipitous mountain masses above, especially when thaw sets in and the
heavy mantle of snow is melting.
At one place in particular in Nærödal it will be observed, in driving,
that the road threads in and out among huge boulders of rock. These
massive stones formed part of a huge avalanche which descended from the
crags here only a few years ago. The postman, driving at the time down
the valley, only just escaped the danger by taking shelter under a
large boulder near the remains of a former avalanche.
Many of the farm-houses in this narrow valley are built under the
shelter of rocks, so as to be protected from the wind, {87} which
sweeps down the valley at times with terrific velocity, chiefly in
winter.
[Sidenote: Nærödal]
Some years ago I spent two October weeks in Gudvangen and Nærödal.
Arriving there overland from Vossevangen, and not dreaming but that I
was certain of obtaining accommodation at the inn at Gudvangen--it
being considerably past the time of tourists--to my intense surprise, I
found the place full to overflowing with country folks in holiday
attire--a wedding party--and, to the music of the riddle, the younger
peasants and girls were dancing the favourite Halling-fling.
Every room at the inn was crowded, cakes and home-brewed ale being
everywhere in evidence.
The kind and genial innkeeper, with profuse apologies at being unable
to accommodate me in the house, found me, at last, a little room over
the bakehouse close by, which I found fairly comfortable under the
circumstances--it was at least warm and dry.
The following morning all was bustle {88} and excitement. In the
roadway outside the inn rosy-cheeked peasant-girls, in their prim,
bright costumes, were exchanging pleasant banter with the boys, while
the older men lounged around in groups, with hands in pockets, engaged
in talking gossip at intervals between puffs of tobacco-smoke.
The wedding "bryllups" was to be celebrated that morning, and everybody
was now ready except the bride, whose friends were engaged in adding
the final touches to her maidenly toilet. A start is soon made, first
a kind of informal procession along the short stretch of road to the
pier, and a scramble into the boats, then out on the fjord, their oars
keeping time to the strains of the fiddle. They row along pleasantly
for a couple of miles, and then arrive at the small white wooden
church, which is situated picturesquely on a rocky mound at Bakke.
There is, from here to Gudvangen, a footpath, but in parts it is
somewhat rough. In several places it crosses screes {89} of loose
stories, which repeated avalanches have ground down in their career
from the overhanging cliffs above to the deep fjord below. Every
winter this mountain path across the screes is wiped out of existence,
and a new one has to be made when the spring comes.
The wedding service over, the whole party, the clergyman ("presten")
now included, return to the inn to partake of the wedding feast, and to
drink the healths ("skaal") of bride and groom. The festivities are
prolonged with hearty excitement, eating, drinking, and dancing the
Halling-fling and Spring-dance day and night for over a week.
During my stay at Gudvangen at that time, an old woman, short in
stature and poorly clad, approached me one day by the roadside, and,
carefully unwrapping a many-folded parcel, at length produced a few
English coins of silver and bronze. These she had earned during the
past summer from passing travellers by the sale of flowers from her
little garden {90} patch. She begged me to exchange into Norwegian
money these coins, which she could not use. It was a pleasure to see
her wrinkled face light up with genuine gratitude for this slight
service rendered her.
A few days afterwards this same little woman met me again, and gave me
a tiny paper packet, which, she said, contained a few four-leaved
clover sprigs. These she had taken all day to discover among the scant
herbage on the mountain-side, and if I would only take and keep them, I
should be lucky ever after. And who shall say that I was not?
Nærödal is one of the grandest valleys in Norway. The narrow ribbon of
road threads the deep valley, crossing and recrossing the clear
mountain torrent, whose close acquaintance is kept the whole of the
distance to the foot of the steep Stalheimskleven.
All the way the stupendous mountain masses seem almost ready to topple
over from both sides into the narrow, gorge-like {91} valley. The
high, dome-shaped mountain, which is a conspicuous feature on our right
as we proceed, is Jordalsnuten. Eagles, falcons, and other birds of
prey inhabit these rugged fastnesses.
[Illustration: Nærödal, from Stalheim, Sogne Fjord]
At an ancient farm at the foot of Jordalsnuten the farmer showed me the
feet and powerful claws of a golden eagle. These he had converted into
base and pillar for a pair of candlesticks. It had happened on one day
during the previous summer, when the farmer's household were engaged in
the hay-field, that their work was interrupted by the sight of a large
eagle, poised at a height of several hundred feet in the air. From its
talons a young sheep was hanging. As they watched they saw that the
eagle was gradually descending, although making powerful and frantic
efforts to rise. As it neared the ground all hands rushed at once to
the spot, and with hay-fork and scythe they attacked and dispatched the
powerful bird and saved the sheep. Evidently the weight was rather
more than {92} the eagle could carry away, and, being unable to
extricate its crooked talons from the woolly fleece, it found itself
entrapped by its own prey.
The road now gradually ascends the valley, and at the foot of
Stalheimskleven it takes sixteen zigzag sweeps up the face of the
cliff, which is here about 1,000 feet above the valley. Immediately on
the right as we ascend we see a pretty waterfall, Sivlefos, and on the
left we get a glimpse of Stalheimsfos. These two fine waterfalls are
romantically situated in deep and craggy gullies.
From the summit of the pass we have one of the grandest and most
impressive views of the kind in Norway. Looking backward down the
sublime Nærödal, the grey, rounded dome of Jordalsnuten rises
majestically on the left, its steep sides deeply furrowed by the action
of avalanches. The mountain mass on the right is Kaldafjeld, and in
the extreme distance we can just distinguish Kilefos, the fine
waterfall near to Gudvangen. At {93} our feet are the two waterfalls
we saw on our climb up Stalheimskleven, Sivlefos and Stalheimsfos,
foaming in their rocky ravines, their combined waters flowing on in a
silver thread along the bottom of the deep valley. So narrow in places
is the valley that there appears to be only room for the river and the
road.
In the summer months this highway from Vossevangen to Gudvangen,
connecting the Hardanger district with that of Sogn, is much used by
travellers, and traffic is often greatly congested, especially at the
terminus at Gudvangen, where the Sogne Fjord steamers are joined.
We are now among some of the most magnificent scenery in the country,
and this grandeur is continued into the impressive Aurlands Fjord,
which rivals its neighbour Nærö in sublimity. The huge mass of
Bejteln, furrowed with enormous ravines, stands like a sentinel at the
junction of the two fjords, with snow-crested Steganaase behind,
rearing its mighty peaks to the skies. Huge perpendicular {94}
buttresses wall in the fjord on both sides, and from their tops
waterfalls are precipitated in long streaks down the glistening dark
rocks, while deep gorges are torn into the mountain forms, separating
one immense gable from another.
At the foot of one of these deep gorges, and romantically situated, is
the small hamlet and church of Underdal. To the left, farther up the
fjord, stands Aurland, or Vangen, the principal village in the fjord
parish ("vasbygd") of Aurland. The small stone church here, it will be
observed, has an unusually high-pitched gable and steeply sloping roof.
From the head of this Aurlands Fjord, by ascending the Flaamsdal (the
valley of the swollen river), magnificent views are obtained out over
the fjord.
The road up this grand valley terminates at Myrdal Station, on the new
Bergen-Christiania Railway, and near the Hallingdal entrance to the
long Gravehalsen tunnel, amid mountain scenery of overwhelming grandeur
and sublimity.
{95}