KRAFLA
… “The mountain’s head
Stupendous rose; crags, bare and bleachen, spread
In wild confusion,—fearful to the eye,—
In barren greatness, while the valleys lie
Crouching beneath, in their brown vesture clad,
And silent all.”
—_Cottle._
In the early morning we mounted the best of our ponies for the toilsome
ascent of _Krafla_, Creeping. We crossed the intervening ridge of
mountains through the pass of _Námaskarð_, Solfatara-Pass, which is a
deep defile in the volcanic range. At the base of this ridge there are
spread out broad plains of multi-colored earth from which clouds of
steam and sulfur gases ascend, which are visible for many miles across
the lake. With caution we picked a way for the ponies amid the fumaroles
and entered the pass. As far as the eye can range, this slope of the
mountain is strewn with crystals of sulfur and gypsum interspersed with
alum and needle zeolites in various forms. This slope is thinly crusted
and perforated, like a skimmer, with orifices whence issue vile smelling
gases to mingle with the steam and become dissipated in the upper air.
From the summit of the pass an extensive view of the _Mývatns Öraefa_,
Desolate Lava of _Mývatn_, is obtained towards the northeast. It is a
trackless ruin wrought by the combined labors of several volcanoes and
contains no vegetation save patches of lichens that nourish a small
herd of reindeer. At the foot of the slope upon which we halted a vast
plain spreads out into the _Öraefa_. This plain is covered with a thin
crust of chemical earths which rest upon a substratum of viscid, hot and
sulfur-permeated clay. At the margin we left the ponies and ventured
cautiously upon the crust, recalling the experience of Dr. Hooker in a
similar situation at _Krisuvik_, where he nearly lost his life by sinking
into the hot mass. The crust will support the curious traveller if he
is sufficiently cautious in choosing his route by sounding the shell in
front of him with a staff. It reminded me of an experience I had when a
boy in watching my father cross a river upon thin ice, where he sounded
the ice step by step in advance with the pole of his axe while I followed
with great temerity over the cracking ice. As I expressed my fear of
breaking through, he replied, “it will hold as long as it cracks.” And
so with the sulfur crust above the seething furies, “it will hold as
long as it cracks.” Woe to him who fails to sound this undulating crust
before his advancing steps! All of this crust is composed of sublimated
chemicals brought to the surface by the superheated gases. The crystals
are various in form according to their chemical constituents and together
they present a discordant color scheme, much like a painter’s palette
where the various color daubs have run together. As one crunches the
crystals beneath his feet he has the sensation of walking with hob-nails
through a jeweller’s showcase.
This Arctic Phlegethon is mottled with pits of boiling bolus. There are
four principal groups of these mud cauldrons, each in a basin of baked
mud, elevated a few feet above the level of the plain. In 1910 one of
these groups contained seven cauldrons, the largest being thirty feet in
diameter. The cauldrons are not permanent but crust over from time to
time and new ones form in the adjacent areas. The mud rises slowly in a
gigantic bubble, like the sticky bubbles on the surface of hot molasses
candy, until the gas pressure is sufficient to burst the film, when a
cloud of gases suddenly shoots upward, a hot shower of mud is ejected
and then the entire mass slides back into the bowels of the earth with
a horrid, sickening gasp. It is now safe to mount the rim and watch the
mass as it slowly wells upwards for another display. Standing in a bath
of vapors one looks backward over the track whence he came and notes tiny
columns of steam marking the trail along which he so recently advanced.
Every place in the crust that was punctured with the staff is slowly
changing into a cauldron like the one at his feet and the traveller
experiences a sensation of uneasiness, knowing, as he does, that in a
brief time a new line of cauldrons will be in operation and for the first
time he fully realizes the insecurity of his position and he longs for
the solidity of the lava ridge where he left the hobbled ponies.
Because it suggests the food that may be provided for the guests of
the Inferno, the Icelander has named the material within the smoking
cauldrons “hell-broth” and the name can not be improved. They boil and
splutter, spatter and emit abundant volumes of steam and make a great
fuss over the little matter of a solid nature that is ejected. These
spiteful explosions are worthy of greater results.
“And still the smouldering flame lurks underground
And tosses boiling fountains to the sky.”
For two hours we wandered among the fumaroles and fountains of seething
mud. Oftentimes the crust cracked viciously beneath our feet and we
retreated precipitously to a thicker portion of the shell which covers
this vast subterranean fire. It gave us much amusement to plug up the
orifices of the small fumaroles with plastic clay and sulfur and to wait
for them to burst forth spitefully and hurl out a shower of scorching mud.
Following a narrow sheep trail between the edge of the lava and the
high ridge that connects _Námarskartð_ with _Leirnúkr_ and _Krafla_, we
arrived at a lonely spot, a deserted Icelandic farm with tumbled down
buildings, which gave evidence of having been a prosperous stead before
the lava flood spread its fiery wings over the valley. Here we paused for
lunch. Among our steamer gifts was a package which was marked for us to
open some day when we desired a change from our regular fare. We put it
into our hamper that morning and rejoiced to find a bottle of delicious
olives. We washed down this lunch with acid water from the brook, which
we later found to have its origin in one of the craters of _Krafla_. On
our return from the summit, the ponies, who had had no water for several
hours, went eagerly to this brook but after one taste they trotted along.
Curious to know why they would not drink since they had freely done so in
the morning, I dismounted and tasted the water. It had become much more
acid and I could account for it only by supposing that a larger volume
than usual had issued from the crater and that there had been less snow
water for its dilution than when we had lunched.
The climb soon began in earnest. In a long series of zigzag curves we
crossed ridge after ridge of sticky clay interspersed with volcanic ash
and pumice. Having gained the summit of the ash ridges we photographed
the distant peak of _Krafla_, traversed a bit of high moorland containing
a small crater lake of blue water, entered a sheltered valley between
the upper peak of _Krafla_ and _Hrafntinnuhryggr_, Raven-Peaks-Back,
a ridge of obsidian or Icelandic agate. Enormous masses of jet black
obsidian of the purest form rise from this ridge and millions of these
glass boulders are piled in a talus at the base of the cliffs. I secured
an excellent specimen seven inches in diameter, pointed at one side and
with a beautiful and double conchoidal fracture for the science museum
at Springfield, Mass.
We left the tired ponies to graze in the bit of grass while we made the
final ascent of the mountain, which is far above the craters. The slope
is steep and is clothed with a thick mat of birches to the very edge of
the snow in the ravine. These birches are so small that an entire tree,
roots, stem, leaves and catkin may be placed upon a five cent piece
without projecting. We saw many tracks of reindeer and picked up a fine
set of antlers of the last casting. The herd of these animals in the
vicinity of _Krafla_ is thriving as they are undisturbed by the natives.
On the very tip-top of the mountain we erected a cairn and deposited
a record of our ascent in a metal cylinder. We then photographed the
official flag of the Arctic Club of America and examined the broad and
horrent country surrounding the base of this volcano. Before I went to
Iceland my mountain climbing had been confined to the mountains of New
Hampshire, where a magnificent, virgin forest clothes the middle and
lower slopes. To stand upon any mountain in Iceland, with White Mountain
impressions in the mind, and gaze at the barrenness of the surrounding
country affords the greatest possible contrast.
The view from the summit of _Krafla_ is imposing but not so extensive as
from _Hekla_. Unlike _Hekla_ the craters are on the slope and far below
the summit. The top of _Krafla_ is a jumbled mass of disintegrating
_granophyre_. The view down the eastern slope and across the intervening
space to _Leirnúkr_ is plutonic and exceedingly wild. In the distance
a mass of lava hangs upon the side of _Leirnúkr_ like a petrified
waterfall, nearer and on the middle slopes of _Krafla_ are several old
craters filled with water from which columns of steam continually ascend.
One of them is a double crater with confluent edges. It is filled with
water which boils violently along the side next to the summit of the
mountain. The craters are at an elevation of 1700 feet above sea level
and in the days when Henderson visited them they were in a violent
state of action. On July 15, 1910, we found them provokingly quiet.
At some distance down the mountain below the crater lakes there is a
great rift cutting deeply into the side of the mountain. Here we found
considerable activity. The cleft was so filled with clouds of steam that
my photograph of it reveals little except the belching vapors. If I had
had a phonograph I could have brought home a record of growling, roaring,
impatient muttering that burst into explosive thunders that would have
been of scientific interest at least if not to the popular ear. The
odors of sulfur gases were sufficiently strong to stifle any one except
a chemist accustomed to the fragrance of the laboratory. If I had had
an instrument to record odors I could have brought away a collection of
these simple and multiple combinations of smells that would have startled
the dullest of olefactory nerves. The name of this rift in Icelandic is
_Víti_, signifying _Hell_, well named.
_Krafla_ is not dead, merely sleeping. In the past centuries it has
wrought great havoc. The eruption of May 17, 1724, was so violent that
the ashes and pumice on the eastern shore of _Mývatn_ were deposited to a
depth of over three feet. The connection between _Krafla_ and _Leirnúkr_
is close, in reality they are one volcano with different craters.
_Leirnúkr_ had a violent eruption in 1725, to which reference was made
in the preceding chapter, and during the following four years there were
three more eruptions that did great damage.
The extended view from _Krafla_ is desolate and dreary in the extreme.
When the eye ranges beyond the smoking slopes of mighty _Krafla_ it meets
the greatest lava desolation in the north of Iceland. In the distance
flashes of the _Jökulsá_, Ice-Mountain-River, are seen as it labors
through the twisted lava to plunge into the abyss of the _Dettifoss_. The
southern view commands the low volcanoes surrounding _Mývatn_. To the
left rises the obsidian mountain and at our very feet ascend the roaring
columns out of _Víti_ to their dissipation in the upper air.
Descending to our ponies we decided to traverse the unexplored portion of
the mountain by a spiral route. We soon became entangled in an intricate
mesh of deep, soft gullies. The great depth of these gullies, the
ridges of dry ashes that surmounted them, the steep, viscid slopes and
the beds filled with running water hot and odorous, wherein a peculiar
alga thrives, and the intervening reaches of slumpy snow afforded us
two hours of very laborious work. Cautiously we proceeded, leading the
ponies, searching for places to descend the slopes and then working much
harder to get out of the ravine, only to find it necessary to repeat the
performance many times. The trusting beasts followed our ignominious
slides into the gulches and after much coaxing managed to scramble up
after us into the dry ashes at the top. We photographed these gullies,
descended to the sheep trail and after three and one half hours of hard
riding returned to our comfortable quarters at _Reykjalíð_ farm, where we
did ample justice to the supper which the farmer’s daughter had prepared
for us. On the menu was an excellent item that was new to us, a sweet
purple soup.
The minerals and lava specimens that I had collected up to this time were
packed and left with the farmer who engaged for a _kroner_ to transport
them to _Húsavik_ when he went to this trading station in the autumn. In
due course of time the box, which I had left to his care, arrived safely
in Springfield,—another instance of the faithfulness of the Icelander in
keeping his word. The reader will note the difference in the cost of
packing a box of seventy-five pounds on the back of a pony for two days
and the tariff of the Express Companies of America.
On the morrow we rode through the lava beds that fringe the eastern shore
of _Mývatn_ just after a clearing shower and the sunlight upon the crater
islands, the lichen-encrusted lava ridges and the play of light upon the
water of the land-locked pools was of surprising beauty. As we neared
_Kálfstrond_, Calf-Strand, an Icelandic shepherd dog ran out to meet us
and gave a noisy welcome. For the size of the dog the Iceland variety has
the strongest lungs of any member of the canine family. They will run
for half a mile to meet the traveller yelping and crying and will often
follow him for miles after leaving the farm. One of these fluffy balls of
animation stayed with us for several days and resisted all our efforts
to leave him behind. We left him in a stable with instructions to keep
him till some one returned to the farm from whence he had run away but
at noon as we were fording a river he joyously arrived. The cold stream
was no obstacle, he was the first on the opposite shore and stayed with
us until we arrived at _Reykjavik_. He lost no opportunity to get into
our room at the hotel, invariably found us if we went for a walk and when
we pushed from the landing in a small boat to go out into the stream to
board our steamer for home, he jumped from the wharf into the boat and
stuck to us till we ascended the gang plank and as the boat pulled ashore
he gave one long and mournful cry. My heart has often turned towards the
faithfulness and the attachment of this little fellow and often do I
wonder if he is following the sheep over his native hills forgetful of
the summer’s escapade when he ran away to associate with strangers.
Beneath the lava ridges great streams of water from the neighboring
mountains pour into the lake and around these inlets there is always
excellent trout fishing. The trout are large and abundant. Between the
lake and _Hverfjall_ the lava is rifted into deep ravines and mighty
cliffs which, in their castellated and architectural forms, coated with
lichens, present more the appearance of being the handiwork of man than
that of subterranean powers assisted by the frosts of time. Little
imagination is necessary to view in this mass of plutonic rock the Gothic
arches of a long deserted cloister, and in that pile of ragged crust, the
ramparts and bastions of a mediaeval fortress. Lofty piles stand side by
side upon the plain suggestive of triumphal arches whose capstone has
fallen to the ground.
On arriving at _Skútustaðir_ we found that Baron Klinckowström, his
son Harald and Walter Friedeberg, whom we had met on the _Botnia_, had
arrived and established themselves in the _Thinghús_. Here they were
busy in preparing bird skins for museums in Stockholm, Berlin, and the
private collection of Harald. It was a pleasure to see a youth like
Harald cling for hours to the trying labor of preparing bird skins. Later
I examined his large and excellent collection of mounted birds at his
father’s castle at Stafsund near Stockholm and I could not help admiring
the energy and perseverance of the youth as well as the skill manifest
in mounting this collection, all of which was the work of his unaided
hands. The boy with a purpose, who lives largely in the open, even though
he may be deprived of the university, is sure to obtain a most liberal
education, an education that comes through the eye and is augmented by
thought. Later, when I had had a chance to study the daily life of a boy
in the public schools of Sweden and draw a comparison with that of an
American youth, I understood how that little country of mountains and
lakes had produced so many remarkable men, such as Berzelius, Linnaeus,
Bergman, Scheele and Arrhenius. It is the spirit that dominates the boy
in successful education, not the special advantages of his equipment.
[Illustration: _Flag of the Arctic Club of America on the Summit of
Krafla._
_Obsidian Ridge, Hrafntinnuhryggr, near Summit of Krafla._]
We had planned to leave _Skútustaðir_ at eight in the morning but it was
one in the afternoon when we parted from our genial host. His little
daughter opened the _tún_ gate and we rode out upon the great heath which
reaches from _Mývatn_ to _Ljósavatn_. The great delay was caused by the
straying of the ponies. A week before I had swapped a pony with the
farmer at Ljósavatn. The pony had taken it into his wise little head to
return to his old home without the trouble of carrying his pack and he
was followed by three of our riding ponies. It was several hours before
_Ólafur_ overtook them and returned to the lake. The innumerable midges
around the lake greatly annoy the ponies and often cause them to wander.
Sometimes they are so violently attacked by swarms of these insects
that they will rush headlong into the water to rid themselves of their
tormentors. When the grass is good and the wind and midges do not annoy,
they do not wander but graze quietly during the night and are easily
captured when wanted. A child with a string will go to the grazing land,
fasten it around the lower jaw of one of the ponies, mount and drive
the troup to the farm house to be saddled. It is never necessary, as it
often is in New England, to spend an hour to coax a horse with a measure
of grain. The Icelandic horse is a type peculiar to the country. He is
the descendant of the Scandinavian steed taken to that country centuries
since by the early settlers. He has become thoroughly inured to the
conditions and has developed characteristics not found in any other breed
of horses. His weight is from 500 to 600 pounds, though some run a little
heavier. The mane is very thick and long; the tail is a great brush
about ten inches in diameter and unless clipped drags upon the ground. In
the driving wind, rain or sleet, the pony turns his tail to the storm and
with lowered head, if untethered, walks out the gale. The wind spreads
the thick hair over his hips and even though matted upon the surface with
sleet it becomes an admirable protection. The hair of the tail is very
long and is used by the farmers for making ropes to bind hay. The horses
are well built, usually fat, free from blemishes, slender in the legs,
wide between the eyes, broad backed and deep chested. Their sagacity is
remarkable. In fording rivers, in crossing the ragged lava, in picking
their way over stone-strewn heaths, across quaking bogs, or in the rugged
defiles or on the precipitous slopes of the trailless mountains, they are
the wisest, kindest, surest and the finest saddle horses.
The endurance of these little steeds is a continual surprise to the
stranger. In the bogs and in rubble riding they are extremely cautious
and if they are allowed to negotiate the difficult places in their own
way, will never bring the rider to grief. I said they were sure footed
and the fact that I have been thrown a few times is not contrary to the
statement. When a pony is ridden at an eight mile pace down a declivity
thickly strewn with loose stones, if he stumbles three times a month
it should not be attributed to the pony as a fault but rather to the
recklessness of his rider. Their living is obtained entirely out of
doors. In the spring the young horses are driven into the mountains where
they run wild until late in the autumn when they are taken to the farm
for the winter. It is only occasionally during the most severe portion
of the winter that they are provided with hay and never with grain,
except work-horses in the city. When four years old they are broken to
the saddle. There are about 50,000 ponies in the country and hundreds
are exported to Denmark and Scotland yearly. The steamer upon which we
returned from Iceland the first summer carried 376 ponies. The saddle
ponies have different steps, some amble, some trot, some gallop, some
pace,—all have at least two of these methods while some of them have all
of these methods and a good rider can take his choice or have his pony
change from one to another.
A troup of ponies on a journey will usually stay together. Although we
frequently passed through mountain pastures where scores of horses were
grazing, we never knew one of our ponies to leave the company of his own
companions. On arrival at a farm the ponies are led with a string, for
the Icelander is jealous of every blade of grass within his enclosure
and it is a mark of discourtesy to permit the ponies to graze about the
buildings. The best ponies are raised in the rich valleys of the north
rivers and it is there that the Icelandic gentleman goes for his fancy
saddle horse, as the Yankee formerly went to Kentucky.
The straying of the ponies is not the only cause of a late departure in
the morning. The Icelander is never in a hurry. Every night we held a
solemn council with the guide and it was usually agreed that we would
leave at nine in the morning, sometimes the time set was eight. But, if
the ponies had not strayed then it was found that several of them must be
shod; if they did not need shoeing the saddles needed attention; if the
saddles were in good condition then the morning coffee was late, so that
we usually started two hours after the appointed time.
The best advice to a prospective Yankee in Iceland is,—Do not fret. Go
and take photographs while the ponies are being saddled. When they are
saddled go and take some more. When everything is ready, start. To the
nervous and rushing American this is an unusual procedure. But, the
charm of Icelandic travel is the abundance of time, freedom from any
real cause for worry and the knowledge that darkness can not overtake
the summer traveller, no matter where or when he travels. There is also
the certainty that he will receive a cordial reception, no matter when
he arrives. Impatient Americans need a summer on horseback in Iceland to
curb their impetuosity.
One day we had a pleasant experience in calling at a farm house
where lived friends of our guide. We were invited into the guest
room which contained a narrow bed, a big round table and an organ
made in Brattleboro, Vt. Our host produced the usual horn of snuff
and with it some excellent cigars. He then played and sang to us in
Icelandic,—“There’s a Land that is Fairer than Day.” He wished us to
photograph his children but their mother first insisted in putting them
through the hair-combing process. After this they were lined up in front
of the house, seven in a row. After repeated efforts on the part of the
older ones to keep the hands of their baby brother out of his mouth the
picture was taken with success. The mother disappeared for half an hour
and then returned with coffee and freshly made pancakes rolled in sugar.
The host and hostess then showed us all over their house, a turf
structure and typical of the older houses in the country. Such farm
houses contain narrow, windowless corridors, winding in labyrinthian maze
from room to room. In this house one passageway led to a large open mound
where a fire is made to smoke fish and meat and incidentally the whole
house and everything in it. Another passage leads to the real kitchen
with an iron stove. The walls are all of turf as are the partitions and
the roof, with just enough driftwood in the roof to make a framework to
hold the turf in place. Steep stairs lead to the _baðstofa_, sleeping
apartment, which frequently forms the sleeping and sitting room and
the common work room of the entire family, especially in winter. Bunks
built into the wall extend around the room and are frequently filled with
seaweed or feathers over which is spread a fold or two of wadmal and a
thick coverlet of eider down. The floor of the _baðstofa_ is of boards
but the floors down stairs are frequently of hard earth which frequently
becomes damp. From the ceiling are suspended numerous articles of
domestic economy while large chests, ornately carved, containing clothing
and valuables are scattered through the house.
On another occasion at midnight after Mrs. Russell and I had retired, the
hostess came into the guest room and asked us if we would like to go up
into the _baðstofa_ and see the family in bed. We promptly accepted the
invitation and ascending the ladder found the family abed, head to foot,
separated by the boards previously described, family and farm hands, men
and women, children, young men and maidens, each asleep and unconscious
of our intrusion. This has been the custom of centuries. There are no
partitions, no draperies, and there is no false modesty, no resulting
immorality. The marriage vow is seldom anticipated and I firmly believe
the degree of morality is higher in this land than in any other.