I had heard of a wonderful gorge in the mountains to the west of us,
through which no man had ever passed, and George wanted to go "reeper"
shooting on the mountain slopes in that direction. (A "reeper" is a
Norwegian grouse.) So one fine morning found us starting in a boat to
row down the great lake, which would bring us to the foot of the
mountains.
This lake is about eight miles long, and one mile wide. Steep,
forest-clad hillsides run down to the lake on both sides, and there
are not half a dozen farms in sight of it, so we felt that we were
getting into wilder parts as soon as we had started on our voyage.
The boats here are only made for one pair of sculls to be used at a
time, so it came heavy on each of us in turn to have to row our
well-loaded ship with its cargo of two men, two dogs (Bruce and
Gordon), and all our luggage, guns, and ammunition.
[Illustration: "I Rigged up my oilskin coat as a sail, with George to
act as mast and rigging."]
Luckily for me, before it came to my turn to row, a good breeze sprang
up from behind us, so in a very short time I had rigged up my oilskin
coat as a sail, with George to act as mast and rigging, and I took an
oar to steer with.
In a very short time we found ourselves running along at double the
pace that we could have got by rowing.
On these lakes, though there are plenty of boats, you never see one
fitted with mast and sails for sailing. It is too dangerous; sudden
squalls come down from the hills and catch the sails the wrong way or
too violently, and so capsize the boat before the crew can do anything
to save her.
Even on ordinary water, no one but a tenderfoot would sail a small
boat with the "sheets" made fast; the men sailing the boat hold these
in their hands ready to ease them up at any moment should a squall
strike them. But the danger is much greater on a lake among mountains.
So you see a Scout needs to know something about sea scouting if he
wants to get about successfully in a country where he has to make use
of boats or canoes.
By using an oar as a rudder--which is also understood by Sea
Scouts--we found we could sail to some extent across the wind as well
as before it, and so we were able to get round headlands which came in
our way without having to lower sail and take to rowing.
Another thing to look out for on these mountain lakes is that a bit of
wind very quickly makes quite fair-sized waves, which, with a heavily
loaded boat, may lop in over the side, if your helmsman is not very
careful, and swamp the boat. So it is foolishness for any Scout to go
on this sort of expedition unless he can swim.
In fact, every Scout ought to be able to swim; he is no use till he
can, and he will always find it useful to know something of sea
scouting.
The oars of Norwegian boats are worked not in rowlocks, or crutches,
or between thole pins, as at home, but on a single thole pin, to which
they are attached by a "strop" or loop.
This is a useful dodge to know of in case one of your thole pins
breaks, as sometimes happens.
[Illustration: How the oars in Norwegian boats are worked.]
In Norway, the strop is made of a stick of birchwood (hazel does
equally well), which is first twisted and twisted round to such an
extent that it is as flexible and as strong as a length of rope, and
is tied by twisting its ends round itself, as shown in _Scouting for
Boys_.
A Scout should be able at any time to twist a stick into rope, but to
do it successfully he must know which kind of wood to pick out for it.
That is one reason for knowing the different kinds of trees by sight.
While we sailed along we trailed a line astern of us with some
tempting-looking flies on it in the hope that we might get a trout for
dinner.
Suddenly, just when we were in the middle of a busy time over a squall
of wind, there came a tug, tug, and a pull at our line. All was at
once excitement.
"Down mast and sail!" "Reel in the line!" "Hold the boat with the
oars!" "Don't let him break away!"
Steadily he is hauled, kicking and rolling over in the water, and at
last he is safely lifted into the boat--a fine, silvery, speckled
trout.
"What a dinner he will make!"
"How would you like him, grilled, fried, or boiled?"
Alas! we thought a good deal about what sort of dinner he would make.
And he did make a dinner, too--but not for us!
We presently heard Bruce crunching and munching something. He had not
waited for the fish to be fried, or grilled, or boiled. He just ate
him as he was. We only had bread and butter and coffee for dinner that
day--without any trout. We didn't even mention trout during the meal.
We didn't seem to want any, or we pretended we didn't.
Still, we had a very jolly dinner at a beautiful spot where we landed
on the shore of the lake. Then after a further bit of sailing and
rowing we reached the end of the lake.
Here we hauled up our boat high and dry, leaving all her gear in her,
for nobody steals things in Norway. We "humped our packs" on to our
backs, and, with rod and gun in hand and the dogs trotting alongside,
we started up the hills through the forest, bogs, and rocks, to get to
the farm three miles away, where we were to spend the night at the
foot of the mountains.
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