TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Footnote anchors are denoted by [number], and the two footnotes have
been placed at the end of the book.
A superscript is denoted by ^x, for example Edw^d or C^o.
Basic fractions are displayed as ½ and ¼; there are no other fractions
in this book.
Icelandic names frequently have accented characters, and often have
the ‘eth’ character which displays as ð.
All changes noted in the ERRATA in the frontmatter have been applied
to the etext.
Some minor changes to the text are noted at the end of the book.
[Illustration: MOUNT PAUL.
_Frontispiece._]
ACROSS THE VATNA JÖKULL;
OR,
Scenes in Iceland;
BEING A DESCRIPTION OF HITHERTO UNKNOWN
REGIONS.
BY
WILLIAM LORD WATTS.
London:
LONGMANS AND CO., PATERNOSTER ROW.
1876.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY GILBERT AND RIVINGTON,
ST. JOHN’S SQUARE AND WHITEFRIARS STREET.
THIS WORK
IS
DEDICATED TO HIS ICELANDIC FRIENDS
BY
W. L. WATTS.
PREFACE.
Having traversed several parts of Iceland concerning which nothing
has hitherto been known, I have ventured to publish the few
following pages, giving an account of my journey across the Vatna
Jökull, and my visit to the volcanoes in the North of Iceland.
W. L. W.
ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS.
PAGE
No. 1. Mount Paul--_Frontispiece_.
No. 2. The Öskjugjá 88
Map of Iceland _To face page_ 1
Map of the Author’s Routes from
Núpstað to Reikjahlíð ” 45
ERRATA.
Page 11, line 16, _for_ A.M., _read_ P.M.
” 26, lines 1 and 5, _for_ zoolites, _read_ zeolites.
” 27, line 2, _omit_ comma _after_ Paul.
” 29, ” 26, _for_ 12 A.M., _read_ midday.
” 30, ” 14, _for_ laid, _read_ lay.
” 35, ” 12, _after_ Fahrenheit, _omit_ of frost.
” 58, ” 18, _for_ laid, _read_ lay.
” 100, ” 22, _for_ meat, _read_ feet.
[Illustration:
_London, Longmans & C^o._
_Edw^d. Weller, Litho. Red Lion Square._
ICELAND]
ACROSS THE VATNA JÖKULL.
Iceland again! Reykjavík again! Here I am upon the same errand as
in 1871 and 1874--foolhardiness and folly as it is denounced by
some at home. I fancy I can see some of my worthy countrymen at
ten o’clock in the morning, clad in dressing-gown and slippers,
breakfast half finished, and a copy of some journal that has
condescended to take notice of my little expedition in his hand.
Umph! he says, 5,000 square miles of uninhabited country, a howling
wilderness, nothing but volcanoes, ice, and snow--a man must be
a fool to want to go there; no one ever has crossed this cold,
desolate region, why, in the name of everything that is worth
pounds, shillings, and pence, should any one be mad enough to want
to do so now? It would be in vain to refer him to that element in
the Anglo-Saxon, which especially longs to associate itself with
the unknown; he scouts the idea of possible scientific results;
no pulse would quicken in his frame because he stood where no
mortal had planted his foot before. He sees it costs money, time,
and labour. He thinks of the hard cash going out that might
be advantageously invested (and rightly so, too, if he enjoys
the felicity of being a paterfamilias); he magnifies the risk a
thousandfold, and stamps the whole concern as “utter folly.” Well!
well! let our worthy friend stop at home; it is his element. Only
it would be as well if he did not go out of his way to anathematise
an expedition which costs him not a farthing, which occupies not
one moment of his time, and risks not a hair of his head. Everyone,
it is said, is mad upon some point or another. Our worthy friend’s
mania may be, that he thinks he is specially called upon to spend
his energies in breeding a superior race of poultry; mine may be
to wander amongst unknown or unfrequented corners of the earth;
but so long as I leave his chicken-house unmolested, I think he
should leave off sneering at my wild peregrinations. But a truce to
critical stay-at-homes, for we are again upon our travels.
We have endured the unstable liveliness of the old steam-ship
“Diana,” and have reached the little capital of Iceland again, to
find most of our friends alive and well, and Paul Paulsen (whom the
readers of “Snioland” will recognise as my head man upon the Vatna
Jökull last year), who greets us with the cheering intelligence
that our horses have been all provided, that our complement of men
has been already hired, and that as soon as I have paid a few
complimentary visits to my friends in Reykjavík, he is ready to
raise the shout of, “Forward to the snows of Vatna Jökull!”
Twelve hours are sufficient to effect my friendly purposes, and the
evening after that upon which we landed a small boat full of boxes,
saddles, and the necessary equipments for our long journey was
lying alongside one of the little wooden landing-stages in front
of the town. It was 8 P.M. before we made our appearance, escorted
by a numerous party of Icelandic friends. As many as could do so,
without inconvenience to the rowers, squeezed themselves into the
little boat, and we departed amid the cheers of our friends and,
I believe, the good wishes of all the inhabitants. Clear of the
shore, we hoisted our sail and glided along at no inconsiderable
pace towards the little farm of Laugarnes, at the east end of the
bay, where our horses were awaiting us, while we enlivened our
brief voyage by a Norse song or two, accompanied by an intermittent
fantasia by friend Oddr Gíslasson upon the French horn. We found
our horses in as fair a condition as was possible for the time of
year; but it saves an immense deal of trouble and some money if one
knows of any person to be relied on, who can be entrusted with a
commission to purchase horses previous to one’s arrival, for we
thus avoid not merely the harassing delay incidental to procuring
these important necessaries for Icelandic travel, but the payment
of a long price for the sorry animals which generally fall to the
lot of the tourist, who must purchase a stud as soon as he has
landed in the island. My horses had been procured from the south
of Iceland; they cost from fifty to ninety dollars each, and were,
upon the whole, I think, the finest set of horses I had ever seen
in the country.
As I intended to travel as fast as I could to the seat of our
summer’s work, I had a change of horses for riding and for the
pack-boxes. This is absolutely necessary where anything like hard
riding is contemplated, but it is by no means essential where
time is not an object. After some delay incidental to reducing
the baggage to a portable shape and proportion, which is always
a matter of some difficulty at the commencement of either an
equestrian or pedestrian journey, we took leave of the remainder
of our friends, and accompanied by Paul and another Icelander,
we pursued our way eastward, over the roughest path imaginable,
towards Eyrarbakki, amid the gathering gloom of what turned out
to be a wet and miserable day. It is always necessary to take an
extra man to help during the first day’s journey, for the horses
are always more unruly and obstinate the first day or two. This
is especially the case where the route is a rough one, like that
towards Eyrarbakki. The first part of our course lay over a series
of ancient lava streams, upon which the scant herbage was being
cropped by a few miserable sheep which had escaped the hand of the
shearer; their dirty, ragged coats had been partly torn from their
backs by the crags among which they had scrambled, giving them a
deplorable appearance quite in keeping with the forbidding aspect
of the country and the miserable day. About midday we reached
the wretched little farm of Lœkjarbotn. It boasted nothing but
squalor, stock-fish, and dirty children. I do not know why it is,
but most of the farms in the immediate neighbourhood of Reykjavík
are of the poorest and most wretched description. It is true their
pastures in most cases are poorer than those of other parts of
the country, but there is a great difference in the people also.
No one can help noticing a settled look of contented despair in
their countenance, scarcely to be wondered at considering their
surroundings, which, in this particular instance, seemed as much
like hopeless wretchedness as anything I had ever seen. Ah, well!
our horses are rested, we have waded through the slush pools and
the mire which front that heterogeneous mound of lava blocks, turf,
and timber, which we can scarcely conceive anyone, by any stretch
of sentimental imagination, calling _home_. Our horses struggled
down the steep mound of slippery mud which by no means assists
travellers either to arrive at or depart from Lœkjarbotn. Leaving
this little patch of stagnant misery behind us, we come upon the
desolate lava, the dank mists from the adjacent mountains wrapping
themselves around us, a driving rain beating into our faces, and a
nipping wind exaggerating our discomfort, and assisting the rain to
find out the weak places in our mackintosh armour.
We next ascended the hills of Hengilsfjall. This volcano (Hengill)
and its neighbours have given vent to numerous pre-historic
eruptions, from which vast streams of lava have issued in various
directions, not only having poured from the craters of the
mountains themselves, but having welled up at various places
in huge mamelonic forms. Near the summit of the mountains is a
boiling spring, the medicinal properties of which are thought very
highly of by the well-known Dr. Hjaltalín, of Reykjavík. In fine
weather this part of the country must be very interesting, and
even Lœkjarbotn itself might not have looked so extra melancholy.
In journeying through these centres of volcanic activity we cannot
but be struck with the general lowness of the volcanoes in Iceland.
This is doubtless owing to the number of vents which exist in
close proximity to one another, so that the volcanic force,
having piled up a certain amount of superincumbent matter, finds
readier exit by bursting through the superficial overlying rocks
in adjacent localities, which offered less resistance than the
accumulated volcanic products which they themselves had previously
erupted, or by availing themselves of some pre-existing point of
disturbance which afforded them a readier escape. The evening found
us at the small farm of Hraun, which impressed me more favourably
than Lœkjarbotn, although it was kept by a poor widow whose means
were excessively limited.
Not having burdened myself with more provisions than I required
for the Vatna Jökull alone, we were here again dependent upon the
resources of the country, and although this is the worst time
of year to travel without provisions in Iceland, still we fared
not amiss, obtaining a sufficiency of rye cake, milk, and smoked
mutton, which, without being very palatable, answered all the
purpose of affording us a meal. Although we had employed a lad to
watch our horses during the night, some of them were found astray
in the morning. When travelling in this country, especially in
the earlier part of the journey, it is by far the best to hire
some one to watch the horses, rather than to hobble them while
grazing, for, in the first place, even when hobbled, horses will
stray a long way, and, very often, the only effect of hobbling is
to prevent their picking out the best of the pasture, and one finds
in the morning they have decamped just the same as if they had been
turned out loose.
Having again got under weigh, we were soon upon the sandy shores
of the Ölfusá. This river is formed by the confluent waters of the
Hvítá and the Sog, which unite, some twenty English miles from the
point where they flow into the sea, forming a very large body of
water. Here several seals were basking in the sun, and lying like
pieces of rock within a hundred yards of our track, but upon our
nearer approach they scrambled into the water with considerable
agility. Eyrarbakki really means sandy bank; it is situated upon
the east side of the Ölfusá, at the point where that river empties
itself into the sea. Upon both sides of the Ölfusá, and on the west
side in particular, are great stretches of black sand, while upon
the west side these are grown over with wild oats, and the more one
looks on the vast accumulation on the west of the river, the more
one is struck with its magnitude. Its cause, however, is apparent.
At this point, huge lava streams, flowing down from the volcanoes
upon the west side of the river, have obstructed the mud and sand
brought down by the waters of that stream; where an immense
bed of sand was formed, which diverted the course of the river,
causing it to empty itself further to the east, leaving these huge
accumulations of sand high and dry on the western side.
Having crossed the stream by means of a ferry, we found that the
irons of all our pack-boxes required alteration, and we could not
halt at a better place than Eyrarbakki to have them attended to.
These irons, which attach the pack-box to the pack-saddle, are
the nightmare of Icelandic travel; and travellers cannot be too
particular in having them of the most careful construction, also of
the best material possible; again, if anything be amiss with them,
they should be always attended to at the earliest opportunity, or
a breakdown is sure to occur in some inconvenient or outlandish
place; and, but for the Icelanders’ remarkable faculty for
improvising ways and means, such occasions would cause a serious
delay in a day’s march. Eyrarbakki is one of the principal trading
stations in the south of Iceland. It is situated upon a dreary
sandbank, the view from which is most monotonous and depressing,
while the wailing roar of the formidable breakers, which here
extend a long distance out to sea, is melancholy in the extreme.
All along this portion of the shore, ancient lava streams have run
out into the sea; but upon the land they are indiscernible, owing
to the alluvium with which they are covered. The whole of the south
coast, from Eyrarbakki to Papós, is rendered inaccessible to ships
by shoals, sand-banks, and sunken rocks, and there is not an inlet
during all that distance of some 200 miles which a ship could enter.
Having ridden within a few miles of the River Thjórsá, although
it was the middle of the night, we stopped at a farm to purchase
another horse, and, having roused the inmates from their beds,
we completed our purchase, took “schnapps,” and rode away to the
Thjórsá. It was past 1 A.M., and the ferryman had gone to bed on
the opposite side of the river; it was raining, sleeting, and
blowing hard; again and again we shouted, but the storm and the
roaring of the water proved too much even for our united lungs,
which were none of the weakest. Fortunately, Paul remembered there
was a farmer who owned a boat a mile or so further up the side
of the river we were on, he therefore roused him while I looked
after the horses. This was scarcely an easy task, for, in spite of
the driving storm, they strayed away to graze in every direction.
Bye-and-bye the farmer and his wife made their appearance. They
seemed quite happy at being disturbed from their warm beds in the
middle of a cold, stormy night, to earn a dollar-and-a-half by
paddling about in the icy cold water of the Thjórsá and ferrying
over their nocturnal visitors with their goods and chattels. In
fact, our worthy Charon seemed to look upon it as a piece of good
fortune. _At this time of the year, it is light all night._
The weather cleared about 8 A.M. and we had a good view of Mount
Hekla as we forded the West Rángá. We stopped between the rivers
East and West Rángá, where we had to pay for one of the horses we
were riding, for Paul had only brought it with him to Reykjavík
on sale or return. Here we took coffee, and next proceeded to
Breiða-bólstaðr, where, as usual, we were received with great
kindness and hospitality. After taking two hours’ sleep, we pushed
on to Holt, which we reached about 1 P.M. The day was half spent
before we were again on our way; so we rode briskly to Skógarfoss,
one of the largest and most beautiful waterfalls in Iceland, where
there is a very good farm, and the people are extremely thrifty. I
suppose they had never been able to procure any of the legendary
gold beneath the falls of Skógarfoss, but they evidently manage to
screw a tolerable amount out of travellers who come to admire its
beauties.
On, on; past the ice cliffs of Eyjafjalla Jökull to Heiði, where we
were so kindly entertained last year. It was 10 P.M. when eight
horses, which showed as though they wanted to graze, and two men,
who looked as if they wanted to go to bed, drew up in front of this
hospitable dwelling.
The farm is a poor one, though the good folks make the best of
it. Their lives, like that of all the poorer Icelanders, must be
one continuous struggle against poverty, inclement weather, and
a fruitless soil. Yet they have a few sheep and cows upon the
hillside; plenty of fish in the lake; and withal are contented. But
their contentment is evidently of a very different kind to that
which we noticed at Lœkjarbotn; it manifestly results from a hope
that their circumstances may be improved by domestic thrift, and
good fortune with their flocks. Hopeful contentment differs from
the contentment of despair in this respect, the one is cheerful
and open to improvement, the other is sullen and so sunken in the
slough of despondency as to have given up all hope of a change for
the better, and thus to be incapable of availing itself of any
propitious opportunity, if such should occur. One day’s rest at
Heiði, and we mount again, directing our course eastward; riding
swiftly over the arid waste of Myrdals Sandr, we reached the banks
of the river Kuða-fljót. We find that this river, which we forded
with considerable difficulty last year, could now only be crossed
in boats. This shows how the unstable beds of Icelandic rivers
shift and change about, transforming shallows into deep water, and
creating sand-banks amid the deepest river channels.
We purchased of our ferryman some birds (skümur) which were
considered very good to eat. We stopped for the night at the farm
of Króki. The farmer, who had been previously hired to form one
of my expedition across the Vatna Jökull, regaled us with swan’s
flesh, which much resembled tough beef; and, although eating it
was rather hard work, it was certainly nutritious and palatable.
The farmer, Olgi by name, had taken up shooting as his special
hobby, and, in spite of his inefficient tools, a very profitable
use he appeared to make of it, if we might judge from the numerous
swan-skins which were drying outside his house, and the amount
of swan’s flesh that was being salted. The swans of Iceland are
valuable on account of their down; the outer feathers are seldom
of any good, for they are never pure white; the value of a swan
skin is about one rix dollar, Danish. After a ramble amongst the
lava which had flowed from the Skaptar Jökull during the remarkable
eruption of 1783, we resumed our journey; the day was very hot--as
much so as any July day in England. Passing the beautiful waterfall
of Seljalandsfoss, which appeared in the bright sunlight like
curtains of silvery foam upon the face of the dark basaltic cliffs,
which here are about 200 feet in height, we arrived at the farm of
Hörgsdalr. Here dwelt another of our “Jökull men” (as Paul called
those he had hired for my expedition) named Eyólfur; he was one of
the toughest, blithest-hearted, and most good-natured fellows I had
ever come across.
The bóndi (as the Icelandic farmer is called) was a relation of the
farmer at Núpstað, whose farm, where I had received such kindly
welcome in 1871 and 1874, was only half-a-day’s journey eastward.
I found the farmer of Hörgsdalr, like his relative, extremely
hospitable; taking a great interest in my expedition, and willing
to give every assistance in his power.
The next day we ascended the Kaldbakkr, a mountain 2279 feet in
height, in order to get a good look at the south side of the
Vatna Jökull, which was directly to the north of it. Kaldbakkr is
situated a few miles to the north of Hörgsdalr.
Accompanied by the farmer, we rode to the last patch of grass that
was nearest the mountain, and, after a smart scramble, reached
the summit. The Jökull looked decidedly whiter than I had ever
seen it, but there was the same expanse of snow losing itself in
the northern distance; pure, silent, dazzling, beautiful, and
spotless, save where a few black peaks and uncouth masses of dark
rock protruded through the frozen covering. These were scattered
at long intervals across the unsullied snow-slopes, and clustered
together in the south-west, where lies that portion of the Vatna
known as the Skaptar Jökull. Harmless and guileless they looked
in the morning sunshine; but they had vomited the lava which had
desolated the plain below, and had given vent to the fiery force
which from time to time had shaken Iceland to its very foundations!
One peak to the north-west especially attracted my attention, on
account of its height and its perfectly conical form, and my guide
informed me that it had erupted on several occasions, and that the
last outburst occurred about thirty years ago.
It was with no small satisfaction I arrived at the now familiar
homestead of Núpstað, and received the usual glad welcome from
the bóndi Ayólver, who had been expecting us. I again took up
my quarters in the disused little church, which makes such a
good storehouse for my friend Ayólver, and such an excellent
resting-place for chance travellers like myself. It seemed
quite home-like as I tumbled into the little bed which had been
improvised upon the boxes in the corner, and I experienced the
comfortable feeling of being in my old place again as I ate my
breakfast off and posted up my diary upon the antiquated communion
table. Do not be shocked, good reader! all sanctity had long ago
departed from this useful piece of furniture, and if we were to
peep into the inside, we should find neither sacred utensils nor
vestments; but simply the serviceable homespun garments of the
bóndi’s wife.
The farm and the rocks behind it were but little altered since I
first saw them four years ago. One year in Núpstað is much like
its predecessor, and things go on, year after year, in just the
same routine, except where the inevitable changes of life and
death intervene. The people had altered the most, for of course
they had grown older, and one or two faces were missing! Well, I
have grown older, too--it is no good to stand dreaming. There is a
bullock to be bought, butchered, and salted, preparatory to making
it into “kœfar,” as the Icelanders call the kind of pemmican I
make for my Jökull expeditions. Skin-bags and mocassins have to be
procured; butter, bread, and stock-fish have to be sought after; in
fact, the greater part of three weeks’ provisions for six men must
be collected from the neighbouring farms. We made the necessary
arrangements, and settled that these various articles are to be
ready for us in a week’s time; we then deputed Paul’s father to
attend to the levying of our requisitions, and the payment for
them. The ox was next slain, dissected, and salted, and we were
again ready to start on our travels.
Some little difficulty was experienced in getting all into train,
owing to the hurry all the farmers of this locality were in to get
this year’s wool to the store at Papós, which is situated four
days’ journey to the east; for tidings had been received that the
ice of a portion of the Vatna Jökull, known as the Breiðamerkr
had advanced to such an extent as to threaten the cutting off of
all communication along the sea-shore, since the advance still
continued. In consequence of this alarm every farmer was busy
preparing the wool for market; steaming cauldrons were cleansing
it from its grease, bands of sturdy Icelandic maidens were rinsing
it in the clear water of the mountain streams--which are almost
sure to be found in close proximity to the farms in this part of
the country--patches of white wool were drying upon the ground,
while the male part of the community were measuring it in quaint
wooden baskets, packing it into sacks, and forming bundles of
equal weight to balance on each side of the pack-horses. It would
be a very serious thing, indeed, if the road to Papós were to be
intercepted, as it would compel the dwellers in this district to
journey to Eyrarbakki before they could exchange their produce for
the necessaries they require. Leaving Núpstað behind us, we set
out for the advancing glacier, and turned our faces towards the
snowy slopes of Örœfa.
The Súla river, or Núpsvatn, had to be crossed. It was deeper than
I had before seen it, though its volume of water scarcely seemed
to have increased. Its bed was changed to one of pebbles and
quicksand. In 1871 it was of pebbles only, in 1874 it was black
sand, in 1875 it is again pebbles and sand.
We crossed the river and fast sped on our way over the desert of
Skeiðarár Sandr. This sand occupies an area of 300 square miles.
It has been formed by the joint efforts of volcanoes upon the
Vatna and Mount Örœfa, which have strewn this tract with sand and
ashes, and whose ejectamenta have been brought down by the shifting
waters of numerous glacial streams which traverse the Skeiðarár
Sandr in many directions. It would seem that the portion of the
Vatna which here bounds the Skeiðarár Sandr upon the north has
acted in a similar manner to the Breiðamerkr Jökull; for numerous
_moraines_ occur upon these sands, some of which are at a great
distance from the utmost limit of the Jökull at the present time.
Indeed, there has been an obvious advance at this point since 1871
of the fringe of the glacier which almost surrounds the Vatna
Jökull. The existence of scratched rocks in _moraines_ in Iceland
below the limit of the glaciers does not of necessity prove that
such glaciers have bodily advanced, as during extensive eruptions
of glacial mountains huge masses of ice frequently slip forward to
considerable distances, scratching the harder and furrowing the
softer rocks in their progress, which, upon their melting, leave
large piles of glacial _débris_, in no way distinguishable from a
_moraine_ stranded upon the lower elevations.
It was blowing hard from the east with heavy rain, but upon the
west side of the mountain before us (Örœfa) the sun was shining in
the most tantalising manner, so that as we urged our horses along
the heavy sands we were fain to fancy ourselves exploring those
dazzling glaciers and snowy slopes which seemed to fascinate the
sunshine and detain it from reaching us.
We were soon under the lee of the mountains before us. Sheltered
from the wind and the storm, we could stop to admire the grand
sweep from the Örœfa to the commencement of the Skeiðará Jökull.
Looking back at Núpstað, we saw it enwrapped in gloom, the clouds
clustering round the Lómagnúpar,[1] a mountain which seems to
attract all the bad weather to Núpstað and the storm sat heavily
upon the western portion of the plain of Skeiðarár Sandr, which was
exposed to the fury of the east winds.
Crossing the river Skeiðará, we reached the Saga-famed Svínafell.
Here we stayed to refresh ourselves with the national panacea
for the ills of Icelandic travel, namely, a cup of coffee of the
real Icelandic brew! The art of making good coffee is one of the
greatest accomplishments of the fair sex here, and it is a pity
it is not more generally attained by the lady population of other
countries. The occurrence of drinkable coffee in Iceland, a good
cup of it being always to be obtained at the poorest farm, is
the more remarkable, as the coffee sold by the merchants at the
various stores is never of the best quality; but is principally the
Java coffee. The grand secret of success in this special domestic
art is doubtless owing to the fact that the coffee is roasted at
home, exactly to the right turn, and deftly manipulated in some
particular way which early training and long practice can alone
effect. The last and by no means the least adjunct to this national
_bonne bouche_ is in most cases a good supply of cream.
Being thus fortified, we were taken to see a birch-tree upon the
hill behind the farm. This tree might have been five-and-twenty
feet in height, and it was considered the largest tree in this
part of the island. There is, however, a considerable growth of
bushy trees, principally birch, in the valley called Núpstaða-skógr
down which the river Súla flows. It is by far the largest wood
in the south of Iceland. Núpstaða-skógr is likewise remarkable
for containing a breed of wild sheep, which belongs to our friend
Ayólver, who is the owner of the skógar, together with the valuable
farm of Núpstað. There is also another patch of wood at the
north-west base of Örœfa, which is of great use to Svínafell and
the adjacent farms.
The hills behind Svínafell are basaltic; but as we proceeded
further eastward, we soon found ourselves surrounded by the more
recent products of the volcano Örœfa, which towered above us upon
our left hand. Seeing a party of horsemen approaching, we whipped
our little drove together, and met them upon the grass which was a
few hundred yards off.
The party consisted of an Althing’s-man, who was going to Reykjavík
to attend the Althing, or Icelandic Parliament, with his servants,
and the priest from Sandfell, at whose house he had been staying,
and who was escorting him for a short distance. The priest turned
out to be a cousin of my man Paul, so after a brief colloquy, and
requesting the Althing’s-man to convey our greetings to friends at
Reykjavík, we rode on to Sandfell.
Our road lay past several beds of white pumice which had all been
ejected from Örœfa. A smart gallop over cinders and fragments of
lava brought us to the church and parsonage. Sandfell is situated
at the south base of Örœfa. Behind it rise barren hills of compact
agglomerate, composed of volcanic ash and fragments of lava, but
our friend the priest is compensated for his dreary surroundings
by having one of the prettiest Icelandic women I have seen for
his wife. She seemed quite piqued because I could not own to
thinking Sandfell a very pretty place. Going hence, we crossed the
stream of lava and agglomerate, which I was informed resulted from
the eruption of Örœfa in 1862. This stream is a remarkable one,
inasmuch as the agglomerate has flowed down in a semi-molten state,
cotemporaneously with the lava, both being mixed together; the
agglomerate appears to preponderate, but this may be the result of
the lava being of higher specific gravity, which causes it to sink
to the bottom of the stream.
We stopped for the night at Myrum,[2] on the south-west of the
Breiðamerkr Sandr. The bóndi, like all the people of this district,
was hastening to get to Papós with his wool. We supped and
breakfasted off some birds which our host called Svartfugl. They
were the nicest birds I had ever tasted in Iceland, the meat being
tender and plenty of it, and I thought so well of this dish that I
took one of the birds away with us for our lunch on the road.
Here we hired a fresh horse, leaving Paul’s, which had contracted
a sore back, and started over the Breiðamerkr Sandr. The sands,
like the Skeiðarár Sandr are the result of the great efforts of
the Örœfa and Vatna Jökulls, more especially the part of the Vatna
known as the Breiðamerkr Jökull, which was the one whose movements
we had to examine.
The road over these sands is long and dreary, especially in such
weather as had just overtaken us. We passed an extensive encampment
of farmers, who were on their way to Papós; but, despairing of
crossing the rivers which traverse the Breiðamerkr Sandr upon such
a day with heavily laden horses, they had decided on remaining
encamped upon the little patch of grass they had reached. About
one third of the way over the Sandr we arrived at the farm of
Kvísker, which is situated upon a little oasis of grass-land. We
found it a very acceptable halting-place, and although we were wet,
we were glad to sit down and take coffee and schnapps, and smoke
a pipe inside; the room had no windows, and it was filled with
planks and carpenter’s tools, for the house was being enlarged. We
could obtain but little food for our horses, and the greater part
of our day’s work had yet to be accomplished, so a quarter of an
hour saw us again to horse, and rapidly approaching the extreme
point of the advancing Jökull. This Jökull appeared unlike most of
the Icelandic glaciers I have seen. Instead of terminating in an
even slope, or steep rounded cliffs of ice, sometimes fissured,
but generally very regular, it terminated in an irregular wall of
cloven and contorted masses of the rifled and dislocated glaciers;
while the more elevated masses assumed the form of spires, towers
and grotesque architectural shapes. As we were intently looking at
them, some of them tottered and fell. It is indeed a serious matter
to contemplate the short distance now left between the Jökull and
the sea--at one point not more than 250 yards--in addition to this,
new rivers have been formed between the Jökull and the sea, which
have to be crossed, but which it would be impossible to do with a
strong south wind blowing. The Jökulsá is quite bad enough, but to
have several miles of road converted into quicksand by the diverted
waters of the Jökulsá, and to have new rivers in addition to the
advance of the Jökull, is enough to make the people of the district
fear for the road to Papós. One consolation may exist--that the
Jökull has advanced before, and, after a considerable time,
retreated. Still, as an old inhabitant of the neighbourhood
informed me, “It never has advanced as it does now,” and even upon
the other occasion, upon the whole, it gained ground. Alas! poor
Iceland--both fire and water appear allied against it; the latter
especially, in all its forms--boiling, cold, and frozen, and in the
form of rain, hail, snow, and vapour! We were obliged at one point
to travel along the sea-shore, where we espied the body of a large
fish with some dark objects moving about it. A nearer approach
showed it to be a small whale, which, from olfactory evidence,
had lain there for some time. The dark objects, startled at our
appearance, rose in a covey of--well, the same birds of which we
had enjoyed the flavour at Myrum. Svartfugl have never tasted quite
so nice to me since. At last the Breiðamerkr Sandr were passed;
fresh mountains rose before us, and the weather cleared. To our
right was a remarkable lagoon, Breiða-bólstaðalón; which is a
narrow fjord, twelve miles in length, enclosed upon the south by
a large sand-bank running parallel with the shore. This lagoon is
open to the sea at the north-east end, but is too shallow for ships
to enter.
Evening found us at Kálfafellstaðr, a place pleasantly situated
beneath the outlying hills of the Vatna Jökull. These hills
are principally composed of amygdaloidal basalt, abounding in
zeolites; chalcedonies are especially plentiful, and I dare say it
might pay to look for the precious opal. This eastern corner of
Iceland appears to be particularly rich in zeolites; I noticed the
same when I was at Berufjörðr.
We stayed for the night with another relative of Paul--he seemed
to have kindred nearly all over the island, and a very superior
race they appear to be. This relation was the widow of the former
priest of Kálfafellstaðr. Here we bought another horse, and hired
the widow’s son, a lad about seventeen; for we required a man and a
lad to drive our horses round to the north of the island while we
crossed the Vatna Jökull. The widow and her daughter accompanied
us a short distance upon our return journey, and, after two days’
riding, we were again at Núpstað.
Preparations for our journey across the Vatna now commenced in
earnest. The sleighs and the snow-shoes had been made according
to our instructions. All was there except the men and the butter;
enough of the latter, however, turned up in the morning to enable
us to make the pemmican, which I at once set myself to work to
superintend.
A fire was lighted and a cauldron of water soon heated, and the
beef boiled; then came the work of cutting up an entire ox
into pieces the size of ordinary wine-corks. Paul senior, and I
commenced operations by first taking out the bones; and, by dint
of sharp knives, and a few hours’ hard work, we prepared about
seventy-eight pounds of meat. Twenty pounds of salt butter and
half-a-pound of salt were then melted in the cauldron, and the meat
carefully mixed with it. After a short time it was ready to be
packed in the skin bags in which it was to be carried.
The bags were placed in troughs of water during the operation of
filling, to prevent leakage at the seams, and when they were filled
they were tied up and laid in a stream close by, where stones were
piled upon them to press down the meat. When they were sufficiently
pressed, and the contents had become cold (which took about twenty
hours), they were each placed in ordinary sacks for more easy
carriage; for greasy skin-bags full of meat are rather slippery
things to carry, and somewhat nasty things to handle.
By June 25th all my preparations were made, and my men arrived;
Paul Paulsen and a cousin of his from Skaptarfellssysla; Helgi,
from the farm of Króki; Finnur, from Myrdalssysla; and Eyólfur,
from Hörgsdalr: these were to accompany me across the Vatna
Jökull. In addition were Bjarni, who was with me last year; the
farmer from Rauðberg, who carried the post between Prestbakki and
Berufjörðr--a deaf and dumb man, and a man named Vigfúss; these
four were to return when we reached the mountain which I last year
named “Mount Paul,” about a third of the way across the Jökull. I
had also arranged with Paul’s father and little Arni, whom I had
hired at Kálfafellstaðr, to take our horses from Núpstað round the
east side of the Vatna into the north of the island.
Our equipment, which was to be drawn upon hand-sleighs, consisted
of a low tent, four feet high; a large sleeping-bag, which would
accommodate six of us--this was eight feet long, and five feet
wide--one side being made of a layer of cork and felt, covered
with mackintosh, and the other of a stout blanket also covered
with waterproof. This bag was open at both ends, so that three
could sleep with their heads one way and three with their heads the
other. Both these openings were covered by a hood, which proved a
great protection to our heads while sleeping, and prevented the
snow from getting into the bag. This gave us sleeping accommodation
for six persons, with a weight of only sixty pounds. This bed,
however, had its disadvantages; for instance, if any one was taken
with cramp, or dreamt of engaging in any particularly active
exercise, its limited dimensions became painfully apparent;
moreover, it is almost impossible to keep the inside of the bag
perfectly dry, owing to the exhalation from our bodies. I have
paid great attention to this matter, but have found that for a
prolonged sojourn amidst wet snow, where weight is a subject of
paramount importance, it is the best sleeping arrangement that can
be contrived.
Our provisions consisted of 100 lbs. of pemmican in skin bags,
50 lbs. of butter, 100 lbs. of skonrok, or Danish ship-biscuits,
15 lbs. of dried fish, 15 lbs. of dried mutton, 15 lbs. of gravy
soup, 2 tins of “soupe Julienne,” in packets; 6 tins of chocolate
and milk, 2 lbs. of cocoa, and 4 lbs. of sugar; 2 gallons of proof
whiskey, 1 gallon of spirit for burning, 5 lbs. of tobacco, and
3 tins of Peek and Frean’s meat biscuits. I had a small Russian
furnace, which is an excellent lamp for heating water or melting
snow. These articles, with a good supply of warm clothing,
waterproofs, and mocassins (for it is impossible to wear leather
boots in the snow), and the necessary instruments and implements,
completed our outfit.
All things were now ready, and the day had at length arrived when
we were to assail the Vatna again. We rose betimes, but it was
midday before we were fairly on our way. I took leave of the bóndi
Ayólver, who would not charge me anything for my own board and for
the keep of my own horses. He was too unwell to accompany us to
the Vatna, and seemed quite upset at saying good-bye, as he said
he felt sure it would be for the last time, whether we got across
the Jökull or not. I cheered him up, and said, I hoped some day or
another to come to Núpstað again; and so we started on horseback,
and, after crossing the river Diúpá, we commenced the ascent of
Kálfafellsfjall, which hill lay between us and the Vatna.
The journey was a very trying one to the horses; it is so at the
best of times, but now the melting snow still lay thickly, and
in places had converted the unstable soil into quicksands. In
some parts it was necessary to cross ravines full of snow, which
had melted underneath, leaving the bottom of the ravine roofed.
The horses fought very shy of these snow-roofed valleys, and
when we came to any hole which had been formed by the subsidence
of a portion of the snow into the valley beneath, it was with
difficulty we could get them along, as the noise of the stream,
which invariably ran below, made them rather fractious. But the
snow having regelated into an indurated compact mass, was often
some yards in thickness, so I do not think there was any real
danger of sinking through it. These preliminary difficulties were
soon disposed of, and 6 P.M. found us at that point where the rocks
terminate and the eternal snows of the Vatna commence.
A squall of sleet and wind now rolled down upon us. I immediately
directed two men to prepare some coffee, for we had brought wood
for that purpose, while some gave the horses a feed of hay, and
others unpacked the burdens they had carried so pluckily from
Núpstað. The coffee was soon ready, the storm cleared, and the
scene must have bordered on the picturesque, or perhaps the
“_unique_,” as we all clustered round the remnant of the fire, amid
the different packages that were to cross the Vatna, our horses
pawing the ground, impatient to return to their pastures. The
grand white Jökull lay before us, the black crags of the fjalls
behind us, and the roar of the Diúpá in our ears, while a beautiful
rainbow spanned the eastern sky--a harbinger, we trusted, of good
success.
Here we took leave of Paul’s father and his cousin Arni, directing
them where to wait for us with the horses, in the north of the
island. The evening promised to be showery; but having a lively
reminiscence of the black sand of this locality, which at our last
year’s encampment upon this spot got into our ears, our eyes, and
our food, I determined to advance and camp, as soon as we needed
to do so, upon the deep snow, although my men had already begun
to put up a temporary abode with loose stones from the terminal
_moraine_ of the Jökull.
At this point last year the Jökull was a crevassed glacier,
whose surface was covered with aiguilles and hummocks of black
sand and ice. But all traces of the glacier were buried beneath
a vast accumulation of snow! From the first we were able to use
our sleighs, and, turning due northward, we left the habitable
world behind us, being face to face with the hardest piece of
our summer work. As far as the eye could see was one lifeless,
pathless wilderness of snow, destitute alike of animal, insect,
or floral life. Our footsteps gave no sound, and our very voices
seemed strange in this drear solitude, the death-like stillness
of whose snowy wastes is broken only by the howling of the storm,
or the outburst of a volcano! It was evident that a much greater
snowfall had taken place during the past winter than in the
preceding one, and the newly-fallen snow took us up to our knees,
making our progress very difficult and slow. After about three
hours’ dragging, it began to snow, and a thick fog enveloped us,
so I decided to encamp. The plan I usually adopt for sleeping in
the snow--and I believe one of the warmest and best methods--is to
dig a square hole, three or four feet deep; over this I pitch my
tent, banking it well round the sides with snow. I then spread the
sleeping bag at the bottom of the hole, with the hoods doubled down
over the ends to prevent any snow getting into it. If a storm is
blowing, I cast up a bank of snow to windward, and take everything
that will be required for immediate use into the tent. The next
thing is to draw the sleighs up to the door of the tent; so that
if anything extra is required it can be procured without much
difficulty, and having stuck up all sticks and shovels firmly in
the snow, to prevent their getting covered up and lost, we turn
in, changing our wet or snowy clothes sitting upon the waterproof
exterior of the bag, and, putting on a dry change, we all get into
the bag, having previously fixed up waterproof coats upon the snowy
wall at each end, to lean against. If it is not freezing very hard,
we hang our snowy clothes upon a line at the top of our tent,
with our satchels, &c.; but if it is freezing hard we put them
underneath the bed. Snow is then melted, soup or chocolate is made,
and rations served, which, with a small allowance of grog, pipes,
and a song all round, finish our labours for the day or night, as
the case may be, and we go to sleep.
This was the manner in which we now camped, six of us occupying the
sleeping-bag, much after the manner of sardines in a sardine box,
the remaining four, who were only to accompany us as far as Mount
Paul, made themselves as comfortable as they could with rugs and
mackintosh coats in the front part of the tent. I ordered every man
to fill his flask with snow and put it in his pocket, that each
might have a drink of water when he awoke, and in the course of an
hour nothing could be heard but the heavy, stentorian breathing of
nine out of ten of our party. Having posted up my diary, I slept
well for an hour, when I was awakened by a sudden commotion at the
other end of the tent. I called out to Paul for an explanation,
saying, “Holloa! what’s the matter at your end?” He replied in a
deep, solemn voice, “Now is the dumb beating his feet.” Although
our dumb friend’s feet were doubtless cold, I could not allow
that method of warming them in a tent only 10 by 6½ feet, and I
therefore directed that another man should chafe the dumb man’s
feet and cuddle them up in his arms. The morning brought us only
fog and storm, but after a few hours the latter abated. I served
out some warm soup, and we got under weigh. After an hour the fog
became so dense, the snow so soft and deep, and a determined sleet
had set in, that I was obliged reluctantly to call a halt. Between
nine and ten in the evening the weather cleared, the wind shifted
to the north-west and the sun came out, and we again advanced; but
the snow being up to our knees, I perceived I was tiring my men.
So after going on a few miles I again halted, as it had begun to
freeze, and the probability was that in about two hours the snow
would be firm enough to travel on. Casting up a bank of snow to
windward, we six turned into our bag upon the surface of the snow,
leaving the tent and all other wraps for our four extra men.
It was bitterly cold, but the atmosphere was very clear. By 3 A.M.
I roused my men; the thermometer registered 20° Fahrenheit; a firm
crust had formed upon the snow which bore us bravely. It was a
glorious morning and a stiff north wind was blowing; the sleigh
travelled merrily along, and as the sun illumined the magnificent
snow slopes around us, everything seemed to promise fine weather
and success. The pure element we were breathing seemed to give us
fresh life and strength, and made us feel equal to the work before
us. After three hours one of the men (Vikfúss) gave out, said he
could go no further, and lay down upon the snow; but as there were
not nearly so many degrees of frost now, the man was warmly clad,
and I had a great idea he was shirking, I left him behind, much
against the will of his companions. Before we were half a mile
away I had the satisfaction of seeing him following, apparently
not very much the worse for wear. The ascent from the first had
been a very gradual slope of snow, which now became undulating and
somewhat steeper, especially upon the N.E., where steeps of snow
swept up to the mountain. I last year named Vatna Jökull “Housie,”
from the great resemblance which its summit, then free from snow,
bore, when viewed in one aspect, to the roof of a house. The
likeness was now much less striking, from its being all white.