the postman from Rauðberg. He was always cheerful, willing and
obliging, and had twice the hardihood and strength of the other
men. I only regretted I could not take him right across the Vatna,
but his postal duties would not admit of so prolonged an absence.
We sighted Mount Paul at 9 A.M. Here we made a good breakfast, and
our disabled man having slunk up, he made better progress with his
meal than he did with his sleigh.
Mount Paul is a cluster of one large and several smaller volcanic
eminences, rising to the height of 150 feet above the surrounding
snow. A semi-circular pit being thawed out by the radiation of the
sun’s rays from the south side of the mountain, we found here an
abundant supply of water. The mountain is composed of varieties
of obsidian, varying from the highly vitreous to the grey stony
variety; one portion of it consists of vitreous obsidian cementing
together multitudes of the concretionary forms commonly known as
spherulites.
We slept for two or three hours; but the state of the snow was such
that it was impossible to get the sleighs through it. I sent back
my four extra men, for they had little or nothing to carry, and
we had left them a good supply of provisions at the commencement
of the Jökull. As the accommodation in the tent was but small for
them, and it seemed to promise bad weather, they preferred forcing
their way back through the soft snow to running the chance of being
weather-bound for three or four days. They had not been gone away
many hours when it began to rain, and as night drew on it became
more and more evident that there would be no frost. The wind had
shifted to the S.S.E., the thermometer stood at 33° Fahr., and as
the night advanced the snow became so soft and rotten that in some
places it took us up over our knees.
The next day the wind was still S.S.E., and the fog and sleet
were as bad as ever; and as progress was impossible, I minutely
inspected the rocks of Mount Paul. They rise from a large crater
now filled with snow. To the south-east is a pit-crater partially
filled with snow. Mount Paul is composed almost entirely of
perlite and obsidian. This is the only place in Iceland in which
I have found obsidian “in situ.” The west side of the mountain
particularly attracted my attention, being composed of multitudes
of spherulites cemented together by obsidian. Thousands of these
small globular formations had been weathered out of the obsidian,
and in some places one might have collected a hat-full.
Night brought no improvement in the weather; and a somewhat
remarkable scene presented itself of six men lying in a hole in
the snow, 4250 feet above the sea-level, in Iceland, all hoping
for a frost--but no frost came, and morning found us in the same
position. This was very aggravating for one who had spent much
money, time and labour, in order to complete a survey across the
Vatna Jökull; but the day was fine, and I could post up my diary,
plan for the future, learn Icelandic, eat, drink and smoke, upon
the volcanic _débris_ on the leeward side of Mount Paul, where the
thermometer at midday rose to 75 and 80 degrees in the sun, and it
was infinitely preferable to lying in the snow. Towards evening it
began to freeze, so we packed up our sleighs and retired to Mount
Paul, until the crust was strong enough to bear the weight of the
sleigh. By ten P.M. there were twelve degrees of frost, and the
wind blew freshly from the N.W. The crust now bore the sleigh, but
we sank through it up to our knees at every step. This was such
laborious work that after two hours we halted, hoping the crust
would soon become firmer; but we were doomed to disappointment, for
after a while the wind suddenly shifted to the S.E., and almost
simultaneously a fog appeared. However, we were soon upon our legs,
and although the surface of the snow became worse and worse, and we
sank deeper and deeper into it as we proceeded, we managed to do
five hours’ work by halting every quarter of an hour.
About 3 P.M. I noticed a curious phenomenon. The sun was above the
horizon, and was occasionally discernible through the fog--for at
this time of the year at this altitude, about 4500 feet, the sun
can scarcely be said to set--appearing to move in a circle from the
meridian westward, and still keeping above the horizon to almost
due north, where it dips for about half-an-hour, appearing again
about N.N.E., and by six P.M. it bears due east, some forty degrees
above the horizon. A strong current of air was drifting the clouds
and fog at our level across the surface of the Jökull from the
S.E., while dark masses of cloud were perfectly discernible passing
at a very rapid rate across the face of the sun from a precisely
opposite direction.
The storm now increased in violence, and we were soon so
surrounded by whirling clouds of snow that it was impossible to
distinguish from what quarter the wind was blowing. The compass had
for a long time been almost useless, in all probability owing to
the magnetic ore contained in the rocks which underlie the snows
of the Jökull. This rendered us entirely dependent upon the wind
and the sun for our direction. In clear weather, where the compass
is useless, I always steer by a circular piece of card marked off
into four right angles, so that by carefully taking the angular
bearings of all distinguishable objects, one is able to steer a
pretty straight course.
[Illustration:
_London, Longmans & C^o._
_E. Weller, Litho._
Map of the
AUTHORS ROUTES
_from_
Núpstað to Reikjahlíð]
Being now unable to avail myself of either compass, sun, wind, or
card, nothing remained for us but another halt. For two days the
storm continued and it would have been impossible to get many yards
away from the tent without being lost. On the third day at noon
the storm abated, the wind shifted due east, and the sun broke
through the clouds. We all turned out, but it was useless to think
of struggling through the loose, deep snow. We took our bed out
to dry it, for it was wet with the exhalations from our bodies.
This, however, was rather against the wish of some of my men,
upon whom the inactivity of the last few days had begun to tell.
I observed two black peaks protruding through the snow, one
about five miles due north, and the other about eleven miles N.W.
I was surprised to find a considerable quantity of volcanic ash
upon the snow, of a fine, light, grey description. This appeared
the more remarkable, as I knew of no volcano that had been in
eruption south of the Vatna Jökull, and the storm had blown almost
entirely from the S.E. Moreover, I was aware there was no ash of
that kind anywhere upon the south. It appeared to me that this must
have been carried either from an erupting volcano, or from some
ash-strewn district to the north of the Jökull, by a current of air
travelling in a different direction to the S.S.E. wind which we
had experienced during the last few days, and bisecting the latter
current at a point south of our present position, had been unable
to resist its force, and had been carried by it to the place where
it was now lying.
We here obtained an excellent view of the Vatna Jökull Housie,
which appeared to be higher than any other point on the Jökull,
our present height being 4500 feet--the summit of the Housie being
at least 1500 feet above us. Its form is a lop-sided cone, from
which I could trace, through my telescope, the course of huge lava
streams, now deeply buried in the snow, but still leaving unequal
ridges upon each side of the mountain, and in some instances
extending to a considerable distance upon the main body of the
Vatna Jökull. An extensive eruption of one of these snow-covered
volcanoes must be awful, when any vast volume of lava is suddenly
ejected upon such a tremendous accumulation of frozen material;
but minor eruptions and smaller streams of lava, I should think,
can make but little impression upon such an enormous quantity of
snow in the first instance. Probably (unless there has been any
great amount of sand or ashes previously ejected) they melt their
way through the snow to the rocky bed of the mountain, and forming
a sort of tube by the aid of the rapidly consolidated crust upon
their surface continue their course, much as a lava stream would
upon ordinary ground, or more especially, perhaps, at the bottom
of the sea, without occasioning any very remarkable phenomena, and
even the effect of the most extensive eruptions must of necessity
be but local.
By 4 P.M. the wind shifted back to its old quarter, S.S.E., and,
despairing of frost, we again betook ourselves to the tent.
Towards midnight, for about the twentieth time, I went out with
Paul to look at the weather. We tried the sleighs, and found it
was as much as one man could do to pull a sleigh with nothing
on it, and a very small weight almost buried the sleigh in the
snow, and enabled it to resist our united efforts to get it
along. During our experiment we sunk very deep into the snow.
For the last three days I had put every one on half rations, and
as anything is better than inactivity with insufficient food, we
determined to abandon our sleighs and attempt to force our way
through the snow, carrying everything upon our backs. It was rather
foggy and sleeting, but the wind was blowing pretty steadily. We
communicated our determination to the rest of our party, and they
quietly accepted it without a murmur. We packed up everything, and
leaving our sleighs and a gathering storm behind us, we turned
our faces northward with a cheer which was more animated than
might have been expected under the circumstances. I must say our
position bore rather a forlorn aspect. Six men heavily laden,
wading through snow up to their knees at every step, no view but
an ever-advancing circle of gloom, the only variation being that
it was darker towards the south, from which quarter a strong wind
was blowing, with squalls of sleet and snow. About every quarter
of an hour we had to stop from sheer exhaustion, and after two or
three hours’ arduous toil two of my men became quite incapacitated
and too ill to proceed. This was evidently not a case of sham. I
therefore halted, and served out with all speed some warm grog; one
man was spitting blood, and another was suffering severe pains in
the stomach. I had previously advised every man to wear a cloth
bandage round his stomach, but none of them had cared to do so. I
suffered rather from pains in the bowels the previous year upon the
Vatna Jökull, but I was now wearing an abdominal bandage of tarred
cloth, and throughout our prolonged stay upon the snow suffered no
inconvenience whatever. The next day was finer, with sunshine and
increased cold, with snow at intervals, the thermometer being below
freezing point all day; one of the sick men had recovered, but the
other was still too ill to travel. Towards evening the wind blew
from the west, and it began to freeze hard. I therefore sent back
for the sleighs, which we had taken the precaution to stand upright
and fix firmly in the snow before we left them.
By 9 P.M. it was freezing very sharply. I served out an allowance
of warm grog, and as the invalid was greatly recovered and said he
would rather die than go back, we again struck N.N.E., allowing
him to go free. We had packed everything on one of the sleighs,
four pulling and one pushing behind, and so firm a crust had now
formed upon the surface of the snow that this heavily laden sleigh
travelled as easily as an empty one would have done the evening
before. We now gradually ascended until at 1 A.M. we reached
a rolling plain, at the height of 5750 feet. It was perfectly
clear in the west, and I obtained a good view of Tungufell’s and
Arnarfell’s Jökulls, which from the angle they made with our line
of march, showed me we were two-thirds of the way across the Vatna
Jökull. It was still very thick in the south and east, and the
wind had shifted to the south-west. An ice-storm was almost the
immediate result, a driving mist encrusting everything with ice;
the undulations in the plateau became more and more marked, the
variation in altitude being sometimes as much as 100 feet or more.
A most obdurate mist continued to prevent our obtaining any further
view, which was very exasperating, as we might have passed within
a short distance of objects of interest without being conscious of
the fact.
We made our first halt at 3 A.M., and took a light meal of Peek
and Frean’s meat biscuits and snow. When I say snow I do not mean
the pure white frosty snow which lies upon the surface, but the
coarse, granular, icy particles of which the crust we were walking
upon was composed. I have often been dependent upon snow for the
water supply, both in North-West America and upon mountains, and
I find the coarser the snow is, and the more it approaches the
character of ice, the better it quenches the thirst, and the less
likely it is to occasion pain in the stomach. When the fine white
snow only can be procured, as every tyro knows, it can be made
more palatable by compressing it into a snowball. In other words,
the less cold air is swallowed, entangled in the snow, the better;
for the very act of squeezing the snow causes it to part with
some portion of air, as is shown by the change of colour, as it
regelates towards the form of ice. Thus we preferred the coarse icy
granules, which formed the crust upon the older snow, to the pure
white tempting frost-snow which, owing to the extra amount of air
it contained, must have been of a considerably lower temperature
than the granulated snow beneath. We were now at the height of 5900
feet, and the temperature was 15° of frost. The rim of the sun was
occasionally observable through the fog which surrounded us, giving
us a good line to steer by, and bright fog-bows escorted us to
windward; but these were simply bows, and had none of the cruciform
corona in the interior, which were so observable upon the Myrdal’s
Jökull last year. At 6 P.M. we reached a steep ascent, where our
compass twisted and turned about in the most eccentric fashion;
the heavens became black as night to windward, the wind had risen,
and was making the peculiar booming noise I have often remarked in
these regions before a storm, and driving a blinding, pitiless
drifting snow before it, which eddied about the sleigh and wrapped
itself around us, as if longing to enshroud and bury us in its
frozen toils. But we had an idea of burying ourselves in our own
fashion. “Oskôp mikill stormur kèmur bráðum” (A bad storm is coming
on presently), said Eyólfur, sitting down for a moment on the
sleigh, and clapping his feet together to knock off the snow which
was clinging to his legs, and we were all of the same opinion. We
were at the height of 6150 feet, so I ordered a hole to be dug,
and the tent to be pitched. The snow was very hard and firm, even
at the depth of four feet, and we cut out as clean a hole as if it
had been in salt, but the wind drifted so much loose snow into it,
that the men were obliged to hold up the tent to windward during
its completion. We had barely got ourselves snug and commenced
breakfast, when the storm burst upon us, seeming to threaten the
tearing up of the very snow in which we had taken refuge; and had
not former experience taught us to fortify our tent well all round
with banks of snow, I have no doubt it would have been the last we
should have seen of that article of furniture. Being satisfied that
all was snug, and that the worst which could happen to us was that
we might be buried a few feet in the snow, we went to sleep. When
we awoke at mid-day the storm had subsided and the fog had lifted,
showing three dark mountains to the north--doubtless Skjaldbreið,
Herðubreið, and Dyngjufjöll.
We were speculating as to whether we should go on in spite of the
still threatening aspect of the weather, when the fog returned,
and the booming wind announced another storm to be close at hand.
Presently it broke upon us; never before had I heard the wind make
such an unearthly wail. It seemed as if every imaginable demon and
all the storm spirits of that wild region had assembled to howl and
make a united attack upon us. The light was fast becoming obscure,
and we were getting fairly snowed up, but that made us all the
warmer, all the more secure, and the shrieking of the storm was
deadened by the friendly covering. We partook of some chocolate,
smoked and sung, and finally slept again. At 8 P.M. the storm had
somewhat subsided, and I sent out a man to clear away some of the
snow from the roof of the tent to let a little light in. The snow
had drifted nearly over the tent, and it took some hard work before
we were dug sufficiently out to let in enough light to write by;
outside there were 10° of frost, but we were comfortably warm in
the tent. The air outside was so full of snow that we could not
see a couple of yards in advance. Another day showed us only a
continuation of storm and snow which utterly prevented progress. We
had now only about a week’s provision left, so I again put every
one on half rations. The men were obliged to take turns in clearing
away the snow, at intervals of every three hours, from the top
of the tent, and before very long the tent had the appearance of
lying at the bottom of a deep hole in the snow. We passed the time
as best we could, by sleeping, eating, smoking, writing, singing,
spinning yarns, and I occasionally amused the assembly by learning
strings of Icelandic words by Mr. Stokes’s method of mnemonics,
and repeating them in order, either backwards or forwards, which
puzzled the Icelanders not a little.
Before I started for the Vatna in 1871, I remember saying I
should like to see one of its worst storms: I now had that
gratification. Storms are interesting natural phenomena, but when
prolonged indefinitely are, to say the least, tedious hindrances to
progress; and now, lying upon the top of the Vatna Jökull, with the
possibility of their lasting for a month, and provisions materially
diminishing, their dreary monotony became intolerably oppressive,
and after mature consultation we all came to the conclusion that
if the weather did not clear in two days’ time, we would leave all
impedimenta behind, except provisions, instruments and my diary,
and strike northward, storm or no storm--“_sauve qui peut_.”
When we lay down and were fairly snowed over, the booming of the
storm sounded as if it came from the interior of the mountain, and
almost any familiar sound could be singled out from the hurly-burly
in an exaggerated degree, without any great stretch of imagination.
It stormed all night; the wind “Trolls” shrieked around us, the
thunder of the storm roared through the, to us, dark midnight
hours, surging upon the icy bosom of the Jökull, sweeping up its
snowy slopes, bearing with it avalanches of snow-drift which had
buried us several feet deep by morning. By 5 A.M. it lessened
somewhat, the furies of the Vatna appeared to have given up the
idea of overwhelming us, and the disheartened tempest sunk away
in melancholy sobs, but a determined drift and south-west wind
persevered in harassing us.
It was clear that we must now start forward, for not only was there
a considerable amount of snow yet to be traversed, but a howling
wilderness of volcanic sand, lava, and mountain torrents had to
be crossed which lay between the north base of the Jökull and the
nearest habitation. We could not remain in our present position,
so deeply were we buried, and so difficult was it to get in and
out of the tent; moreover the fury of the storm had beaten the
snow hard, so there was no time to be lost. I served out a hearty
meal, and as packing up under such circumstances seemed to demand
some stimulant, I made some grog out of methylated spirit, for
all our whisky was gone. This served to quicken our circulation,
although it was far from being palatable, having, as my Icelanders
said, “slœmr dropi,” or a bad after-taste, and no wonder, as the
first taste was not suggestive of an agreeable sequel. We packed,
but with great difficulty, owing to everything being frozen quite
hard. Upon leaving, I drew over my mocassins a pair of fishing
stockings; they were as hard as sheet iron, and were a very great
inconvenience to me; but it was too cold to stop and take them off,
for it seemed as if we should freeze as we stood. These stockings
had been of great service in keeping me dry hitherto, and I hoped
they would protect me now. I felt a hard lump in the bottom of my
left stocking; if it was snow it meant a frozen foot. But there
was no help for it--we could not think of stopping to change
foot-gear in such a tempest. The wind had shifted to the west,
almost freezing the side exposed to it. We steered N.N.E.: it was
fortunate the wind was almost at our back, for we could hardly have
faced it.
After three hours’ hard tugging we reached the height of 6,150
feet, and straight away began to descend, and presently at so rapid
a rate that I had to send three men behind, in order to prevent
the sleigh from starting on its own account for the bottom of the
mountain. Suddenly the clouds cleared away before us, disclosing a
deep, snowy valley at our feet, and a tall black mountain, streaked
with snow, upon our left and west. Lower and lower we descended,
more and more precipitous, till it was evident that we could go
no farther upon our present course with the sleigh; so Paul and
I went forward to explore. The side of the valley terminated in
almost perpendicular walls of snow, which were now frozen perfectly
hard, and glazed over by the severity of the frost; the opposite
side was more broken, with dark crags here and there protruding,
while a copious lava stream appeared to flow northwards from the
termination of the snow, though I afterwards found that a fringe of
glaciers intervened.
We next decided on striking due north, along the sloping sides of
the valley, to what we supposed to be Querkfjall, but afterwards
found to be Kistufell. Upon returning to the sleigh, while putting
back my field-glass, which I was obliged to do barehanded, for my
gloves were a mass of ice upon the outside, my fingers began to
freeze; but a little hard clapping, and by getting two of my men
to beat them with their hands, the circulation was restored. I now
ordered three of my men to put spiked iron clamps upon their feet,
for without this precaution I doubt not but we should have ended
our career, sleigh and all, by an abrupt descent into the valley
beneath, unless we had been stopped by some of the ugly crevasses
which yawned half-way down the snowy steep, upon the slippery and
precipitous sides of which we were descending.
We proceeded, but with great difficulty; our trouble now being, not
that the sleigh was hard to get along, but that it would go too
fast; in fact, it seemed likely to run away with us altogether.
Behind us was a fierce wind, beneath us a precipice of some 800 or
1,000 feet; and the sloping snow-banks we were treading shelved off
at such an alarming angle that it rendered the work more dangerous
than pleasant. In this critical position I became painfully aware
that I had frozen my left big toe; for the increased exertions
and the lessening altitude were causing it to thaw. The pain was
horrible; but presently the slope became less abrupt, and we
stepped along at such a rate that 1,500 feet were negociated with
considerable speed. Hurrah! we were again in bright sunshine; but
the moment we stood still, the wind cut us to the bone. Before us
lay the long looked-for Norðurland. We arrived at the bottom of the
valley, and found it full of loose snow, which was knee-deep, for
the crust was here much too light to bear our weight, and at every
few feet we sunk into a miniature crevasse. After struggling on for
some few hours, however, we pitched our tent.
Right thankful was I to get some warm soup and creep into the bag.
One of my men--and a real good fellow he was--named Sigurð, cuddled
my left foot in his arms, although my writhings kept him as well as
myself awake while the others slept. I have had many parts of my
body frozen, but I never suffered so much as from that toe.