GILSBAKKI TO STATHARHRAUN
Arrived at Gilsbakki I took up my quarters in the church, for the house
was then rather full: besides the minister and his wife, and family of
five sons and three daughters, the haymakers had to be accommodated,
the total number sleeping there being twenty-six. In looking at the
outside of the house, it was difficult to believe that so many persons
could be stowed away there. Haymaking was in full swing on the farm,
and the haymakers worked far into the night--I could hear them laughing
and talking at intervals through the open door of the church, for they
were in the fields all around. As there was bad weather impending, and
the next day would be Sunday, they probably worked till the whole of
the hay had been raked into small stacks in readiness for the rain,
which fell, as expected, during most of the following day. It is
noteworthy that we escaped much of the discomfort of travelling in bad
weather by our Sunday rests, for it rained continuously nearly every
Sunday we were in Iceland.
[Illustration: A LAVA ARCH.]
Though it poured nearly the whole day, there was an interval in the
evening when it became a mere drizzle, so Miss Hastie and I again
visited the Barnafoss Falls. I took several photographs thereabouts,
for I saw many interesting features. At the falls the river has several
times changed its course in eroding first one soft spot, then another.
A hard dyke stretches half-way across the gorge, and there is a series
of terraces in the old course of the Hvitá, where the river had
formerly flowed, foaming and tumbling over great steps in the rock. The
gaps in the upper terrace are clearly seen, and a little water still
flows through some of them; but the main volume now escapes through
a great gap where the water has carved its way down to a lower level
through softer rock. There are some interesting formations in the lava
on the banks of the Hvitá, one being an arch illustrating the origin
of some of the caves; it is obvious that this arch is due to pressure
acting from the sides, which has forced the crust of lava upwards. This
on a large scale might have been the origin of the Surtshellir Caves,
which were subsequently enlarged by the action of flowing water, though
their origin was probably due to bubble formation. There were also some
exceedingly good specimens of "ropy" lava, so named because of the ropy
appearance and rope-like structure of the surface.
[Illustration: ROPY LAVA AT BARNAFOSS.]
On leaving Gilsbakki we proceeded down the valley of the Hvitá for
a considerable distance on the right side of the river, where there
are indications, which are quite as plain as those we saw on the
other side, that the river was at one time very much wider, for there
is much alluvial material, forming a series of river terraces one
above another, and these are intersected by various streams from the
mountains.
While lunching at Sithumuli we saw great clouds of steam rising from
the valley of the Reykjadalsá. A mountain range separates the valleys
of the Reykjadalsá and the Hvitá where we were, but we could just see
into the former round the end of the spur of the range. The steam
arose from the geysers at Tunguhver, which were in great agitation and
violent eruption; but we could not get across to see them, for the
Hvitá intervened, and there was but one way--that over the bridge at
Barnafoss, several hours distant. The track diverged from the Hvitá at
Sithumuli, and our way lay over a ridge of basalt and across a series
of scarped rises to the valley of the Kjarrá, a river that lower down
towards its confluence with the Hvitá is known as the Thverá. The river
is bridged at Northtunga by a small iron suspension bridge. A feature
in the landscape hereabouts is the conical peak of Baula; there is
also a smaller peak known as Little Baula, but the former stands out
prominently for many miles around. It has the appearance of a volcanic
cone, but I think (I did not visit the place) the shape is entirely due
to erosion; and there are many instances of this erosion, one being
a peak in Arnarfjord, a photograph of which appears in its place. We
had to recross the Kjarrá, and soon afterwards one of the pack-ponies
took it into its head to go for a swim in the river. I laughed until
I discovered that _my_ box was on its back, but then my laughter was
turned to concern as to the fate of the contents. I expected to find
everything saturated, but was agreeably surprised, on opening it, to
find that the box had proved to be almost water-tight; the damage
done was practically nothing, the contents were uninjured. It was no
uncommon thing for the ponies to take a swim on their own account. On
another occasion one of the provision boxes was immersed, and damage
to sundry articles of food resulted. We crossed the Kjarrá again,
and close by came upon the tents of an Englishman who had hired the
salmon-fishing for the season. No salmon-fishing was to be had in that
district, as all the good rivers had been hired out.
We camped at Hjartharholt, where we managed to get eggs for our evening
meal; but as egg-cups were unattainable, we had difficulty in holding
the eggs in our fingers, for their temperature was near boiling-point.
Next morning I got a very good picture of the haymakers at Hjartharholt
just before we set out for Statharhraun. We proceeded down the valley
of the Northrá, passing, on the way to Stafholt, a number of scarped
ridges of lava--these escarpments were on both sides of the river,
which flowed in the depression between two of them; in the background
was the conical peak of Baula, and just to the left of it a peculiar
pyramidal hill formation. There are two ways from Hjartharholt to
Statharhraun--one via a valley known as Vestri-Skarthsheithi, and the
other, less interesting, by way of Stafholt and across the low swampy
level country lying between the headlands at the end of the mountain
ranges and the open sea of Faxafloi. Through a misunderstanding we
started along the wrong route, and before the mistake was discovered we
were well on the journey over the swamps.
A peculiar feature, common in the stony and sandy regions, must be
mentioned. The surface of the ground often appears as if it had been
laid out in a sort of rough design, for large stones are to be seen
arranged in lines, forming irregular figures with sandy and stony
matter between. The sandy waste regions in which this feature is common
is known by the name _melr_, a word originally meaning "a kind of wild
oat, especially bent grass, _arundo arenaria_, growing in sandy soil";
hence the term became applied to expanses of sand, or any waste place
where _melr_ might grow. The explanation of these irregular figures
seems to be that the earth becomes dry during the summer, and cracks
under the influence of the sun's heat; when rain falls, the particles
of sand and small stones are separated from the larger lumps and drain
into the cracks, leaving a network of the large stones to mark their
site.
Another peculiar feature was often met with, not only in
desert regions, but elsewhere. I refer to the hard-looking
surfaces--apparently gravelly areas with a few stones in them--that
are really a kind of bog. A pony comes to a halt on the edge of one of
them, and sniffs; its rider, a new-comer, unused to the country, urges
his beast onward, but as a rule it will not go. If it does consent
to move on a few paces it suddenly sinks in, and then makes a wild
endeavour at recovery. After one or two experiences of this kind, the
new-comer sometimes thinks it better to allow the pony to have its own
way, for it seems that it knows more about the country and the nature
of the ground than its rider does.
Our journey across the swamps was not devoid of incident, for the
ponies were continually sinking into the boggy ground and performing
violent gymnastics in their endeavours to reach something more solid.
We had some compensation farther on, for after crossing the river
Langá we had to round the headland locally named Mular, a word that
means simply a jutting crag or headland, being equivalent to the
Scottish _Mull_. Here there are some very fine bold scarps of basalt
having a number of hard and soft weathered dykes running through them,
the former sticking out in places like horns; there was a quantity
of birch scrub growing on the scree slopes (the talus) at the foot
of the scarps. Thence we went on over broken lava and through birch
scrub, past the entrance to the valley of Vestri-Skarthsheithi and the
headland of Svarfholsmuli into the lava-filled valley of the Grjotá
(Grjotardalr), where at Statharhraun we came to a halt.
For the next day I planned a circular journey which the local people
soberly informed me would take twenty-four hours to cover. I wanted
to see Vestri-Skarthsheithi, the valley that we had missed by coming
across the swamps to Hjartharholt, and having formed the opinion that
nothing like that time should be required, I strongly suspected that an
endeavour was being made to "choke me off" the journey, and therefore
announced my intention of trying whether it could be done in less time.
We set out with only a moderate food-supply, which seemed to imply that
Hannes did not consider the journey would occupy such a long time as
that first estimated. We proceeded for some distance along the track
that we had traversed the previous day, and rounded Svarfholsmuli,
where just at the entrance to Vestri-Skarthsheithi we pulled up at
Hraundalur to consult with the farmer as to the route. I obtained a
very good picture of Hannes and the farmer when in consultation.
[Illustration: AUTHOR'S ROUTE
Near Statharhraun]
[Illustration: HANNES AND THE FARMER IN CONSULTATION.]
At this farm I found a woman with a dislike for cameras; she ran
away when I happened to be pointing mine in her direction. I took
a snapshot, but the shutter did not work properly, so it was a
failure. Afterwards when pointing the camera in fun at her child,
who was standing beside her close to the door of the farm-house,
she mistook my intention, and snatching up the boy, ran hurriedly
indoors with him, much to my amusement. We arranged with the farmer
to come with us in the capacity of guide; so we started off together
up Vestri-Skarthsheithi, along a track in the alluvium at the foot
of the mountains of Svarfholsmuli, where the "going" was very good.
The valley is filled with the lava from two volcanoes quite close
to Langavatn, a lake just beyond the head of the valley. These are
extinct volcanoes covered with brown scoriaceous lava, and the craters
are well-marked depressions, though in each case there is a gap in
the side through which much of the lava must have flowed. In the lava
just below there are several small vent cones, miniature volcanoes
that are quite hollow, which spurted up small streams of lava when the
locality was a scene of eruptive activity. From this spot we struck
up over the mountains in a north-easterly direction, and from the
high altitudes attained, got some exceedingly fine views over a wide
stretch of country, comprising the ice-fields of Eyriks Jökull and
Lang Jökull, the mountain group of Skarthsheithi, etc. Much nearer we
looked down upon Lake Langavatn and towards the conical peak, Baula. On
the other side we saw into the valley of the Grjotá, in which reposed
Lake Grjotarvatn, and across to the range beyond, where very curious
four-sided and three-sided pyramids rise high above the mountain ridge.
[Illustration: SMALL VENT CONES.]
The ponies had some very stiff work in climbing these mountains and in
scrambling down to the Grjotá valley; but we occasionally dismounted
to give them a rest. Once in the valley, we were able to make good
progress beside the river to the lake, where the shore on one side was
composed of small shingle. The opportunity for a gallop was too good
to be missed, so we scampered the ponies along as hard as they could
go, and they seemed to enjoy it quite as much as their riders did,
for it is a rare thing to be able to gallop in Iceland. Just beyond
the end of the lake we came to an extinct volcano, its truncated cone
being covered with brown scoria; from this flowed the lava that now
fills the valley of the Grjotá. There is no trace of lava on the lake
side of the volcano, for it all flowed down towards the sea from a rift
on the valley side. On we went down the valley, carefully picking our
way through the lava, and travelling at a vastly different rate from
that at which we had galloped beside the lake. About half a mile from
Statharhraun we crossed the river Grjotá and made our way back to the
farm-house, arriving there in something less than twenty-four hours
from the start--to wit, within seven!
On our return there was an excellent supper ready, the result of a
fishing expedition undertaken by Miss Hastie, the clergyman, and Jón.
When returning, Miss Hastie's rod was broken beyond immediate repair
by a collision with a pony, and it became the property of Jón, who
doubtless patched it up at his leisure.