TO ELDBORG AND HELGAFELL
Next day, before proceeding on the direct route, Miss Hastie and I,
with a local guide, made a short detour up Hitadalr. At first we
picked our way through the lava, and then went on by the side of a
comparatively small stream, a branch of the Grjotá. A few miles up
the valley we came upon what was left of several volcanic cones, the
tuff remains of which were spread over the valley. At one of these
about one-third of the lip of the crater still existed, having on it
a quantity of reddish scoria. The cindery tuff of these remains has
weathered into very fantastic shapes. Farther up the valley the brown
scoria-covered cone of a more recent volcano could be seen, but we
had not time to go on, for we had to meet Jón and Hannes two or three
miles beyond Statharhraun for lunch. Returning on the other side of the
valley (the west), we rode along the alluvial deposits of the Hitá, a
river that we crossed and recrossed several times. Near to the end of
Fagraskogarfjall, a range of basalt, there is a peculiar hill, known
as Gretisbali, standing away from it; this hill is a mass of cindery
tuff in course of rapid denudation, the result being a somewhat
conical-looking hill very fantastically weather-worn. In a view that
I took, the hill is on the left; to the right there is the main mass
of the range, the horizontal lines of some of the basalt flows being
just distinguishable. In between the basalt range and the tuff hill
there is, coming down the valley, what looks (in the photograph) like a
fan-shaped glacier, with a vertical face at the end, but it is merely
the alluvium resulting from the denudation of the hill; the clean-cut
face is due to the river Hitá, which flows very rapidly at the foot
of the range, and carries away the alluvial matter as it falls over
the edge of the fan. The foreground is part of a broken-up lava-field,
where the vegetation is typical: birch scrub, dwarf willow, coarse
grass that grows all over Iceland, mosses, etc.; they grow in the soil
formed of the decomposed lava and wind-blown material filling the
interstices.
Opposite the hill and at the end of the range we found Jón and Hannes
awaiting us, and as lunch was ready, we had our mid-day meal before
proceeding on our way. After passing the end of the Fagraskogarfjall
range we crossed the river Kaldá, a stream running down to the
sea from the valley between the range just mentioned and that of
Kolbeinstathafjall; thence we crossed a quantity of alluvium brought
down from the valley and deposited by the Kaldá in a wide belt
extending from the mountains to the sea. We were making for Eldborg
(fire burgh, or fortress), a "recent" volcano often referred to in
the Sagas. We soon passed from the alluvium to the lava-field around
Eldborg, and then ascended by a gradual slope to the foot of the
volcano, which is a mere ring of green scoria. Up the steep slope we
scrambled to the top, and there found ourselves on the ridge of a very
narrow ring of loose lava surrounding a deep crater--a great yawning
hole in the earth below us. The lip is much serrated and weather-worn,
and the broken lava of the sides is held together by the moss that
grows in the interstices. From Eldborg we struck across a cotton-grass
swamp, and had a bad time on the way--perhaps, however, the ponies had
the worst of it, for we were seated on their backs, sticking on for
"all we were worth," while they plunged and scrambled along, performing
a series of remarkable feats as first a hind-leg, then a fore-leg, and
sometimes two, three, or even all four legs, sank deep down into the
soft, spongy matter of which the ground was composed. At last we came
to the river Kaldá again, and crossed to the firmer alluvial ground,
over which we cantered to the farm-house of Kolbeinstathir, where we
camped for the night.
As usual I occupied the church, which was now to be put to a new use.
The farm-house was very small, and there being no guest-chamber in
which we could take our meals, the church had to be requisitioned to
supply the accommodation it lacked. We dined and breakfasted in it, and
I took a photograph showing the corner in which the breakfast-table was
laid. As a special mark of attention we were here supplied with coffee
flavoured with cinnamon; now Miss Hastie had a firmly-rooted dislike to
the flavour of cinnamon, so the attention fell flat in her case, and I
dropped in for the good things the local goddess had sent. Jugs and
basins were rather scarce, and Miss Hastie had to perform her ablutions
in the porridge bowl, while the water for that purpose was brought in
the coffee-pot. At this farm haymaking was completed and the hay being
brought in by ponies. The bundles were hooked upon a pack-saddle, one
on each side of the pony.
We had before us an interesting journey across the peninsula of
Snaefellsnes from near Faxafloi, the sea south of it, to the great
fjord on the north side, Breithifjord. From Kolbeinstathir to
Rauthimelr we made our way chiefly over a series of swamps, where we
had the usual experiences, and the ponies the usual bad times. Hannes'
pony got bogged, and he was obliged to dismount in a particularly
soft place. We skirted a plain of lava, or rather a series of lava
flows surrounding the old volcanic cones from which they had issued;
many of these were so distinct that there could be no difficulty in
apportioning the lava to particular volcanoes, for the ends of some of
the flows were vertical faces.
Rauthimelr lies just at the foot of the mountains, and from the farm
we struck up into them, for several miles following up a branch of the
Haffjathurá, a river that we had previously crossed in the plain just
by the edge of the lava. After awhile we reached a spring of water--a
"carbonic acid" spring it is called. The water bubbles up from the
ground under cover of a shed that has been erected over it; it contains
soda in solution, and is strongly impregnated with carbonic acid gas.
Were this spring in a more accessible place and the property of a
mineral-water manufacturer, it would no doubt bring him a considerable
accession of wealth. The quality of the water is excellent, as
I ascertained on taking a whisky and soda from it--that is, the
soda-water came from it, the whisky being abstracted from our stock of
medical comforts. Rauthamisolkaldá is the name of the spring--I did not
trouble to commit it to memory, but made a note of it!
The mountains over which we were passing were composed of a series of
flows of basalt one upon another, and as usual in this formation we
found many waterfalls in the course of the branch of the Haffjathurá
that we continued to follow up. I took a photograph of the confluence
of this branch with another (I could not ascertain their names--they
did not seem to have any), and also of two of the waterfalls that we
saw; there is a conical mountain in the background of one of them,
but it is not a volcano--it is merely another instance of the typical
weathering of a series of basalt flows.
We caught sight of many fine peaks as we ascended, but just beyond the
divide they were gradually shut out as we descended into what would
have been a rather dull and uninteresting valley, but that after a mile
or so the river flowing there (which at first increased in volume)
gradually became smaller and smaller as we descended, and this in
spite of the fact that a number of mountain streams coming down on
each side of the valley added their waters to it; finally, the river
disappeared altogether. I further noticed that the mountain streams had
gradually been contributing less and less of their waters, and when
the river was no more, the streams coming down the valley sides also
disappeared before arriving at its bottom. There was an underground
river of considerable magnitude flowing down the valley beneath the
great accumulations of moraine pebbles with which it was filled; as
the pebbles were all of large size they were separated by large vacant
spaces, and the thickness of the deposit must have increased very
rapidly to allow the much greater volume of water to flow through it
below the surface. Several miles lower down, where an area of flat land
was met with, the river reappeared, flowing on the surface of the land
once more, through fine grass country--a striking contrast to the dry
valley of pebbles.
We then came in view of the sea on the north side of Snaefell Peninsula
at Alftafjord, a fjord that is dotted over with hundreds of islands,
the majority of which are very small. From here we made a rapid descent
to the shores of the fjord, where at Narfeyri we camped, later in the
evening witnessing a very fine red sunset over the fjord. My pony
behaved rather badly this day, stumbling frequently: he fell with
me twice, nearly unseating me on the second occasion. It is really
wonderful, when the state of the ground is considered, that the ponies
do not stumble more often; some of them rarely ever make a mistake,
others get a bit careless at times, and then they stumble along in a
free and easy sort of way, though they rarely come a real "cropper."
Next morning Miss Hastie was amused at the persistent staring of a
small boy, who stolidly looked at her, in spells of ten to fifteen
minutes without a blink, through the window of the guest-chamber where
we were breakfasting. Afterwards, when I sallied out camera in hand,
the same small boy turned his attention to me, and eyed me just as
attentively as he had Miss Hastie. I thought that a boy who could stare
so well deserved to be immortalised, so I brought my camera to bear
upon him, with the result that I have him in a characteristic attitude,
staring for "all he was worth"; he was _quite_ unconscious of what I
was doing, and was not posing for his photograph. I have him in another
picture, that below, in which Jón and Hannes are loading up a pony, and
are hooking two of the boxes upon the pack-saddle; but though he was
paying some attention to his collar, he still had his weather eye on me.
[Illustration: HANNES AND JÓN LOADING UP A PONY.]
I obtained an excellent view of a field of cotton grass, in which
several of our ponies were grazing, looking across the waters of
Breithifjord. I also caught an old woman busy stacking peat, while
smoking her pipe with evident enjoyment.
On leaving Narfeyri we skirted the foot of the mountains at the
back of the farm-house, and passed round them towards the head of
Alftafjord, a name signifying swan-fjord. This is one of the places
where numerous swans resort during the breeding season. We had timed
our start so as to catch the tide at the ebb when nearly low water;
this enabled us, by crossing the fjord some little distance from its
head, to cut off more than a mile. When in the middle of the water some
of the bedding broke loose and got wetted. While the packs were being
adjusted, the ponies stopped for a drink of salt water, for which they
have a taste, and they indulge it whenever opportunity occurs.
Our destination was Stykkisholm, whence we expected to embark in three
or four days' time on board the ss. _Vesta_. After crossing the fjord
we skirted it for awhile, proceeding in a northerly direction just at
the foot of the mountains, which there came down close to the water's
edge. We passed over a quantity of moraine material, and then entered
green fertile-looking fields once more, where a number of farm-houses
were dotted over an undulating tract of country. Before long we came
upon a road, a _made_ road leading over a series of basalt rises to
Stykkisholm. When near Helgafell we made a slight divergence from the
road to a farm-house, where we halted for lunch.
Afterwards we went across to Helgafell, a hill of columnar basalt
rising two or three hundred feet above the surrounding low-lying land.
It was curious to note that wherever the columns were broken, there on
the top, where a little soil had gathered, vegetation was growing in
comparative luxuriance. From the hilltop we obtained a most excellent
view of the surroundings, comprising mountain and hill, sea and lake,
a meandering river, islands and islets. There was plenty of light
and shade and colour, sunshine and cloud, to make up a picture; but
the scene could not be done justice to by camera, which only records
physical features, and could not reproduce effects that impressed me.
The hill is situated on a peninsula jutting into Breithifjord; it is
the site of one of the earliest of the Christian churches built in the
land. In "heathen days the hill was sacred to the god Thor," and before
any one was permitted to look upon the holy place, he had to perform
certain rites. Helgafell and the neighbourhood is often referred to
in the Sagas. At the foot of the hill there are now a farm-house and
a church. While passing the farm-house, one of the Iceland dogs made
demonstrations of friendship--they are all more or less friendly--and
he stood very nicely to have his photograph taken.
From Helgafell to Stykkisholm is but a short distance, and we covered
it in less than an hour. On the way we saw a very fine reflection
of clouds in one of the branches of the fjord where the water was
perfectly still, the beauty of the scene being due chiefly to the
colours.