A PICNIC.
_August 24._--There is a brood of ryper on the brow of the mountain
above our camp, which we always put up when we walk over Glopit armed
with rods, but never when we take a gun. There were originally eight of
them, but one has succumbed to a merlin which hunts up there; and they
are remarkably tame, so that when we put them up we throw stones at
them, and fully expect to kill them by that means, but somehow they have
escaped with their lives until now. This conduct has become unbearable,
and we have sworn 'this day that brood shall die;' so the first thing
after breakfast Esau and the Skipper toiled up the mountain with pockets
full of cartridges and guns ready for the slaughter of the innocents.
It takes just three quarters of an hour to get to the top; and after
reaching it we tramped over some millions of acres in search of that
brood, and of course it never obtruded itself on the scene. Finally the
Skipper went home in disgust, remarking that 'he wished every ryper in
Norway was at the bottom of Gjendin;' while Esau said 'he would stay up
there a month or two and find those birds if they were anywhere on our
sheet of the Ordnance map.'
The Skipper had hardly walked 200 yards towards camp before he trod on
the old cock, who got up observing kek! kek! kekkekkek_kek_, kurrack:
kur_rack_; kurrack, krackrackackckkkkk! in an extremely indignant tone
of voice, and the rest of the family immediately followed him,
astonishing the Skipper so much that he missed the lot; and though we
marked them down quite near we could not persuade any of them to risk
their lives in flight again.
The language used on this occasion scorched the herbage off so large a
patch of ground, that John down below thought that Glopit had suddenly
commenced a volcanic eruption.
There are two kinds of birds known as ryper in Norway--the fjeld or
skarv ryper, which is, we think, identical with our ptarmigan; and the
dal or skog ryper, which we believe to be the same bird as the willow
grouse of North America. The former of these is not numerous anywhere,
but a few are always seen by the reindeer hunter up on the highest parts
of the mountains, among the snow and rocks. They do not attempt much
concealment, but their grey bodies and white wings are so exactly the
colour of their habitation that it is very difficult to see them, as
they sit perfectly still on the stones. If you do happen to catch sight
of one, in all probability after looking at him for a little you will
suddenly be aware that there is a small family of others all about him,
and will wonder how they escaped your notice at first. They are not very
useful for sporting purposes, as they are never found in great numbers,
are too tame to give any trouble, and not particularly good to eat. The
skog ryper is the bird which takes the place of the British grouse for
the sportsman in Norway: he lives at a lower altitude than the skarv
ryper, among the willows, wimberries, and stunted birches. In plumage he
is not unlike our grouse, but not quite so red in shade, and with a
white wing. During the summer he feeds on wimberry leaves, heather, and
occasional bits of willow, and he is then almost if not quite equal to a
grouse in flavour, but in winter, when there is nothing but willow to be
had, the flesh becomes bitter and not nice to eat: the poor birds are
then snared in great numbers, and may be seen hanging in English shops
as 'ptarmigan,' which with their then white plumage they much resemble.
After a good breeding season these skog ryper are very numerous in any
favourable place in Norway, but they are so much inclined to lie close,
that without dogs it is impossible to do much with them. Gjendin is too
steep and desolate for them, but between the east end of the lake and
Sjödals Vand there is some first-rate country, and also a little at the
west end.
After lunch we all manned Esau's canoe, which is the largest, because he
is the smallest man; and set off down the lake to Leirungsö, the place
where the professor's hut is built at the edge of the waterfall which
runs out of a small lake there (not the real Leirung's Vand, which is
further to the east).
The Skipper had noticed a remarkably fine bed of mölte bær there, which
we expected to be just about ripe now, and so we had determined to
picnic (!) there, forsooth, as if our life were not one perpetual and
perennial picnic.
Leirungsö is nearly four miles from our camp, and the professor's hut is
an extremely comfortable and convenient little dwelling, in a most
charming situation. Only one thing has been wanting, reindeer: he never
found any, and left his hut a fortnight ago for a place further north,
where we afterwards heard he had good sport.
After landing, the Skipper and Esau climbed up the valley to the little
lake in search of something to shoot, while John remained to bathe and
fish at the fall. There were lots of duck on the little lake, and in the
rushy swamp at its upper end, and the Skipper put up a large brood of
ryper, which we marked into a very small patch of willow scrub
surrounded by bare ground. We walked through and through that patch, and
threw so many stones into it that we fancy we must have killed and
buried most of them, for we only persuaded four of them to fly again,
three of which we secured. Our shooting was soon over, and then we
gathered a lot of mölte bær, and returned to John, who was getting
dinner ready; and after a regal repast of kidneys, reindeer pie, and
mölte, paddled home by moonlight, arriving soon after nine.
We beguiled the journey home by songs and accompaniments by the
following celebrated artists: Messrs. John, Skipper, and Esau. Among
other songs was an original composition by John--air, 'Bonnie Dundee'--
ODE TO THE LAST POT OF MARMALADE.
To the fishers of Gjendin the bold Skipper spoke:
'There is one two-pound pot that as yet is unbroke;[1]
So rouse ye, my gallants, and after our tea
Let us "go for" our Keiller's[2] own Bonnie Dundee.'
(_Chorus._) Come! up with the Smör![3] Come! out with the Brod,[4]
We'll have one more Spise[5] that's fit for a god;
Come, whip off the paper and let it gae free,
And we'll wade into Keiller's own Bonnie Dundee.
You may talk of your mölte[6] with sugar and milk,
Your blueberry pasties, and jam of that ilk;
They are all very well in the wilds, don't you see?
But they can't hold a candle to Bonnie Dundee.
_Chorus as before._
Oh! the pies they were good, and the oven baked true,
With its door of green sod, and its sinuous flue.
Oh! the curry was toothsome as curry can be,
But where is the equal of Bonnie Dundee?
_Chorus again, gentlemen._
There are ryper on Glopit[7] as fleet as the wind,
And the Stor[8] Bock roams on the Skagastolstind;
There are trout, teal, and woodcock, a sight for to see,
But what meal can be perfect without our Dundee?
_Chorus, if you please._
Pandecages[9] are tasty, and omelettes are good;
Our eggs, though antique, not unsuited for food;
You can always be sure of at least one in three,
But blue mould cannot ruin our Bonnie Dundee.
_Chorus, only more so._
Take[10] my soup, though 'tis luscious, my öl,[11] though 'tis rare,
My whisky, though scanty, beyond all compare;
Take my baccy, take all that is dearest to me,
But leave me one spoonful of Bonnie Dundee.
_Chorus ad lib._
Esau supplied an encore verse:--
It has made our lot brighter, and helped us to bear
Our troubles, the rain, mist, and cold northern air;
And the Gjende fly,[12] green fly,[13] bug,[14] skeeter,[15] and flea,
We should ne'er have done Deeing them but for Dundee.
_Chorus (of big, big D's)._
NOTES ON THE ABOVE COMPOSITION.
[Footnote 1: 'Unbroke.' This is bold poetic imagery, meaning
unopened. Breakages were unknown during our expedition, and long
experience justifies us in assuring the world that breaking the
pot, though an effectual way of getting at the marmalade, is not a
satisfactory method. It will be found much better to remove the
bladder at the top. This may be depended on.]
[Footnote 2: Need we explain that 'Keiller's own Bonnie Dundee'
alludes to the marmalade made by that great and good man? No,
a thousand times no!]
[Footnote 3: 'Smör,' Norwegian butter, pronounced Smoeurr--and it
tastes like that, too.]
[Footnote 4: 'Brod,' bread. The word does not rhyme to god, being
pronounced something like Broat, but it looks as if it rhymed.]
[Footnote 5: 'Spise,' a meal, pronounced Speessa.]
[Footnote 6: 'Mölte,' cloudberry, pronounced Moulta.]
[Footnote 7: 'Glopit,' the mountain between Gjendin and Rus Vand.]
[Footnote 8: 'Stor,' big, pronounced Stora before a consonant.]
[Footnote 9: 'Pandecages,' pancakes.]
[Footnote 10: 'Take.' This word is only used by poetic licence,
and must not be construed literally. When we attempted to 'take'
John's whisky on our return to camp, there was a good deal of
ill-feeling engendered, and he said that no one but himself
understood the subtleties of æsthetic metaphor.]
[Footnote 11: 'Öl,' the ale of the country, 'rare' both in quality
and, alas! in quantity.]
[Footnote 12: 'Gjende fly,' a fly peculiar to this lake, of which
more anon.]
[Footnote 13: 'Green fly,' a charming creature like a large grey
blue-bottle with green eyes; it bites a portion of flesh
sufficient for its wants, and then goes away to eat it.]
[Footnote 14: 'Bug.' Again poetic licence. 'Cimex lectularius' has
not been encountered during our stay in Norway this time;
nevertheless he is not unknown in the country, as the sojourners
in one of the Lillehammer hotels, not the Victoria, can testify.]
[Footnote 15: 'Skeeter.' The mosquito is a mournful and
disgraceful fact; and so are the sand-fly, the stomoxys, and the
flea. Memurudalen is more free from insects than any place we have
tried.]
_August 25._--Still the same glorious weather, rather too glorious for
our purling rivulet, which has now dwindled away to a mere thread of
water, while even the larger stream on the hill behind the tent, which
we use for bathing, is showing a marked decrease in volume.
The Skipper and Öla went out stalking directly after breakfast, and Esau
climbed up on to Bes Hö to shoot ryper. John went over to Rus Vand to
fish, and had a pleasant day. He managed somehow to drop his native
'tolle kniv' into the lake, and of course immediately discovered that
that knife was the most precious thing he possessed, in fact, the only
thing he cared about in this world; though until it fell into the lake,
he had regarded it with very unenthusiastic feelings--feelings of
tolle-ration, the Skipper said. So he undressed and dived for it for a
long time, and at last was lucky enough to recover it.
It would have been a pleasing sight to a spectator, if any could have
been present, to watch John playing at being a seal all by himself in
Rus Vand, or standing on a rock poised on one leg like a heron, with his
head sideways and keen eye piercing the cerulean wave. And it was good
to see his proud bearing as he returned to camp with the 'tolle kniv'
slung jauntily at his waist, and carrying over his shoulder the scaly
spoil snatched from the vasty deep, as we used beautifully to word it in
Latin verses--meaning the fish he had caught.
[Illustration: John diving for his knife in Rus Lake]
At 8 P.M. the Skipper had not returned, so we dined, and then sat
round the fire wondering what could have happened to delay him; and as
time went on and still he never came, we began to get very uneasy;
there are so many dangers by which the reindeer hunter may be
overtaken--avalanches, crevasses, fogs, snowdrifts, broken limbs, or
getting lost. We could only hope that none of these had happened to the
Skipper, and at eleven o'clock gave up any hopes of his return that
night and turned in, there being then a very decided fog a short way up
the Memurua valley.