The Norwegians are so uniformly kind to all their animals, that their tameness is really troublesome; they insist on going where they like, and following one about begging for food like dogs, causing the Skipper to exclaim,—
‘Ite domum saturæ, venit Hesperus, ite capellæ;’ which he translated—
Out of the house in the evening! Get out, ye goats of the sæter!
We slept in the cheese-room very comfortably, one on the floor, the other on a good hay bed, and were warm for the first time for several nights, as we have not had sufficient blankets in the tent. Where the other ten people slept we did not inquire, but hoped they were happy. Our men and sleighs did not arrive till 10 P.M., at which time a most glorious sunset was going on, so that we could not attend to them at once. The sky, at first blue and yellow, gradually deepened into purple and orange, and finally the most brilliant red and almost black clouds, the hills all the time glowing with exquisite tints. After it was concluded we turned to the men, and were much delighted to find that nothing was smashed so far: the men had been very careful, and took eleven hours to perform a journey of ten miles.
CHAPTER VIII.
FLY SÆTER.
July 24.—
The morning was again beautifully fine, and the coffee at the sæter was passing delicious, even for this country, where coffee is always good. No doubt the chief reason of this is that it is never roasted and ground till just when it is wanted, not only at the hotels, but at the smallest sæters. The grinding of coffee and the frying of trout are grateful sounds to the wearied traveller, and if the walk across the fjeld has failed to give him an appetite, he has still the chance of obtaining one from the fragrant aroma of the roasting berry.
This sæter is in a most beautiful situation, perched on a little flat bit of ground on the mountain side, and looking down on a wide-stretching sea of grey undulating hills, with lakes lying among them dotted about near and far, and all the lower ground covered with the everlasting pine forest. To the south can be seen the river Hinögle, which runs out of the Heimdal Lakes, threading its way with gleams of white through the dark green and grey of the forest and fjeld. To the north far below in the valley is Aakre Vand, a beautiful irregularly shaped lake dotted with fir-clad islands; while beyond, high up, there can be just distinguished Aakre Sæter, and frowning over it the dark mass of Aakre Kampen, a mountain of considerable height. Aakre Vand is a lake that we had intended to fish after Slangen Vand, but as there seemed to be no possibility of getting our property from one to the other we gave up the notion. According to all accounts it is a good lake for fish, and its shores are untainted by the habitations of man.
We started about 9.30, having paid 5s. 6d. for the board and lodging of ourselves and our numerous retinue, including the price of a sack-full of hay for our beds, as this was the last place at which we expected we could get any.
After watching for a short time our valuables jolting, plunging, and splashing over the uneven ground, covered with rocks, junipers, and occasional logs and brooks, the wear and tear on our heart-strings became too severe, and we decided to walk on to Sikkildals Sæter, about four miles, and leave the baggage to its fate under the guidance of our three charioteers. It took us till eleven o’clock to get within half a mile of the sæter, and there we sat down and watched the track intently for two hours: then two hours more—and we began to lose patience; then another hour—and we began to lose hope also. Something must have happened; either a canoe was smashed, or washed away crossing a stream, or one of the sleighs was upset and broken, or they were bogged, or the man carrying the bag had fainted, or his pony become unmanageable and dashed through a shop window; or, most dreadful thought, the men had got at our whisky and become hopelessly drunk.
Desperate Conflict between Esau and the Mosquito
Another hour passed, and our small remaining stock of good temper went: we were very hungry, and all our food was on the sleighs, and the mosquitoes seemed to be even more hungry than we were. Hope deferred, with nothing but mosquitoes to distract one’s thoughts, maketh the heart very sick indeed: and these were most annoyingly large mosquitoes; the finest brand that we have yet inspected, and with more strength of character than the ordinary kind. We were so much annoyed with the world in general, and each other, that we were obliged to separate, and Esau retired for a short time to attempt a sketch. He came back very angry, because just at the critical moment a mosquito had knocked his hat off, and he had had a desperate and perspiring conflict with it under a tropical sun; but eventually the brute was vanquished and its head cut off, which he said he would have stuffed, to hang up in his ancestral halls. He certainly bore on his face the marks of the struggle, so that there seemed to be no reason to doubt the story.
ON THE TRACK NEAR SIKKILDALS LAKE.
Our state of despondency waxed worse and worse; we had not the slightest confidence in our head driver; he was undoubtedly the Svatsum village fool, for he talked all day, and the other men went into roars of laughter at whatever he said, though the Skipper said he couldn’t see anything funny in most of his remarks; but possibly the Skipper was jealous because this man made better Norsk jokes than his own. Besides this, the fact that neither of us understood the language, detracted from the merits of the jests.
Years rolled away, and at six o’clock something came slowly into sight. ‘Out with the glass!’ (the spy-glass). ‘Yes, by George! it is the men and sleighs at last. Out with the other glass!’ and we finish the ‘wee drappie’ that we were saving to the last extremity. They soon arrived at Sikkildal Sæter with us, and we found that nothing had gone wrong, but the men had been very careful, and so had taken nine hours to make a journey of four miles. The track certainly would be a disgrace to a Metropolitan Vestry, and they managed well to arrive with everything uninjured. We consider the village fool to be a most painstaking and praiseworthy idiot.
At Sikkildal Sæter we got some food and called at a small house close to it, where a Mr. B., a Norwegian barrister, was staying for the summer. He is the owner of the Sikkildal Lakes, and we wanted permission to camp on his land and fish in his lakes. He understood English as well as all the upper classes in Norway do; and was very civil, giving us the permission most willingly.
We have heard from a good many people that the wealthier Norwegians do not like the English, and will not do anything to oblige them; but in all our wanderings we have met with nothing but the greatest kindness and hospitality from all classes. Several people have gone out of their way to voluntarily offer fishing and shooting, and in no instance has the slightest incivility been shown. Certainly Norway will compare with England very much to advantage in this respect, though of course we do not mean to say that similar conduct would be possible in England.
At about seven in the evening we got all our cargo shipped again and started up the lower Sikkildals lake—having first paid our charioteers 3l. for the trip from Olstappen, three men, horses and sleighs, sixteen miles over the rockiest, brookiest, and juniperiest country in this world; and offered them whisky and water all round, including two men from the sæter who came to our assistance when the smallest pony, not being accustomed to the deceitfulness and treacherous wiles of this life, got up to its neck in a bog close to the lake, and the man with the bag followed it. However, they were extricated with no damage done, as our provisions were all securely soldered up in tins. Curious to relate, our three men did not like whisky, but just sipped for ‘manners,’ and only the two old men from the sæter would drink it; but these two old men liked it very much, and drank all they could get—that is to say, their own glasses full, and the other fellows’ glasses full, and just a drop after that, and then just a taste to top up with. Then we shook hands all round, and feeling in charity with all men, sailed joyously away up the lake.
It was a real Norwegian night, with the warmth and light of the departed sun still lingering on the mountain tops, and a midnight twilight glowing in the valleys. We had a beautiful full moon to help us on our way, so we went right to the upper end of the first lake, and found a camping-ground halfway between the two lakes, which are about a hundred yards apart. The portage took us some time, but we were full of energy from the cool night air, so refreshing after the long hot summer day. We dug out a nice level place for the tent, and got everything settled and ourselves in bed about midnight.
CHAPTER IX.
SIKKILDAL.
Sunday, July 25.—
We arose soon after seven; not because it is our nature to get up at that time, still less because we think it our duty to do so; but because the sun made the tent so intolerably hot that there was no pleasure to be derived from staying in bed any longer. Naturally after this we were very cross, which the Skipper says all really pious people are on Sunday morning; and he abused Esau shamefully, because the latter wanted the eggs buttered and the Skipper wanted them fried. Esau laid down the axiom that ‘no gentleman ever eats fried eggs,’ in a peculiarly offensive manner, and proceeded further to make ill-natured remarks with reference to violet ink; and the Skipper retorted with the observation, ‘Wish you’d brought that anchovy paste.’ Esau: ‘Why?’ Skipper: ‘Because it’s just the stuff to grease your boots with in a place like this; smells strongish, and keeps the mosquitoes at a distance.’ Altogether we made ourselves as disagreeable as possible to each other—just as we do in our happy homes on the Sabbath morn in England. Fortunately Sunday only comes once a week.
Breakfast over, the Skipper devoted himself to the occupation of greasing his boots and shaving, which he seems to do at the same time, so that one brush may be used for both the soap and the grease; while Esau did some washing.
We had some trouble in getting good firewood, for Sikkildals Vand is more than three thousand feet above sea level, and consequently we were above the region of pine forests, and had only the stunted birch and juniper from which to obtain our supply. We divide the altitudes rather differently from the system adopted by other great explorers. The lowest belt is that of pine forests and strawberries, then comes the zone of stunted birches, above that only juniper and bitter willow are found; and the highest belt of vegetation contains only rocks, reindeer-flowers, and moss, and then eternal snow.
Now birch trees do not make good firewood, for when they die they appear to get water-logged, and never burn well. The juniper is the most invaluable of all trees, for it will burn quite green; but at Sikkildals Vand it is very scarce, and so it took us quite a long time to collect enough dry wood to last our stay out, but it was done at last. We carried one canoe across the spit of land between the two lakes, and in it the Skipper went forth to get fish for the larder, while Esau took the other canoe down the lower lake to get some milk from Sikkildals Sæter.
The scenery here is very fine. The lakes are narrow, and highish mountains rise on each side: those on the south side had snow upon them, though this would disappear before the end of the summer, as we are not yet in the regions of perpetual snow; on the north side there is a very remarkable mountain called Sikkildals Horn, with a perfectly impracticable front of overhanging rock, very high and rugged. There was a constant rumbling and booming proceeding from it, as rocks from time to time broke off and came crashing down; but our tent—though seemingly under this cliff—was well out of their reach. At the further end of the upper lake we could see an apparently impassable mountain ridge. Beyond this, about four miles further according to the maps, was Besse Sæter, a farm, or ranch, only one day’s journey from our final resting-place. How we were to cross that mountain with our canoes and baggage, was a matter only to be determined by prophets and other beings of a higher order of intelligence than ours. Our friend Mr. B. thought it was almost impossible; the Skipper boldly asserted that it was impossible, and requested to be allowed to die here; while Esau, with the sanguine joyousness begotten of total ignorance, said of course it could be managed. We determined to move to the end of the lake the next day, and try the pass on the one following—barring earthquakes.
Esau had a most interesting voyage. His fishing was not very successful at first, and he paddled steadily on towards the Sæter, overtaking a boat quite full of girls, dressed in the very picturesque native costume which the people in these primitive regions still adhere to, especially on Sundays. The girls about here are rather pretty than otherwise, and these were a particularly good selection, and of course all in their cleanest and smartest clothes for Sunday. They would stop to watch him fishing, till he got quite shy, and gave up throwing till they rowed on.
Sæter Girls in a Boat on Sikkildals Lake
Soon he came to a brood of pochards under the leadership of the old duck, and spent half an hour trying to capture one by rapid paddling, in which endeavour he was nearly but not quite successful. There were a good many teal and pochards on the lower lake, and plenty of sandpipers on the shores of the upper one.
At last he reached the Sæter, and found there all the girls of the boat, and at least another boat-load and five or six strangers—quite a crowd: possibly they had been having a church service, but probably not, as they all seemed in the best of tempers, and were most amiable.
He got the milk, and coming back tried a few casts, and found that the fish were rising properly; the result was nineteen good trout in about an hour and a half. We had not been catching many fish lately; so after his return to camp we concluded that this was the hour and we were the men to revel in a fiendish glut of capture. So there was a regular stampede in that camp, and after dinner we all went out armed to the teeth with rods and fly-books, and clothed in landing nets and Freke bags, with our teeth firmly set and a bloodthirsty look in our eyes, intending to struggle with the great trout in his native element or perish in the attempt. . . .
About ten o’clock that night there might have been seen toiling wearily back to camp under a cloudy sky and with a chilly blast a-blowing, two forlorn youths, ‘sans’ fish, ‘sans’ hope, but still armed to the teeth with the weapons of the chase.
However, we had now tried both lakes, and got some knowledge of their capabilities. The upper one is, we think, the better of the two, but more difficult to catch fish in. The Skipper got some in it to-day, and they were larger fish than those of the lower lake, and a different sort, more like the silvery trout of the Jotunfjeld, whereas the others are the ordinary brown or yellow trout.
This afternoon Mr. B. and his wife with a friend came up in a boat to see our camp, at which they seemed much pleased. We took them short cruises in the canoes, showed them our various arrangements, and endeavoured to be agreeable.
The friend was the manager of the government stud for this district, and spoke English fairly. He told us that the government provides a certain number of good stallions, which are turned out on the fjeld and run with the peasants’ mares, and that they take great trouble to provide the best that can be got, so as to improve the breed. He considered that there are very decidedly good results.
July 26.—
A beautiful fishing morning, just beginning to blow up for rain. The Skipper fished his way down to the Sæter for more provisions, and had first-rate sport, catching twenty-two beautiful fish, mostly over a pound. He had such an exciting time of it that lunch was forgotten till three o’clock, a fact which spoke volumes for the excellence of the sport, for we generally acquire a very keen appetite every three or four hours so long as the sun is performing his daily duty (of standing still while we circulate feebly round ourselves). He came back to the tent, presenting rather a distended appearance, having stuffed most of his pockets full of potatoes, and a packet of salt in his hat; and while with his right hand he folded to his bosom a bottle of cream, and another of milk, in his left he grasped a rod, a landing net and paddle, and the rest of him was hung with fish. The Skipper objects to making two journeys where only one is necessary.
Esau thinks that ‘flesh-meat’ is a necessary of life, so he took his gun up the upper lake, and returned with the noble spoil of five sandpipers which he had shot out of the canoe by creeping along the edge of the lake, a most entertaining pastime.
There is an old ruined fisherman’s hut at our end of the lake, and this had apparently been taken as a habitation by a family of stoats, which Esau espied at their gambols on his return. Cartridges are precious here, but the instinct of destruction of a stoat was too much for him, and having chirped till two of them stood close together and a third just behind, he fired into the crowd and mortally injured the lot. Poor little things! It is rather a shame to kill them, for there is so little game that they cannot do much harm, probably feeding chiefly on mice and lemmings, which are very numerous; and they always look uncommonly pretty playing about the rocks. No more graceful animal exists than a stoat.
After dinner had been cooked and despatched we went forth to fish again, and had some good sport; but presently lowering clouds settled down over the surface of the deep, mosquitoes gathered round us in swarms, and a few spots of rain drove us home to the snug retreat of the tent, where hidden away under the warmth of our bedding we smoked in thoughtful silence, and gloated over the day’s doings and our larder stocked with fishes.
July 27.—
The day commenced with showers, and as there are no inhabitants here to whom we can give the surplus fish, we did not like to catch any more—for it is against our principles to waste food wilfully, woeful want being too near and probable a state to be trifled with—consequently we determined to move on, but first to bake some bread.
This, in a temporary camp, is done by putting the kneaded dough into a tin pot made on purpose without solder; this pot is then placed in a hole in the ground in which we have previously kept a good fire for about half an hour; before putting the pot in, all the embers and ashes are cleared out, and then raked back on to the top of the tin and all round it, and a small fire is kept going on the top. If well managed this bakes excellent bread in about twenty minutes, but of course it requires considerable experience and care to turn out really satisfactory bread. When we get to our permanent camp we shall make a proper oven.
To-day, when we had baked successfully, packed up our things, and were taking advantage of a break between the showers to start, we were hailed from the bank, and saw there old Peter Tronhūus, the tenant of Besse Sæter (whither we are going) and father of Jens Tronhūus, our former hunter, who is now getting what we require in the shape of food, ponies, and men, and whom we expect to meet at Besse Sæter. Peter had a great deal to tell us about all our affairs, which seem to be prospering under Jens’ auspices. He talks English very badly, so the interview lasted some time, and then we pushed off and paddled straight away to the extreme end of the lake, where we found an inferior place to pitch the tent, very damp and unwholesome in appearance, sadly in need of sanitary inspection, but no doubt good enough for one night. We fished with fly and minnow all the way, but took nothing, there being a good deal of thunder round about; but Esau shot some more sandpipers.
Our tent is pitched at the commencement of an extremely vague track, which we believe to go over our mountain pass to Sjödals Vand (pronounced Shoodals), and to-morrow we hope to follow its wanderings, if two men and horses—with whom we have made an arrangement to transport us—turn up. These two men and horses are the sole inhabitants of this very thinly populated district, so that we are at their mercy, and if they do not come we must inevitably die of starvation after we have eaten all our provisions and candles.
Late in the evening Herr B—— and a scientific friend who had just come to stay with him, came down the mountain to our tent. They had been for a short walking tour to Lake Gjendin—our future goal—where it seems that a tourist’s hut of a superior sort has lately been built, and at this hut several kinds of food are kept, such as tinned meats and beer. B—— and his friend have therefore been there shopping. The news of this hut is rather unpleasant to us, for Gjendin was chosen chiefly for its wildness and remoteness from civilisation, and now we are haunted with the idea that there may be tourists, and consequently no fish or reindeer. On the other hand, it has been erected so short a time that it can hardly have affected the country round about yet, and it will certainly be convenient for us from a commissariat point of view.
We were just beginning supper when they arrived, but they would not stop, for which we were secretly glad, as there was only enough soup for two; so we had a whisky ‘skaal’ (health-drinking) instead, and they went on their way full of beans and benevolence, as Mr. Jorrocks hath it.
We ‘whisky’ every one who turns up at camp, and as a rule they like it. We are not much of drunkards ourselves, so we can afford to give it to other people.
CHAPTER X.
BESSE SÆTER.
July 28.—
Our two men arrived while we were at breakfast this morning, and brought two sleighs in the boat with them; these they deposited on the shore, and then one of them departed into some secret haunt of his own in search of a horse. The last we saw of him was a wee dot struggling up over the mountain crest; and we began to feel what a hopeless sort of task was before us.
When we had finished our breakfast there were certain remnants of food, and these we offered to the other man, because he seemed to want something to do. We left him in the tent with a frying-pan containing two trout fried in butter, and a tin pot nearly full of soup. Some time afterwards we looked in, and saw him eating greedily off his knife-blade, and after a further interval we noticed that he had finished; then we examined the culinary utensils out of which he had been feeding, and found he had left the trout untouched, but the butter they were fried in he had utterly consumed off the blade of his knife, and also all the soup through the same medium. But there was not more than a gallon and a half of the latter, so we did not grudge it.
Old Siva carrying a Canoe up the Sikkildals Pass
Apparently he was like a giant refreshed after his meal, and seizing one canoe he carried it up to the top of the mountain, and then came back for the other and did the same with it; after this he returned again and borrowed our axe, saying he wanted to make the path better for the sleigh. He disappeared among the stunted birches, and we heard him chopping and slowly getting further up the track for about an hour. We naturally supposed that he was clearing away trees that obstructed the path, but when we came to traverse that path ourselves, soon afterwards, we discovered that he had only been filling up holes in the road by felling trees across it. Now a road that can be improved by this process is in a very bad state and this one was decidedly improved.
Just before we started an English tourist came down the mountain and arranged with Siva (one of our men) to go down the lake in his boat. He was the first of our fellow-countrymen whom we have seen since Lillehammer, and proved to be the only one we met all through our trip in the mountains.
After some time we perceived three dots wending their way down the path again, and presently they arrived, proving to be our other man and two extremely shaggy ponies; and after the complicated Norwegian harness had been put on we began the ascent. The path was as bad as bad could be for a short distance, but when the level was reached it became much better than we had had hitherto; it was only the first climb up from the lake that presented any difficulty. The canoes could only have been transported as they were, on a man’s back.
It continued showery, but we had a very pleasant walk, and launched our canoes on Sjödals Vand at about three o’clock. A short paddle across the lake, not more than three quarters of a mile, and we were at Besse Sæter.
Sjödals Vand is a long straggling lake, very much exposed to the wind, and not in any way beautiful except for its wildness, as its shores are almost treeless and rather flat. Its most remarkable characteristic is the colour of its water, which is a light greenish blue, like a starling’s egg, and stands out in striking contrast against the yellow shore and dark mountain heights which surround it.
Besse Sæter is only three miles from Gjendin Vand—the haven where we would be; and the snow-capped mountains, which have been gradually getting nearer all the way from Olstappen, are now magnificently towering above us on three sides.
The Sæter is a hut, built as they all are, entirely of wood, and only inhabited during the summer months. The hut in which we are living is not strictly speaking a sæter at all, but has been built for the convenience of travellers, and the Tronhūus family are entrusted with the duty of taking care of those who come hither while wandering about this, the wildest and grandest part of Norway. The real sæter is a larger building about a quarter of a mile from this hut, and higher up the mountain. And further away still there is yet another building, or collection of buildings, also called Besse Sæter.
Our hut has three rooms, two of which—a bedroom and eating-room—are occupied at present solely by us: in the other room dwell two girls, apparently guests of the Tronhūus. Peter Tronhūus himself and his numerous family live in a one-roomed hut just opposite this. At present the family appears to consist of two men, five women, and two children, relationship to each other unknown.
Peter and his son Jens—who was with us on a former expedition—are both away at present; the latter engaged in procuring various articles for us, such as potatoes, men, ponies, and dogs, about which we wrote to him from England; and he is expected back to-morrow.
In spite of the crowd of people living here, everything is beautifully clean and tidy, and our eating-room looks very nice, with its floor always covered with fresh juniper sprays, and a cheerful fire burning in that most charming of fireplaces, the primitive Norwegian corner-hearth, which is being rapidly superseded everywhere by horrid tall, black, iron stoves, that look like coffins set up on end, and smell like flat-irons and rosin when they are lighted.
We shall have to make this place our home until Jens turns up; and we are not at all sorry to do so, for they take the greatest trouble to make us comfortable, and the trout, fladbrod, and coffee are simply perfection. Besides, we are only a short day’s journey from Memurudalen, where we intend to camp, and there is nothing to be gained by getting there before August 1, the opening day of the reindeer season.
After supper we sallied out, the Skipper with rod, Esau with gun, to see what we could catch. Esau landed on the marsh at the head of the lake, to try and circumvent some duck he had descried; in this he failed, but shot a greenshank, of which there were several flying about.
The Skipper fished the river without success. Sjödals Vand is a fine lake, but not much good for fishing, because of the great amount of netting that is carried on in the summer by the dwellers in the Sæter; nevertheless there are good fish in it, as we have seen many of two and three pounds weight, that they have caught in the nets.
July 29.—
A friend of ours began the opening chapter of his virgin novel with the words ‘It was a thoroughly cussèd morning towards the latter end of July.’ The same applied exactly to this morning: but the arrival of Jens encouraged us; and Esau walked outside to look at the sky; where, thrusting his hands in his pockets and lodging an eye-glass in his eye, he focussed the heavens generally, with a cruel, inquisitive stare; and shaking his head knowingly, indulged in a prophecy concerning the weather—‘that the wind now being in the west, there would be continuous sunshine for three weeks at least.’ Then he walked in again, and we all shivered over the fire.
Jens arrived at breakfast-time, and after greetings had been exchanged, reported all his achievements on our behalf. He had secured for us a stalker, one Öla, a hewer of wood and drawer of water, by name Ivar (his last office seems likely to be a sinecure, but we can work him double at the first-mentioned employment), a horse, and a sack of potatoes; all of which will arrive at Memurudalen in time for August 1. We hoped for a dog for Ryper, but he had not been able to get one.
Esau is always bemoaning the law which prohibits him bringing dogs from England; it is suspected that he has a large collection of useless animals there, that he wishes to import into Norway and sell to the guileless and unreflecting native. Unassisted by any of the canine tribe, however, we have now accumulated what we call ‘a good larder of bird-meat;’ for certain wild fowl were observed to-day to secrete themselves in the marsh at the head of the lake, whither we followed them with all our dread artillery, and we now have a lot of teal, greenshanks, sandpipers, and a ring dotterel stowed away and engaged in preparing themselves by decomposition for our consumption. Some of these birds are almost unknown to the table of the ordinary Briton; but if he will consider that our daily food depends entirely on what we shoot or catch, we hope, as the writers of books say, ‘the kind reader will excuse’ the sandpipers and dotterel.
We were wet through on the marsh, and not at all sorry to return to a comfortable fire in a warm room, instead of the streaming sides of a cold and cheerless tent. Shooting as we did above our knees in water, the rain did not make any appreciable difference in our great wetness. After the point of saturation is past, we have discovered that the human frame is as impervious to moisture (external) as a macintosh.
This summer so far has been remarkably wet and cold for Norway, but we have now the inexpressible consolation of knowing that they are in worse case at home; for we have received our first batch of letters and papers from England, which have been a fortnight en route.
July 30.—
Prophets are without honour in these parts; they are also without truth, honesty, or any good quality or proper feeling. This day is worse than usual, and the good people here have been going about with blanched cheeks, whispering with bated breath of a great flood which occurred in the time of one Noah. We spent all the morning trying to teach the cows, goats, and poultry to walk two and two in case of any emergency arising, and the Skipper—who was engaged in building what he called a Nark—was repeatedly coming into the Sæter to ask how many yards there were in a cubit. However, at lunch-time the land was still visible, so we sallied forth into the marsh again, and secured some more teal; and then Esau went off in his canoe after some scaup ducks on the lake; and brought home two, after following them—according to his after-dinner account of the struggle—for about six hours, while they swam, and flew, and dived; and he paddled, and swore, and shot. They appear to have roamed over the whole extent of this vast lake, seeking safety from his unerring barrels. And he now points to a little hill, far below the distant horizon, beneath which he affirms that he brought the last victim to bay and slew him. He was absent on the expedition an hour and a quarter; a canoe will go about five miles an hour; and the lake is seven miles long. But we did not come out here to do arithmetic.
We settled not to go to Gjendin ourselves to-day, as the weather was so very unfavourable, but we packed and despatched some of our luggage this evening, and purpose following it to-morrow.
Before doing this we had a long interview with Jens Tronhūus, with the main object of settling all accounts. Now a long interview between three men who cannot speak two words of each other’s languages is a somewhat intricate business, and would be decidedly amusing to beholders. How we got through it is beyond the wit of man, but nevertheless the fact remains that everything is beautifully arranged; we thoroughly understand each other; both sides are satisfied; and we concluded everything without the aid of that potent mediator, Whisky, the Great and Good.
Besse Sæter grows upon one: the people are all so simple and kind, and cook our food so well, that we shall be quite sorry to leave, even though trout and reindeer are in prospect.
CHAPTER XI.
GJENDIN.
July 31.—
The morning appeared rather fine, so we packed the rest of our baggage, and climbed the track which leads over the shoulder of the mountain between Sjödals Vand and Gjendin (pronounced ‘yendin’). It is rather steep, but nothing approaching the villany of the tracks near Sikkildals Sæter, so the transit did not take long, and we got to Gjendesheim about twelve o’clock.
Gjendesheim is a very good two-storied wooden building, with a large dining-room, and about eight tiny cupboards of bedrooms; it has been erected just where the Sjoa River runs out at the eastern extremity of the lake, for the benefit of travellers, who can get food and lodging of a sort there, and generally boats to take them up the lake. Ragnild—the woman who presides over it—is very nice, kind, and attentive, and talks English well. Her latter qualification hardly gets fair play, as not many English people come here; and indeed the Norwegians who visit the lake are not very numerous. From the book we can only see two English names before us this year; and yet Gjendin is perhaps the most beautiful, certainly the wildest and grandest lake in Norway, and is well worth a visit from any tourist who has time at his disposal.
Our first View of Gjendin Lake
It is eleven miles long; very deep; very blue, and on all sides rising sheer out of the water for from 1,000 to 4,000 feet are vast black mountains with snow-clad summits; for it lies in the very heart of the highest mountains in Norway. It may not unfairly be likened to an unfrequented and awfully desolate Lake of Lucerne.
At 3,200 feet altitude it is of course above the fir trees, and only in a few sunny nooks along its sides can even stunted birches, juniper, and willow earn a precarious living. It is at these places alone that there is any exit from the lake; for along the greater part of its length there is no level place large enough to pitch a tent; no vegetation except berries and moss; and no possibility of scaling the frowning cliffs by which it is surrounded. But there is a great fascination in such a scene; and although its first appearance is almost repellent, every moment of gazing seems to increase its beauty and awe-inspiring grandeur.
At lunch here a great event happened; we had Salon öl (bottled beer), and immediately bought the whole remaining stock, consisting of six bottles. These we degraded by packing with the inferior baggage in the canoes, and commenced the final stage of our journey, or voyage—whichever is the right term.
About two miles from Gjendesheim, on the south shore, we came to a waterfall which runs out of a small lake lying a short distance away up in the valley. At the mouth of this fall was a small neat hut in which a Christiania professor had just taken up his abode for a few days’ stalking; we stopped a few minutes to talk to him, and then paddled on, trying a few casts now and then until we came to Memurudalen—our intended camp.
It is about halfway up the lake on the north shore, and is a very pretty little valley, profusely supplied with edible berries, surrounded by thick birch covert, and with more grass than we ever expected to find at this altitude; but it is by far the most favourably situated bit of the Gjendin shores, as it is sheltered from the cold winds and gets the sun all day.
We found a remarkably nice level bit of grass, screened by a rocky bank, and with what the Skipper called ‘a brattling brooklet’ in front, about two hundred yards from the lake. There we pitched the tent and made everything comfortable, but of course we shall not decide whether to stay here or not until we have tested its capabilities as reindeer ground.
Beyond the purling streamlet, and about thirty yards from our front door, the Memurua River goes tearing down, the colour of dirty soap-suds from the mud which is ground into it by the mighty Memuru Glacier, whence it springs. This glacier is about three miles from us up the valley, but not in sight from our tent; in fact, the hills are so steep that we are quite shut in, and can see very little except the snow-fjelds and peaks just opposite to us across the lake. These peaks spring from the highest plateau in Norway, which has an altitude of about 6,000 feet, and both the plateau and peaks are almost inaccessible to the hunter, as it is a day’s work to climb them, and any one doing so would probably have to pass the night on the top. This is annoying, for it is a capital place for deer.
An ancient hunter, some years ago, spent a long time in conveying with incredible exertions to the top of the central peak, materials out of which he constructed a windmill; then he descended and never went near the place again, and his windmill scared all the deer away from that table-land, so that they frequented places where a man could get to them; and the cunning hunter was rewarded by many ‘stor bocks’ (big bucks). But now the windmill has been destroyed by time and weather, and we fear that the deer again roam there unmolested and unscared.
Sunday, August 1.—
It is our custom to rise on this day singing, ‘Come, rouse ye, then, my merry, merry men, for it is our opening day,’ but on this occasion it would not have been appropriate. We were not at all merry, because it was Sunday, and raining; we were frozen in the night, our men and potatoes have not come, and altogether we could see nothing to be merry about, especially as the opening day having fallen on a Sunday, we did not feel justified in going out to pursue.
So we devoted ourselves to the pleasures of the table. Last night we had dotterel and sandpipers for dinner, this morning greenshanks, which are very good birds indeed. There was also a large brew of a meritorious composition known as Skoggaggany soup; the name is a little difficult to pronounce, but the soup does not taste anything like it; it is merely the Norwegian for a scaup duck. In England people have been known to call scaups unfit for food, but here, under the perfectly awful appetites that we have developed, the Skoggaggany soup has very little chance.
After trying unsuccessfully to catch fish, we walked up the valley after lunch to look for a hut which is marked on the Ordnance map, and to see if there were any better camping-ground than the place we chose yesterday. We saw some beautiful reindeer ground, but could not find the hut or a camp.
Two of our Retainers: Ivar and his Pony
On our return we perceived two men loafing about the tent, who we naturally concluded were thieves and murderers, and the Skipper hurried on to do battle with them to the death for the possession of our greatest treasure, the Salon öl. But on his arrival the robbers did not fly, but stood and stared with their hands in their pockets; so he lifted his hat and said, ‘Öla?’ (for of course he might have been a Dook in disguise); and one of them replied, ‘Ja;’ and cordiality being thus established, produced the sack of potatoes and the cook, like a conjuring trick, from somewhere behind him, out of his hat or coat tails.
Then we went into all kinds of details with him about his and Ivar’s wages, which he did not understand, and he replied at great length in Norsk, which we did not understand, and so the interview concluded to the gratification of all concerned. Öla is a big good-looking man, rather too much of a gentleman, we fear: but Ivar is without doubt a perfect ass, and will never be able to do anything in the way of cookery, except perhaps boil a potato, and even in that enterprise we consider it would be six to four on the potato.
CHAPTER XII.
THE CAMP.
August 2.—
The Skipper won the toss (he always does, chiefly because the device on Norwegian coins is ‘sorter indifferent like,’ and when Esau has called heads or tails, he looks at it carefully, and gravely declares it to be the opposite), and was away eight hours wandering about the mountains without seeing a living creature except two buzzards, and hardly any ‘spoor.’ He returned to camp very tired and rather cross, to find a delicious meal nearly ready cooked by Esau, for the man whom we ironically call the cook has gone to fetch his horse, for which we are to pay 1s. 2d. a day as long as we have it. The cook’s wages are to be 2s. 4d. a day, and those of the stalker 3s. 6d. We consider the latter cheap at that rate. He is a very tall man; very big, very heavy, and very bearded, and we hire the whole of him for the trifling sum above stated.
Besides cooking the dinner, Esau had been employed in rigging up the waggon-sheet as a continuation of the sleeping tent by planting an upright pole securely in the ground in front of the door, and connecting its top with the old tent by a birch tree ridge pole: it thus makes a very convenient place for all our large stores, and gives us much more room in the tent. We had expected the men to sleep in it, but they prefer living in a wretched little stone dog-kennel, which looks as if fleas would swarm in it, and has been built by drovers, or some other dirty people, for their lodging when they chance to come here: it is about 200 yards from our tent, and, as the men prefer it, it is very convenient for us.
The ground that the Skipper tried to-day seemed a first-rate reindeer fjeld; this means an uneven tract of mountain country, too high for vegetation, except occasional reindeer flowers and patches of gentian, but not high enough to be entirely covered with perpetual snow: this fjeld—where it is not snow—is made of rocks large and small, from the size of a haystack to that of road metal, some of them firm, but mostly loose, jagged, and sharp; the winter snow and frost leave them in this condition by continually splitting and re-splitting them: they are dark grey in colour, and at a distance look almost black.
What the reindeer can find attractive in such a place, possibly some one can tell; we cannot. There is apparently nothing for any beasts of the field to eat up there; but if you do happen to find deer before they see you, they are certain to be feeding, and Esau thinks they are eating the rocks; but the Skipper says it cannot be so, and inclines more to the theory that they feed on their ‘young,’ like tame rabbits, or possibly on their own blood, like the pelican of the wilderness. As for the reindeer flower, which is supposed to be their staff of life, it averages about half a stalk to the square acre, but possibly it is possessed of many highly nutritious qualities, and a little of it goes a long way. Anyhow, they thrive on their food, whatever it may be; they are always very fat, and uncommonly good to eat when you chance to slay one.
After dinner we tried all this portion of the lake for fish without success, and coming back received the awful intelligence from Öla that there are no fish in any parts of Gjendin except the extreme ends, and the waterfall where Professor N—— is living. This is a dreadful blow to us, for we always count upon fishing as our main employment, and fish as our staple food; and if we cannot get any here we shall have to leave. At present we have some which we brought with us from Sjödals, but when they are exhausted there will be a mutiny in this camp unless sport of some kind presents itself.
August 3.—
A curious accident happened to-day; there was no rain. We have in vain tried to account for this phenomenon, and can only fall back on the somewhat unsatisfactory theory that it is all used up. Esau went after deer on the Rus Vand side, and came back very tired to dinner without having seen any, but reported fresh tracks; he was full of the glorious view that the fine day had given him. He had been close above the Memuru Glacier, which is a very large one, and stretching beyond it as far as the eye can reach is a sea of snow mountains, most of them peak-shaped, but some domes or irregular precipices with immense glaciers lying between them, and here and there the greenish-blue waters of a lake distantly gleaming in the sunlight.
It is curious to note how the north and east sides of every peak are torn and ragged, with huge masses of rock riven from them by the action of the weather, while on the south and west they are comparatively regular.
The Skipper spent the day in camp, completing the erection of the outside tent. Our abode is now sumptuous in the extreme, as the new wing holds all the lumber which formerly blocked up our bedroom. There was some discussion as to whether we should call it the ‘Criterion Annexe,’ until we remembered that there are always policemen about that celebrated building, and this decided us not to do so.
August 4.—
The Skipper went on to Bes Hö stalking. This is a high mountain 7,400 feet above sea level. It is close to us, between Gjendin and Rus Vand, and is one of the dome-shaped species.
The Norwegians call their mountains either ‘Tind,’ which means a cone, or ‘Hö,’ a round top; ‘Piggen,’ a peak rather more jagged than a Tind; ‘Horn,’ apparently one steep side and one more gradual; and ‘Kampen,’ apparently a rough hill with nothing striking about its shape. Most of the mountains round here are Tinden, the finest being Memurutind, Skagastolstind, and Glitretind, the last over 8,000 feet, only surpassed in height by Galdopiggen, which, though in sight of us, is beyond our reach.
The Skipper returns to Camp disgusted with life
From Bes Hö the Skipper got a good view between the storms of Gjendin lying encircled by its enormous steep black banks of snow-capped mountains, the whole of its eleven miles of length being visible at once. Its colour is a creamy greenish blue, caused by the snow-water which comes straight into the lake by scores of torrents, which collect it from the various glaciers. The Skipper, who is always bubbling over with poetic similes, said it looked like a cupful of very blue milk in a crease of brown paper; but, beautiful as this idea is, who can take any pleasure in scenery without a little, ever so little, sport to flavour it withal? Certainly not the Skipper; so he came back from his long tramp disgusted with life, and longing to find that Esau had played the fool in his absence, so that he might be able to pick a quarrel with him. Unfortunately Esau was provokingly amiable, and had been performing acts of virtue, such as making soup, improving the tent, and swearing at the cook the whole day, so that the seething volcano of the Skipper’s temper had to content itself without an eruption. We did manage to get up an approach to a row about the Memuru Glacier, which the Skipper had visited to-day: he described its beauty and the extraordinary blue of the ice, where the large crevasses near its lower end gave glimpses of its real formation—for of course it is covered thickly with snow except just where it begins to break up. Then he went on to say how curious it was to think that this huge mass, covering square miles of ground, is always moving onwards, and that no more powerful agent exists for altering the arrangement of the earth’s crust than that cold, placid field of ice. Esau said it did not move. He watched it for half an hour yesterday and it never stirred, and he even pushed it with his stick without the smallest effect.
It is impossible to argue with a man of that kind.
Tyndall and Geikie being disposed of, we had a discussion in the tent over the map, with the result that we determined to leave the camp for four days in charge of Ivar; and we and Öla would go to Gjendesheim, and live there, and drink beer, and catch fish until the 8th, when we calculated that John ought to arrive; and we hope by that time some reindeer will have sought safety from other guns by flying to the sheltering embrace of our fjeld.
We always do our baking just before bedtime, when the men have gone to their hutch, and in a permanent camp it soon gets reduced to a certainty. We prefer milk to water for mixing with the flour, as it makes the bread crisper and shorter, and it does not matter how sour the milk is. This is most providential, as we have generally plenty of sour milk. We send twice a week to Besse Sæter, distant about eight miles, and the long journey does not agree with the milk, so that it is generally turned before it arrives here.
Another important article of food is soup, of which we have several varieties. When made of scaup duck, it is—as already mentioned—called Skoggaggany soup; but our present brew is ‘gipsy soup,’ which is made from potatoes, fishes chopped into small lumps, a square of ‘Kopf’s compressed vegetables’—a most invaluable article—and all the bones from the birds that we happen to be using. We never empty the pot, but keep adding water and bones as fast as we consume it, and it simmers by the fire all day. But when times are very bad, and we have no meat, and are living on fish, our soup is then called ‘prairie soup,’ and is composed of every scrap that we can collect—fish-bones; bacon; potatoes; milk; dandelion, and sorrel; bread, and biscuits: and whenever it develops any unusual flavour, we look suspiciously round to see if that boot-lace or candle-end is missing, or if any of the tent-pegs have been newly whittled. It is always very good, and we call it ‘prairie’ because of the dandelion, which is a prairie flower.
There is yet one more kind, known as ‘Argonaut soup,’ the recipe of which was introduced from America by the Skipper; but our resources have never yet been so low that we could not make something better than this.
Recipe for Argonaut Soup.
Take a pail of water and wash it clean. Then boil it till it is brown on both sides. Pour in one bean. When the bean begins to worry, prepare it to simmer. If the soup will not simmer it is too rich, and you must pour in more water. Dry the water with a towel before you put it in. The drier the water, the sooner it will brown. Serve hot.
CHAPTER XIII.
GJENDESHEIM.
August 5.—
Such a lovely morning at last that we were quite tempted to stay, but nobly stuck to our resolve, heaped everything we possessed except rods, guns, and a change of raiment, into the inner tent, and covered them with a ground-sheet; then packed the selected weapons into the canoes, and sailed from these inhospitable shores.
Not far from camp we saw some fish rising under a cliff, and though it was a dead calm, and the sun as bright as sun could be, we stopped to try for them.
Esau soon tired of casting, and mentioning that ‘if he could not catch those fish no one could,’ paddled off to make a formal call on the Professor, and ask if he had got any deer.
The Skipper persevered, and was rewarded with two fish weighing about three pounds, and the most perfect fish for shape and condition that we have ever seen. This was an important event for us, for it entirely demolished Öla’s theory of the non-existence of fish here, and gave us new hope for the future, especially as the weather has been so bad all the time until now, that we should hardly have caught any even if they swarmed.
The Skipper is devoted to the sport of ‘throwing for a rise,’ which he thinks the perfection of fishing. It can hardly be pursued with success anywhere but in Norway, for only there do fish seem to rise greedily after a constant succession of fine, hot, sunny days, with never a drop of rain or cat’s-paw of wind.
The great charm to him is the extreme delicacy required. You must put on your thinnest cast, your smallest fly, and throw your lightest; and unless you throw a very long line you have not a chance for the beggar. Then, if he comes at you, you can see him through the calm clear water, and watch the whole performance. You get a rather better chance where two fish are rising close together, as there is some jealousy and competition between them, and each of them is likely to rush at your fly without sufficient meditation, lest the other one may get it first.
The Skipper has studied fish from a moral point of view, and says that they are very much like men: and he invariably turns his knowledge of their habits to good account. Throwing for a rise—in a lake like this, where the fish run large—on a calm bright day is decidedly his forte; his motto in fishing being ‘far and fine.’ Whereas Esau shines more in a rapid stream than elsewhere.
The latter had a great time with the Professor, who he said was a capital fellow, and gave him whisky which they drank ‘to better sport;’ and they both agreed that there were no reindeer to be found in the district at present, and the Professor said he was going further north if matters did not mend speedily.
After the fishing and visiting were concluded, we hoisted sails of primitive construction, formed of a rug and a landing net, which, with a fair wind, soon brought us to Gjendesheim.
We think this wind is the chief cause of our misfortune. When we were in these parts before, the wind was always against us whenever we journeyed; and in that year we had first-rate sport, both in shooting and fishing. But this time the wind has always been with us, and we pay for the luxury by getting no shooting and not much fishing. ‘No mahtterr—a time will come.’
After food the Skipper with Öla went over to Leirungen—a small lake about three quarters of a mile distant. Öla carried his canoe, and did not like the job. It gives us considerable satisfaction to make Öla do any work, he is so abominably lazy.
It seemed that the tide of luck was already changing, as both he and Esau—who was throwing a fly on the river nearer home—brought in a few nice fish.
Just before bedtime there arrived at the rest-house three Norwegian tourists of the sterner sex, and a young lady the daughter of one of them. The father was a barrister, and the other two were the Lord Chief Justice of what they imagine to be Common Pleas, and a very thin, dried-up student of theology. They all talked English, and the young lady seemed anxious to practise the language.
August 6.—
After a gay breakfast Esau went his way to fish, while the Skipper—ever devoted to the fair sex—offered Miss Louise a cruise in his canoe.
The sun shone brightly as they moved over the quiet waters, and the fish were too lazy to rise, but lay idly thoughtful at the bottom of the lake. The Skipper was very polite to his charming companion, as she sat in a state of blissful comfort amongst the rugs which he had placed for her in the bows of the boat; and no sound was heard but the gentle plash of the paddle in the water, and in the distance the Sæter girl calling home the grazing cows.
The Skipper takes Miss Louise for a Cruise at Gjendesheim
But presently a cloud gathered over the mountain tops, and thunder was heard rolling among the distant hills; a gentle breeze stirred the surface of the water, and every lazy fish woke up to seek his food. The Skipper longed to go and fetch his rod. He hinted at this, and at last became impatient; but, by Jove! Miss Louise would not go. There she sat and prattled on, charming, pleased with herself, and utterly unmindful of the rising fish and the fretting Skipper. Time kept passing on, till at length her father brought relief by appearing on the shore to call her in to dinner; but then the Skipper had to get his food too, and when he had bolted the humble but indigestible crust and cheese, and rushed out again to seize his rod, he found it too late, as the lake was now dark with clouds, and the fish had left off rising.
Soon after lunch it began to rain like a waterfall, and Esau arrived with a lot of fish—spoils from the Leirungen Ocean, and the result of Spartan indifference to the attractions of woman. There is a shining moral in this tale.
He also brought a romance about a rainbow, which had been so close to him that the two ends met at his feet. The rain hereabouts is very thick.
The evening proved too wet to fish, and this indefatigable young lady captured Esau, and after exhausting all the ordinary topics of conversation, began to show him every kind of puzzle that the mind of man ever conceived, puzzles with coins and puzzles with string; and she puzzled him with matches, and paper, and corks, till the poor young man became perfectly dazzled, and only longed for bedtime to put an end to his misery. Then she asked him riddles, first English and then French. The Skipper, apparently deeply interested in a book at the further end of the room, overheard Esau’s answer to the first French riddle; it was ‘Je le donne en haut.’
Presently, when they went up to bed, the Skipper said, ‘I didn’t quite follow your answer to that first riddle of hers. You said, “Je le donne en haut.”’ ‘Oh! ah!’ answered Esau. ‘That’s idiomatic French, and means a good deal that you don’t understand; I always use it to gals, especially when they’re pretty.’ The Skipper coughed, and turned into his bedroom without saying ‘good night.’
We have always been told that the Norwegian aristocracy particularly dislike the English sportsman in Norway. We think, therefore, that our fair friend cannot have been of very noble lineage. But she was very nice and rather pretty.
She left early next morning, and Esau said he was glad she was gone, as the Skipper was getting entangled with her.
CHAPTER XIV.
JOHN.
August 7.—
We began another day by catching a beautiful bag of fish, and about midday were just starting to shoot our way over to Besse Sæter, when a man came in sight stumbling down the mountain track towards the rest-house. He was red and sunburnt, with a beard of about three days’ growth. He was coatless, collarless, and apparently exhausted. On his nearer approach we saw he was an Englishman, and presently when a few yards from us we recognised—John! Not the smart young beau we have always seen him in London; no longer the devotee to society and his club, but an almost unrecognizable John, so sunburnt and hot and hungry. Formal greetings were exchanged: ‘Dr. Livingstone, I presume?’ ‘Mr. Stanley, I believe?’ and we rushed into each other’s embrace.
Then we besought him to refresh himself on fladbrod, milk, and coffee; which he did, largely. After this he became calm enough to give us a brief summary of his adventures since he left England.
He had done the journey from Christiania in very quick time, and had left all his luggage twenty miles behind at Hind Sæter, which is the nearest place to us to which wheeled vehicles can get. From thence he had started at five o’clock this morning. How he found the way is a marvel, but by great good fortune he met a man when he was about three miles out of the track, who put him right; otherwise he would probably never have arrived anywhere.
He has brought additional stores for the camp, as arranged before we left England, and we had left a note in Christiania asking him to call at the shop in Vaage, and try to get a small stove for the tent, or at any rate find out the price of one. Vaage is our nearest village, about fifty miles distant.
When John arrived there, seeing the shop as he drove past, he descended from his cariole and entered. The shop was full of people buying all the necessaries of life; for in these villages there is only one shop, which is a general store for everything. John was a little confused at his first experience of a Norwegian shop, but at last pulled himself together, and seeing a stove standing in the middle of the room, intended for heating the place, he walked up to it, and stroking it gently with his hand, looked round at the people generally and remarked, ‘Hvor meget’ (How much)? Dead silence not unmingled with awe followed this observation; for those simple rustics thought there was a maniac among them. This perplexed John, and as everybody was staring at him, and he began to find himself in a remarkably tight place, he concluded to make another remark, so asked in Norsk, ‘Have you any whisky?’ The storekeeper having no licence looked horrified, and said, ‘Nei.’ So John pursued his advantage by inquiring, ‘Have you any aquavit?’ ‘Nei’ was again the answer, and an ominous whisper of ‘landsmand’ (the policeman) was plainly audible. John thought he had asked enough about stoves to quiet his conscience, and guessed it was time to quit that shop. So rapidly regaining his cariole, he vanished before any of the crowd had made up their minds what to do.
We kept to our plan of going to Besse Sæter, starting as soon as John had finished his lunch, and got several teal and a greenshank on the way. On one little bit of water we spied three teal near the bank, and having both together made a most skilful stalk, got them all.
Arriving at Besse Sæter we found one of the two rooms occupied by two Swedish ladies, who were travelling about by themselves for the sake of their health. One of them spoke English well, and told us they had been up several of the high mountains round, and intended to wander about all the summer.
We three had to be content with the other room, and two beds; odd man out for the whole one. Those who only had half a bed reported it rather a crowd in the morning.
Sunday, August 8.—
Our object in coming to Besse Sæter was to break the journey to a place called Rus Vand, where a Norwegian owns a lake and hut: it is distant about two hours’ walk from Besse Sæter, and we had a letter of introduction to Mr. Thomas, the owner, which we were anxious to deliver, so as to obtain leave to fish in the lake, the western end of which comes to within walking distance of our camp in Memurudalen; and the fishing is remarkably good.
Therefore this morning we started to clamber up the steep mountain side that has to be crossed between Besse Sæter and Rus Vand, and skirting the shores of Bes Vand—which lies on a small plateau at the summit—we soon found ourselves scrambling down over the loose stones, and through the willow scrub that covers the uneven slopes approaching the east end of the lake.
From our side of the river—when we reached its banks, while a boat was crossing to fetch us—we saw several men, and a couple of English-looking setters, a pointer, and a target fixed up about 200 yards from the huts, so that the place presented a very sporting appearance.
Mr. Thomas received us very kindly, and at once gave us permission to fish in his lake. Both he and his wife spoke English perfectly, as did another lady staying with them, and as most emphatically did not another sportsman also living there.
These two ladies and two gentlemen were all living in a little two-roomed hut, each room being about nine feet square, and the doorway about five feet high and two wide; the gentlemen’s bedroom being also the kitchen. How the ladies managed to turn themselves out in such faultless apparel was a mystery, but it was done, for we saw it.
It is a very plucky thing for ladies to come up here and live for a month, even now when there is a wheel-road (of a sort) to within fifteen miles, but the same thing was done by English ladies ten years ago, when there was no road nearer than forty miles. Are their names not written in the chronicles which adorn the walls of the hut, and carved on the profile fishes which decorate the floor?
In the other hut—which is little more than a boat—there are living Jens Tronhūus, our old stalker; ‘Siva,’ the man who carried our canoes up the mountain at Sikkildal, and another native, also the dogs; besides bottles and churns, grindstones, pack-saddles, saws, axes, and all the other heterogeneous articles which accumulate in a place of this kind. It looked full.
We found the party just sitting down to breakfast after a rather unsettled night, as they had been roused about half-past two in the morning by some one hammering at the door, and found it was a young Norwegian, named, let us say, Coutts, who was making a walking tour, and was more or less lost. They succoured him with coffee and other refreshments and sent him on his way with Jens to guide him. Coutts’s intention was to struggle on to Besse Sæter, but we had seen nothing of him there.