HAUKELID—SLAUGHTER OF REINDEER IN A BOTTEN—THE BROKEN BRIDGE—THE FORD—USEFUL OLD PONY—THE ASCENT—ROLDAL VALLEY AND BRIDGE—THE LENSMAND—FLORA AND LONG TRAMP—DOUBLE SOLAR RAINBOW—SNOW SHOES—GRÖNDAL AND DISTANT FOLGEFOND—ZIGZAG ROAD—SELJESTAD—NO FOOD, BUT A GOOD PONY—GRÖNDAL WATERFALLS—SANDEN VAND—THE LATE ARRIVAL AT ODDE.

THE Haukelid SÆter is 3,500 feet above the sea. Here we had the pleasure of meeting the Norwegian engineer of the road, and in the vand below were floating masses of ice. In the morning the vand was frozen (July 15), so that we could not cross in a boat, but had to go round. Near this was the scene of a reindeer slaughter by natives: they had a Remington breech-loading rifle; drove a herd into a botten, or cul-de-sac, and shot forty in six days—nine in one day; but we shall refer to this later on. On our journey we found the bridge carried away, and had to ford, which was great fun. We sent a knowing old pony over first. How we enjoyed it—one might have taken us for schoolboys out for a holiday—in and out of the water! One poor pony, however, did not find it agree with him, the ice-water was so cold, and for a time he was very bad indeed.

Once more in the flat of the valley, it seemed like old times, and we thought a hearty meal at Seljestad would do us good. In the latter respect, however, we were doomed to disappointment, meeting with nothing but picturesqueness and some costume, in which red bodices were conspicuous; so we had to fall back on potted meats and biscuits. Whilst waiting we saw some peasants en route for their sÆter, with all their milk apparatus. The only good thing we got was a pony—a beauty—to go down this grand valley, and drive, one may say, through the Laathe Fos. At this point there are three falls in view of each other—Laathe Fos, Espeland Fos, and Hildal Fos. This we enjoyed, and late at night, or rather early in the morning—for it was one o’clock when we got into the boat to go down the Sanden Vand and row to Odde—having had such a good day, we sang “God save the Queen” and many songs about Rensdyr, Jagt, Norwegian love, “det kjÆre Hjem,” &c.

In the morning we arose, and before breakfast read the following encouraging entry in the Dagbog:—“Wel Satisfed everything is good order;” and so we found it.

Roldal itself is very beautiful. Our guide (Knut) returned to Haukelid, and next morning we left the lensmand’s house for a very long day, hoping, if possible, to reach Odde. At Hore we could only obtain some sour milk, and then started over the snow for Seljestad, when we noticed an old bonde preparing barley for brewing, assisted by his wife, with a scarlet body to her jacket. About two p.m. we saw a grand effect of double solar rainbow—blue sky, no cloud. The sky between the inner and outer circles, which were complete, was deep lavender. This was seen from the head of the pass, above 3,500 feet, with snow all round us. As we came down we cut our road, and after lunch, on arriving at the outburst of snow-water, we were all wild enough to bathe in it. However, we were none the worse, but, on the contrary, much the better for it. Soon after we came on one of the grandest bursts in Norway; a deep zigzag went down below us; and we looked upon the GrÖndal, which is immense, and at the end of which lies the vast expanse of the Folgefond. We now began our descent, and worked along the valley. The curious part of the fording was this—that the old pony, having taken one man and baggage over, came back by himself, so that the “aspirants” might swim over without any load. After this we had a long ascent and heavy drag, beneath a scorching sun, over the snow, so much of which had not been known for years, to a tiny Ligaret sÆter. The best thing to counteract the sun’s influence is a sou’-wester hind side before.

“Rein” were seen here. Later on, at an altitude of 4,000 feet on a bare rock, we partook of dinner, icing our claret au naturel in the snow. Soon afterwards we began our descent, and, on leaving the snow, found a young girl goatherd with a little bit of costume, showing that she belonged to Roldal—viz. a dark blue cloth cap, with yellow-orange border. Then we passed a hunters’ hole or hut, and again forded; finally coming, late in the evening, to a spot particularly mentioned by Forrester and greatly admired by us—the old bridge, with torrent roaring beneath, and the distant lake at our feet. We all paused, lay down, and murmured with delight over the beauties of the spot. Now that we had arrived at vegetation, we put leaves inside our caps, and longed for glycerine for our faces.

Norway is grand, picturesque, wild, and bold, its principal features being the long arms of the sea running inland for many miles, sea-water dashing against the most precipitous faÇades of rocks, and the snow-water, in many instances, coming down from the high ranges, and falling straight into the sea itself. These arms of the sea are called fjords, and two are especially grand and of immense expanse—the Sogne fjord (the larger) and the Hardanger: both of them are rich in snow-scapes and waterfalls. The Hardanger is the richer of the two in the matter of waterfalls, having two to boast of—the VÖring Fos and the SkjÆggedal Fos, sometimes called the Ringedal Fos, as falling into the Ringedal Vand. The VÖring Fos, which is approached from Vik, is better known than the latter, which is more grand in form and power: to reach it one should stop at the end of the fjord. The difficulty of access and roughness of road have prevented many from making the attempt; still it is well worth any passing discomfort or fatigue to have the privilege of communing with nature under such a combination of circumstances.

Arrived at Odde, arrangements must be made to remain at least three or four days, so as to visit the following most interesting localities:—

1. SkjÆggedal Fos.

2. BuerbrÆ Glacier.

3. Folgefond.

4. GrÖndal Laathe Fos, and other fosses.

The immense extent of the snow-fields of the Folgefond should not be missed, and for these a day not too bright should be specially selected; for pleasant as fine cloudless weather undoubtedly is, still nature is not always seen to the greatest advantage in it, and more particularly in mountain scenery, where mist and broken cloud relieve the various peaks, detach them one from the other by the most delicate films, and impart grandeur, endless variety, and size, draping the peaks with mystery and majesty. What a delightful sensation is that of rising on a fine fresh morning, with the early mist waiting its bidding to rise, and the anticipation of a glorious excursion in a mountainous country before one! Now for the fos.

The village of Odde, our starting-place, with its simple church, a station for carrioles and boats, its few wooden houses, kind simple people, and one lazy-looking sailing craft, or jÆgt, is fortunate in having a young guide, who, following in the steps of his father, has by his many good qualities influenced numerous people to visit this most excellent place; and all who have been there once seem to wish to go again. Our arrival from the Haukelid route, coming down the GrÖndal, was late; in fact, about two a.m. Leaving the lake above Odde, we first caught sight of the Hardanger fjord, with the village lying below, the church in strong relief, and its few buildings against the bright water. One felt greatly inclined to sit and muse over such a scene, so calm, so peaceful, so solemn, so silent, for no singing birds ever chirrup in this northern land, and their absence is most noticeable.

Early in the morning we are up, and, with every promise of fine weather and comfort from our “nosebags” (most necessary items for this travelling), we start for the SkjÆggedal, an excursion which should take fourteen hours to do comfortably. What enjoyment can there be, what satisfaction, what knowledge gained in a strange country, if one flies through it as if in training for some event or actually engaged in athletic sports? The start is made from Odde down the lake to Tyssedal, about an hour’s row on the fjord. Soon is seen a white line running out from the shore, the boat is caught by the stream and swung round, and we near the land in the backwater. This is the exit of the snow-water from the fos into the sea-water of the fjord.

Now to begin three hours’ good steady walking up, up, up through pine woods, with boot soles polished by slippery needles, now and then ledges of rocks, and ofttimes a shelving sweep of smooth rocks, dangerous for most people, ticklish for every one, especially should they have any tendency to giddiness. In some parts logs have been laid in the fissures, and in one place a kind of all-fours ladder; still all enjoy it, and glory in the freshness of the trip. After this tough walk the upper valley is reached, and the farm, “SkjÆggedal Gaard,” is in sight. Here we found milk and coffee; the homestead, so lonely in winter, now bright in summer light, with peasant farm folk quite out of the world, and a singing guide; but even Danjel, with his eagle profile, is not always inclined to sing his best. Perhaps he is aware of the report that the priest, having heard that Danjel had fallen in love, had forbidden the banns, simply on the score of his too strong resemblance to the feathery tribe just mentioned.

Leaving the farm, we go down to the boathouse, covered with huge slabs of stone to prevent it being blown away by the wintry winds, and enter the boat to cross the river at the foot of the fos from the Ringedal Vand. Once over, we are soon at the Ringedal Lake, which is all snow-water, most crystally clear, and containing no fish, no life, on account of its extremely low temperature. On the left of the lake is seen high up the TyssestrÆngene Fos, as shown under the initial letter of our opening chapter. Near the foot of this we stop to go up and see the bear self-shooter, or trap, where Bruin, it is hoped, may run against a wire which fires two barrels heavily charged—a bad look-out in the future for tourists who eschew guides, as this is the only accessible road. At the back is the immense snow expanse of the Folgefond, and in front of us we hear a distant roaring thud of continuous waters—our “fall.” Rounding a point, we look up and see it. The best time is when the snow-water is in full spate; then it is truly majestic. The whole air seems whirled round in eddies; the water comes shooting and leaping over, falling in inverted rocket forms, half breaking on a ledge of rocks; the foam, the roar, the vast spray, everything is soaked and dripping—the energy of nature in a most sublime form, the SkjÆggedal Fos itself. We were loath to leave the spot, but started off a little taciturn from the impression the scene had made on us, and safely returned to receive the kind hospitality of our friends at Odde, and next to visit the BuerbrÆ Glacier.

This glacier has especial interest for all lovers of nature, from the fact of its being not only a new formation or creation, but being still in process of development. It is caused by the immense pressure of the large snow-fields above in the Folgefond, which bodily weigh and force down the ice into the valley. Our good friend Tollefson, father of the young guide previously mentioned, was born in the valley where the glacier is now gradually carrying all before it. Fifty years ago, he told me, there were no symptoms of ice; gradually it formed and advanced—in 1870, ninety yards; in 1871, four yards in one week; and in 1874 a still more rapid progress. When we were there the front ice was just ploughing up a large rock and pushing it over; on either side the rocks are steep; and throughout the colour of the ice is very beautiful, rivalling the hues of the Rosenlain Grindelwald. Where will this glacier end? Most likely it will drive steadily on to the lake above Odde. Who can tell?

At the farm was seen a beautiful piece of carving, in the form of a salt-box, very old, but well worth preserving. We shall give some specimens of native work further on.

The costume of this district is very striking and characteristic, the chief feature being the head-dress, or cap, called in Norske skaut. It is formed of white muslin crimped, the hair hidden by the white band over the forehead, the cap rising in a semicircle above the head, while the corners fall down the back in a point nearly to the waist; white linen sleeves, with scarlet body bound with black velvet; the stomacher worked in different coloured beads and bugles; the chemisette fastened with old silver brooches; and the collar joined either by a stud or brooch. The apron is equally picturesque. Like the cap, it is of white muslin, with three rows of open insertion-work on a pink ground, which is generally well thrown up by a dark petticoat, so that the whole costume produces a very striking effect.

These costumes were pleasingly brought together one evening when we were invited by Svend Tollefson to a little dance at his mother’s house. The father and mother sat together, whilst the younger folk were either standing or sitting round. The fiddler was grand both in action and eccentricity, with tremendous catgut fire, a few involuntary notes trespassing now and then, and producing a stirring effect on the dancers. The young Svend, evidently a favourite with the youth and beauty of Odde, was continuous in his dancing, principally the Spring Dance—a waltz in which it is most desirable that the swain should be taller than the maiden, for the former, holding her hand over her head, has to run round the latter as she waltzes. The Halling Dance, in which the performer jumps a great height into the air, was attempted out of doors, but hardly with success. After each dance the guests partook of wine, and on this occasion we had some gammel fiin hvid portvÜn (fine old white port wine). The politeness of the Norwegians is most noticeable. After taking wine there was a constant shaking of hands, while the host was profusely thanked by, “Tak for vÜn,” or “Tak for mad,” the charm of which is considerably enhanced by the fact that these simple-hearted people mean what they say.

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