CHAPTER IX
THE GEIRANGER FJORD TO MOLDE
Leaving now the magnificent Hjörund Fjord, we take the road from Öie to Hellesylt. Ascending the gorge of Nordangsdal, we again arrive at "Gaard" Tryggestad, at which place the road branches off for Hellesylt, and we drive down a steep, well-wooded valley along the banks of a mountain torrent. The river thunders down a rugged chasm, at times lost to sight in the mysterious depths of the gloomy, cavernous gorge; then, emerging into the open and madly plunging over huge boulders, it sends its spray over us in clouds as we pass.
The steep road descends through hanging woods of tall pine and graceful birch, and at a clearing in the forest a small farm, surrounded by its own green fields, is passed, and we now obtain a glimpse of the village of Hellesylt, reposing down by the margin of the bright fjord of Sunelv. Picturesquely perched on elevated ground above the red-tiled house-tops stands the church.
Deep in a valley to our right repose the remains of a huge avalanche of snow, surrounded by trees, with whose fresh, green foliage the white snow presents the striking contrast of winter and summer side by side. The time of cherry-blossom is almost over, but there is a wealth of apple and pear blossom in the many orchards around sunny Hellesylt.
Öie to Helleslyt
Having had so many hours in the "kariol," it is refreshing to sit by the margin of a fjord again; to breathe in quietude the incense-laden air, and to listen to the faint murmur of some distant waterfall; to watch the rays of the westering sun stream from behind the nearer mountain in an intense amber glow, deeping gradually into rose, and illuminating the snow-topped peaks across the fjord yonder in a most enchanting way.
The nearer mountains are in purple shadow. In one short hour the light on each ruddy top dies away, and their colour is slowly transformed to that of cold, silvery blue as they are one by one deserted by the sun's rays. All the peaks are now of blue, purple, and silver—cool and refreshing to look upon. Hardly has the last mountain taken on his silvery hue when a light zephyr breathes softly across the sleeping waters of the fjord in a steely glitter. But what is this weird light that is stealing over all Nature in softest and most delicate blush when we expected the cool twilight? It is the afterglow. An ethereal rosy golden light slowly intensifies on the mountains. It is more diffused than the actual direct glow from the setting sun, and not nearly so brilliant; but a dreamy glow, mysterious and bewitchingly weird in the intense stillness.