As we approach Hornafiord the character of the mountains changes; instead of great white massive ranges, many isolated, sharp-pointed, rugged peaks, called horns, now rise. They are almost free from snow, and of richly varied tints, chiefly lilacs and browns, glowing in the sunshine.
The general character of the mountain-ranges at this point, and indeed along the entrances to the fiords of the east coast, as far as Seydisfiord, resembles Goatfell and the Holy Island in Arran—firth of Clyde—only it is higher, wilder, even more serrated, and, in addition, exhibits many curious fantastic pointed rocks or drongs. Fleecy clouds often rested on the peaks, or rolled, incense-like, among them.
The western half of the island is diversified by a great network of lakes, on whose lonely waters, Dr. Mackinlay remarked, “thousands of milk white swans sport in the summer sunshine,” while the eastern half is broken up by isolated volcanoes whose smouldering fires are capped with snow.
The western coast is scooped out into two enormous gulfs, the Faxa and Breida fiords; while that portion of the east coast, to which we have referred, viz.: from Hornafiord to Seydisfiord, is all along closely indented with little fiords or arms of the sea. These run inland for a distance of from ten to eighteen miles, and average say about two miles in breadth. They are separated from each other by lofty mountain ridges, such as we have described, running far out into the sea, and ending in sheer precipitous headlands or lofty horns. Let the reader lay his hand flat down on this page with his fingers stretched apart, let him then suppose each of the fingers to represent a mountain range, and the interspaces fiords, and he will be able to form an idea of the way in which the coast is indented. At Reydar and Berufiords, these ridges appear to be about 2000 feet high, with many sheer precipices, half that height, from which a stone could be pitched into the sea. It will thus be seen, that the fiords are shut in on both sides by steep mountain ridges like walls of rock, the summits of which are often veiled in dark clouds, and in some places are covered with perpetual snow. These rocky heights are as bare as if they had newly been splintered—not a tree or shrub on their sides—and the lone stillness of the fiords is only broken by the wild “water lapping on the crag,” the cataract roaring and leaping down rock gulleys, or the streamlet trickling down the broad stair-like ledges of the trap, dripping from step to step like a white glassy fringe. These fiords appear to have been rents formed when the island was first heaved up; and, where the arm of the sea terminates, they are continued further into the interior as green valleys down which rivers flow. In places where mountain-tracks are utterly impracticable, these river-courses serve for bridle-paths in passing from one valley or fiord to another.
The tender herbage affords delightful pasture for sheep; fish, chiefly cod, are to be had in abundance in the fiords, and the streams abound in trout. Vessels can sail up and find sheltered havens in which to lie, thus affording water carriage for the exchange of commodities, and bringing the advantages of the coast to the interior.
In the country one never meets anything approaching to a village. It is a populous district where you see a farm in a valley, another group of turf hovels, called a thorpe, a few miles further up, and perhaps, a homestead of some kind perched on the green slope of a neighbouring hill-side. Should there be, in addition to these, a black wood building near the edge of the water, with a white flagstaff before it—it is a merchant’s factory and gives to the place the importance of a market-town.
It was now between 2 and 3 o’clock in the morning, but as the sky was clear and lovely, and we were sailing along a coast, the striking features of which, although singularly picturesque, we had never seen described in books, I remained on deck most of the night, and only, from a forced sense of duty, lay down for a short time without undressing.
These fiords on the east coast are very similar in character; most of the features we have noted being common to them all. I shall therefore simply enumerate, in their order, the names of those we passed between Hornafiord and Seydisfiord, a distance of about 100 miles, for the first 75 of which the steamer’s course lay north-east, and for the remaining 25 nearly due north:—Skardsfiord, Papafiord, Lonfiord, Altafiord, Hamarsfiord, Berufiord, Stödvarfiord, Faskrudsfiord, Reydarfiord, Nordfiord, and Mjofifiord.
On Saturday morning, between 5 and 6 o’clock, we entered Seydisfiord, sailed up to the head of it and dropped anchor, having now reached the extreme point of our destination.
This lonely fiord on the north-east of Iceland, is land-locked like Lochgoil or Teignabraich in Scotland. The valley at the head, with hills on either side, makes a bend to the north, so that there are high hills all round us. Those on the south—our left hand side—sweep round, forming an amphitheatre, till they are apparently met by those of the north-side; the fiord is thus shut in on the west, and the continuation of the valley, beyond it, shut out.