Midnight Sunbeams; or, Bits of Travel Through the Land of the Norseman

by Edwin Coolidge Kimball

We needed all the bracing effect of the morning air, as we proceeded up the steep zigzags of the well-made road, every few steps unfolding more extended views of the fjord, with little settlements dotting its green sides, and with its rear guard of eternal mountains. We left the path and visited a cluster of sæters, but found the rude huts deserted.

The summit of the hill is a dreary plateau strewed with great boulders, from which is a striking view of mountain peaks, with valleys branching in various directions closed by glistening glaciers, while gleaming among their barren surroundings are lakes and fjords.

We sat down to eat the lunch that the innkeeper’s thoughtful wife had placed in our pockets on departing, but in the warm sunlight we were surrounded by a swarm of flies, which nearly devoured us, lunch and all; such blood-thirsty and persistent flies we never encountered before, and they fully demonstrated their ability to accomplish their year’s work during the few weeks of the short Norwegian summer.

At the little hamlet of Red we found two rival hotels, the Victoria and the Wictory, the proprietor of the latter being as mixed in his orthography as was Sam Weller. The rival innkeepers are engaged in a bitter warfare, which is participated in by the guests of the hotels, for in all the station books on the roads to and from Red were comments of travellers, praising one hotel, and denouncing the other. These comments were so exaggerated and contradictory that they defeated their object, and caused one to decide, if possible, to give both hotels a wide berth. We stopped at the Victoria, as it was the first we came to, and ordered a lunch and two boatmen to row us down the lake, as the proprietor said there was no steamer; no sooner had he disappeared than the keeper of the Wictory across the way walked over and informed us that his steamer left in half an hour. We immediately countermanded both the order for the lunch and the boatmen, and giving the keeper of the Victoria our opinion of him, embarked on the steamer, concluding that the Wictory’s landlord must be the saint, and the Victoria’s the sinner. This was one of the few instances where we found the Norwegians’ simple nature had been perverted; whether by inherent depravity or by foreign travellers we know not.

The steamer was a small craft manned by two men, the captain combining every position on board except that of engineer. It was a much preferable way of making the journey to being rowed ten miles across the lake. The rocky cliffs and mountains rose to dizzy heights, and numerous waterfalls leaped down their sides into the clear waters of the lake.

Our next post by stolkjærre was an extremely interesting one. The rough and hilly road led through a narrow gorge thickly strewed with huge blocks of rock, a small river dashed and foamed below us, and shutting us in on both sides were the lofty mountains. Then we came out into a broad valley with views of several offshoots of the great Jostedalsbræ, the largest glacier in Norway, descending from an immense plateau of snow and ice into the valley. The road skirts the Jölster Lake, a beautiful expanse of clear water, with its sides studded with farms. The fields were full of haymakers, the girls dressed in the pretty costume of blue homespun skirt, white waist and bright bodice, some with their flaxen hair coiled into a knot on the very top of the head, others wearing jaunty peaked caps, all being barefoot, with black gaiters buttoned around the ankles.

The hay is dried on racks, like a section of rail fence, composed of six or eight rails, sometimes wire being substituted for the rails, built at the sides and down the centre of the hay fields; the grass is mown by hand, and much of it, on account of the numerous rocks, has to be cut, a handful at a time, with a sickle; the girls hang the grass upon the rails of the racks so as to allow a free circulation of air, which during the cloudy days hastens the curing process, and even after a long rain only the outside of the grass on the upper rails is spoiled. The haymaking is a long and laborious process, and as there is much bad weather and rain, the haying season extends through the greater part of the Norwegian summer, and it is often weeks after the grass is hung upon the racks before it is sufficiently dried, and ready to be removed and carted to the barns.

We frequently saw what is called the “hay telegraph,” a stout wire stretching into the valley from a clearing high above. The grass is cut, dried, and made into bales, which are attached to an iron ring, and sent down the wire, high above the trees, into the valley below.

Wherever there is a level tract of land, and grass and oats will grow, even though it is restricted in dimensions and is located high up the mountain side, there we would see the solitary farm house. With what astonishment must the Norwegians who yearly emigrate to Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Dakota view the level boundless prairies, after living on these contracted farms, where only with much labor can they gather a scanty crop from among the rocks!