Outside the house there are two or three lysters, and some split pine-roots for “burning the water.” In the dark, still nights of autumn, the trout and bleke which approach the shore are speared by the men.
In the passage is suspended a notice to the effect that instruction in agriculture is offered by the Government gratis, at a school down the valley, to all young men who bring a certificate of baptism, vaccination, and also a testimonial of good moral conduct from the clergyman.
While I am reading this notice, a desolate-looking young female, with dishevelled black hair, comes staring at me through the open door, with a most wobegone aspect. Her husband, I find, is a drinker of brantviin. On one occasion he went down to Christiansand, drank tremendously, and returned quite rabid. For some time he was chained leg to leg. He is better now, but beats the unfortunate creature, his wife, who does not complain. I recommended the people, the next time he did it, to chain him again, and pay the bully back in some of his own coin—hard knocks.
Hearing so much of the trouts of the Högvand, i.e., High-water (the people here call it Högvatn, reminding me of the Crummack-waters, and Derwent-waters, of the North of England), I take Tallak, one of the sons, across the lake. On the further shore stood a man, with his young wife and child. They had a small boat, but it could not have lived in the swell now on the loch; so they borrowed ours for the transit. Threading our way through some birch scrub, we emerge upon the old smelting-house, where the copper-ore brought from the Valle copper-mine used to be prepared. But it is now at a stand-still, and the beck close by rushes down with useless and unemployed energy. This stream comes down from the lake to which we are going.
On the way we pass a small shanty, of about eight feet square. I peep in through the open door. On the floor sits a young woman, with her three children. Their sleeping berths are just overhead, let into the wall. After a stiff ascent, we reach the High-water. Launched on the lake, I expected great things, as the rain, which still poured when we started, had ceased, and a fine ripple curled the waters, which glistened smilingly as they caught sight of the sun’s cheerful countenance emerging from behind the heavy clouds. But my hopes were doomed to disappointment. Tallak said it was torden-veir (thunder-weather), and unpropitious. Nevertheless, a banging fish took one of my flies, but carried the whole tackle away.
I then tried the triangles, and a four-pounder, at least, golden and plump, dashed at me, but by a clever plunge out of his own element, he managed to get clear again. After this I had not another chance; but I have no doubt, that if I had given a day to the lake, instead of an hour or two, I should have succeeded in developing its capabilities. The boat, or pram as it is called in these parts, is flat-bottomed and oblong. The rowing appliances are very peculiar. Two narrow boards, about three feet apart, were placed about midships, at right angles to the boat’s length, and extending over the gunwale about a foot; two more similar pieces of wood were laid parallel to each other over the ends of the first two pieces, to which they were tied by birchen thongs, so as to form a square framework lying on the boat’s gunwale. Two thole-pins were stuck into each of the side pieces. Here, then, in the mountains of Thelemarken, we find the original outrigger, centuries old, the predecessor of the Claspers’ invention, now so commonly used in England. On one of the cross-boards I sat, on the other the rower, thus keeping the frame firm by our own weight, it being secured to the body of the boat by birch-ties only. There was not a particle of iron about the whole affair; it was the simplest contrivance for crossing water I ever saw.
On our walk homeward Tallak tells me that he has seen the cat-lynx down in the valley, but that they generally keep up among the broken rocks (Urden). The wind was now so high that the passage of the Fjord was somewhat difficult. At times, I hear, it is so lashed by sudden tempests from the storm-engendering mountains, that the water leaves its bed, and fills the air with spray and foam.
Old Mr. Skomedal, who schusses me up this evening to Langeid, is a rich man in his way, owning three farms, not to mention a quantity of “arvegods” (heirlooms) on his wife’s side, in the shape of halberds, helmets, swords, apostle-spoons, and “oldtids aeld-gammle sager” (ancient curiosities).
He asked if I knew a cure for his gicht (rheumatism). Many years ago he was at a bryllup (wedding), when he got fuul (Scoticè fou = drunk); indeed everybody was fuul. But unfortunately he got wet outside as well as in, and fell asleep in his wet clothes, since when he has been troubled with aching pains.
The bears have killed two of his horses. The one he is driving he bought out of a drove from the Hardanger. It is only two years old, and shies alarmingly in the dusk[8] at some huge stones which have been placed by the roadside at intervals, battlement fashion, to keep travellers from going over the precipice, though the embrasures are like an act of parliament, and would admit of a coach and four being driven between them. “I thought it was a bear,” said Skomedal, as he made out the stones.