Forest Scenes in Norway and Sweden: Being Extracts from the Journal of a Fisherman

by Henry Newland

If Moodie had seemed apathetic and dilatory while others were capable of doing the work, there was no want of energy in him when the party had arrived at the ground. His orders were given with that distinctness and decision which evinces an intimate acquaintance with the business in hand, and ensures the prompt obedience of all engaged in it.

Two of the Adjutanter, with three men from each skalfogde’s command were detached to establish the line which the hållet was finally to occupy, and to mark out with little flags of white calico, on which were painted their numbers, the post of each subdivision. In the meanwhile the main strength of his party were engaged in preparing the mountain road which the Jagmästere had pointed out for what is termed the shooting line,—that is to say, the line on which the dref or driving division was finally to halt, having thus enclosed the game in the patch of wood between it and the hållet, which is called the skalplats.

The shooting line was formed, by cutting down the junipers and lower branches of the trees for about twenty yards on each side of a mountain road which ran parallel to the front of the position; but the great labour was to remove everything that had been cut, for, had such evident traces of man’s work been left, not one single head of game would have ventured across the clearing. For this reason, also, Moodie began his work in this place, leaving the clearing of his own line for future operations, in order that he might give time for the scent to clear away,—and therefore it is, that when the shooting line is once formed, no one is ever permitted to cross till the dref arrives, driving the game before them.

The peculiar kind of the ground had, in this instance, caused the skalplats to be made very much larger than is usual; in fact, it was nearly half a mile deep, and very much more than half a mile in front width—and from this it would be difficult to dislodge game which had been thoroughly frightened. But Moodie’s English education had suggested a remedy: besides the main shooting line, the axe-men were instructed to subdivide the skalplats by parallel “rides,” as they are called in an English cover, running from front to rear, so that a marksman placed at the end of any of these would have a fair shot, as the game moved from one block of forest to another.

All this, however, was a work of time as well as labour, and though four hundred men were employed about it, and though they worked as men work who combine pleasure with duty, the day was far advanced, and the skal had begun for some hours before Moodie took his final survey, and, dispatching the Captain and his party to their post in the mountains, withdrew his workmen to their own position on the reverse slope of the spur. Having posted his sentries on the crest of the hill, he dismissed the remainder to procure their suppers, and to make themselves as comfortable as was consistent with extreme watchfulness.

Long before any serious impression had been made by Moodie, on the shooting line, Birger and the remains of his party had reached his farthest post, having taken his route along the crest of the heights. Calculating his time with military precision, he had visited the heads of all the different passes, stationing at each a picket, the strength of which was in proportion to its ascertained importance, or blocking it up with an abattis of trees—a very easy thing to do, for the bear, when his suspicions are fairly roused, turns readily at the slightest appearance of a trap. And now, as the minute hand of his watch indicated twelve, a fact which he took care to point out to the Parson, Matthiesen was in the act of displaying from the branch of a dead fir tree which overhung the precipice, the long fluttering slip of white calico, which not only marked out the position of the pass to those below, but was the agreed signal that it was occupied.

The day was bright and hot, as a northern summer’s day generally is, and within the cover of the woods not a breath of wind had been felt; but on the exposed cliff, where they then stood, or rather lay—for the recumbent was decidedly the favourite position;—a light and refreshing air was just creeping up the sides of the cliffs, stirring the feathery leaves of the birches, but leaving the heavier foliage at rest.

It was a joyous scene, as the eye traversed the tops of the great forest stretched out like a map below, and traced the different colours of the foliage—here was a thick, close array of firs, forming a solid column, of miles in extent—there were the serried ranks of the spiry spruce,—here, again, where the axe had been at work selecting the best trees and leaving the rest to succeed as chance had planted, there was a broad, park-like expanse full of juniper underwood, bordered, it may be, by a belt of birch, the consequences of some forgotten fire, or a patch of white poplars, indicating a marshy bit, or a dozen or so of restless aspens, balancing their leaves when all around was still;—here, again, was a svedgefall, as they term the places where the wind gets under the branches of the firs, and levels acres of them together. Sometimes these form parks of exceeding beauty, as the young trees grow up sparsely; but here and there, where they are too small to be worth removing, they lie, entangled with weeds and undergrowth, a mass of rottenness and a stronghold of Bruin, out of which it will sometimes take hours to drive him.

Here and there, too, was a sœter, or, as we are now in Sweden, a satterval, or mountain pasture farm, with its low roof of pine-branches and its meadow of rough hay, which generally stood in large cocks, ready to be removed as soon as the snow should form a road; round most of these, groups of cattle might be seen; but there was no smoke from their chimneys, for every human being was at the skal.