The scene was charming, the reindeer hunter on one rock, Esmeralda on the other, both hand in hand. Balanced above the flowing waters; sometimes we thought Esmeralda was slipping backwards, now with Ole’s assistance she has recovered herself. Another jump across the foaming waters; Esmeralda hesitates. A word of encouragement, Esmeralda jumps. She has reached Ole’s rock, she balances again; thanks to Ole, by another hasty spring, she is safe on the other side.
Soon joining our party, we ascended a winding stony track from the Skögadal, passing through a col, we reached a second long wild valley, wild and stony in the extreme, here and there a glacier above. The fine peak of the “Melkedals” above us. Sometimes we skirted the margin of small sheets of water, and lonely mountain tarns. Over this long reach of broken rock we made our way slowly; at last we again ascended towards another col, to reach apparently another valley beyond. We had nearly reached the top of the ascent towards the next valley, when the carrier suddenly halted, and Ole said he wished to take something to eat. Our carrier was a quiet, spare, muscular, and not bad-looking man; we had noticed him when we crossed the river; no shouting, bustle, bewilderment, or gesticulation, he simply did quietly what he thought best. If it did not succeed, and we had all been drowned, it is doubtful whether he would have moved a muscle of his countenance. Yet he was not a man without feeling, and would probably have felt all the more. All was regulated to one steady pace for horse and man, and to save the world he would not have gone slower or faster. A fire was made with the roots of stunted juniper, and our water boiled for tea. Our carrier had only some fladbröd, and raw old bacon for his dinner. From our commissariat we supplemented it with tea, and brandy and water. It was soon found that when we had halted at twelve o’clock, he considered his bargain ended, and that he was entitled to his dollar, and an extra mark for his second horse, to cross the Skögadals river. It was thought we should have had his services for the best part of the day.
Ole asked our carrier to give us another hour which would make what he considered the value of the dollar, but the man would not go any farther; an extra mark would not tempt him. He had come eleven miles; one of his horse’s shoes was loose. Our gipsies thought he should have continued until one o’clock. Lending the man our hammer, and axe, to fasten the horse shoe on, which was much too small, we paid him his six marks. Advancing towards us in a solemn manner, he shook hands, and with his horse rather lame, he went off at the same regulated steady pace. If intelligence had been suddenly brought that the Skögadals sœter, had been burnt down, and his tall wife in it, we do not think he would have gone one step faster towards the scene of conflagration.
Noah! Zachariah! let the donkeys be loaded. Esmeralda clears our dinner service into the kettle bag. Ole is up and stirring; we are soon off at ten minutes past one o’clock. Our party was soon over the ridge; a long stony valley lay before us beneath the rugged steeps of the Melkedalstinderne. The donkeys did their best with their loads; the lift with the carrier’s horse in the morning, had been very useful. Ole had evidently resolved to make a determined push towards Eisbod. Many swift, but shallow streams coming from the glaciers above, were crossed without difficulty. With some perseverance the Melkedals vand[106] is reached; it is called the œvre vand or upper lake. A still dark lake, nothing but masses of loose rocks for its shores. Ole said there were no fish in it. How we made our way over the loose masses of stone on the left bank, from one end to the other, is a marvel, sometimes up, sometimes down, with often nothing, but pointed rocks, for our loaded animals to stand upon. Noah did his best. At last the Puru Rawnee slipped with her load, and fell with her legs between the rocks. We were much afraid she would break or cut her legs all to pieces. She was quickly unloaded. By good fortune our handsome Puru Rawnee, had not broken any bones; the hair was bruised off in some places; she was able to go on. Quickly reloading again, we were thankful to leave the desolate shores of the Melkedals vand, still struggling on step, by step, with our tired animals; at length we reached a small wild mountain tarn. At one place we crossed the track of a reindeer; time was fast fleeting towards night, we could not very well camp where we were, nothing but rocky steeps, and loose masses of stone on every side, not a blade of grass to be seen for our donkeys. Leaving the lonely tarn we came to a mountain stream. Our route now became very steep, often down loose masses of rock. Ole and ourself had to lead the way, and occasionally form a rough road, or form steps with loose fragments of rock, to enable our animals to proceed. All the care of our gipsies was necessary. A false step by either of the donkeys would probably disable it for further exertion. At some places we had to pile up masses of stone for a considerable height, to enable the donkeys to descend the rough, and broken declivities of rock. Slowly and cheerfully we made our way, everyone doing his best. Now and then some small streams of water had to be crossed. Coming down a steep declivity we at length came in sight of the waters of the Melkedals, “Nedre Vand,” or the Lower Lake.
As the shades of night were fast descending, we reached the lake, and making our way slowly along the left bank, we halted on a slope, close to the shore of the lake. There was a semblance of green; just enough blades of grass, to enable us to fancy we were on turf. Seeing nothing but loose rocks beyond, we decided to stay.
“Well, sir,” said the gipsies, “where’s the fire?”
MELKEDALS, NEDRE VAND.
“Ah,” said Ole, “perhaps you can do without one this evening, or we will go on if you like.”
We determined to stay.