From South Varanger we can go by foot to our destination, across a tract of country extending for three or four miles, or we can go by sea. I propose the latter plan. In a good eight-oared boat we can (we are three in number—sportsman, fisherman, and botanist) take with us all that we shall need: tents, bed-clothes, meat and drink, as well as hunting and [[3]]fishing tackle. We can sail or row according to the state of the weather. If we wish to do so, we can, as we go, fish for huge cod and wonderful haddocks, which bite very differently from the small fish which are taken in the Christiania fjord. The bait which we shall need is not an artificial fly from Christiania, but something as thick and solid as the line itself which is used there. If we have a fair wind, and do not want to be delayed by fishing, or by shooting sea-fowl, we can reach our destination in about four-and-twenty hours. We shall sail past a projecting promontory or peninsula called Normanssaet, where there was formerly a colony of Norwegians. Then we must turn to the south, up a small fjord which is called in Russian Petschenga, but in Norwegian Munkfjord. The latter designation can scarcely fail to attract attention, but the visitor looks in vain for the slightest sign or trace of monks or of monasteries. The banks of the fjord are very lovely; there are undulating ridges of ground clothed with birch, but the banks are in other parts wild and desolate. Not an individual is to be seen anywhere. No smoke rises from a single hearth to point out the dwelling of man. A short way up the fjord, on the east side, there is an inlet which is rather narrow where it enters the fjord, but wide, deep, and broad inside, and this inlet affords the chief harbour for vessels, as it is never blocked by ice. This harbour is called the Warehouse Inlet, a name which suggests former inhabitants, but there are no more indications of warehouses now than there were of monks in Munkfjord.
On the tour of which some details are now given, after passing a small river known as Trifon’s River (a name pointing to events which occurred long ago), we reached the head of the fjord where the Petschenga River discharges itself. Here, at a place called Barken, a few Lapps live. From these people we each hired a boat of the kind that is now in use in Finmark. They are long and narrow, almost exactly like those which are used on the Hallingdal River. The same kind of river has produced the same type of boat. We transferred our luggage to these river-boats, and arranged it in the centre, so that, according to our inclination, we could either sit or lie down in the boats. Then we set off, with a couple of men in each boat, one in the bow and the other at the stern, each furnished with a long pole. The boats glided on as [[4]]the boatmen, encouraged by us, pushed along the banks of the river, competing with one another. The banks are covered on both sides with beautiful white-stemmed birch trees. Here and there a solitary fir is to be seen, which looks almost black by contrast with the bright green birch leaves. Further toward the south the firs are more plentiful, and quite in the distance dense pine-woods appear. The fact is, that the river rises in the south, and in travelling up it we take a southerly direction.
A quarter of a mile up the river we reached such a lovely spot that we decided at once to disembark, and pitch our tents for the night. There is a level plot of ground a few feet above the river-bed, and it is as smooth and as flat as a parlour floor, so that it must have been made at some period by the river itself. Here and there are clumps of trees that are a hundred years old, birch, aspen, and mountain-ash; and in the open spaces between the clumps a luxuriant herbage is growing. It looks as if somebody, a long time ago, had laid out plantations here. From this level piece of land there is a view across the river, which flows still and deep just below, and there is another view over the fjord towards the north, while very far to the south-east, mountains with the snow upon them can be seen. A more lovely spot for a dwelling could scarcely be found anywhere, even in Norwegian Finmark.
For about an hour we were busily occupied in pitching our tents, strewing thin fragrant birch twigs on the ground, spreading reindeer-skins over the twigs, and arranging our baggage according to each one’s taste, and idea of order. When all was finished we paid calls on each other, and discussed the question, what should we have for supper, or, to speak more correctly, for dinner; for in those parts one is often at dinner when it is midnight in Southern lands.
‘Fresh salmon,’ said the sportsman.
‘And young ptarmigan,’ said the botanist.
‘And cloudberries for dessert,’ said the fisherman.
‘Do salmon come up the river as far as this?’ I asked of one of the boatmen.
‘Salmon indeed!’ he replied, ‘why, I should think so; they come up here, and many miles further to the Harefos, then they can’t get further, and are packed like herrings in a barrel.’
Out, then, with salmon rod, reel, line, and gaff, and so into [[5]]the boat once more. It is just eight o’clock in the evening, and this is not too late for a bite, before the fish are away to rest for the night. The sportsman at the same time took his gun, and sallied forth with Pan, the dog. I put a bright spoon on the line, and got the Lapp to row off with a single stroke, so as to row ‘poiki, poiki,’ backwards and forwards, across the stream. It was not necessary to work very long. The third time of crossing, the line ran buzzing violently off the reel.