There is a brood of ryper on the brow of the mountain above our camp, which we always put up when we walk over Glopit armed with rods, but never when we take a gun. There were originally eight of them, but one has succumbed to a merlin which hunts up there; and they are remarkably tame, so that when we put them up we throw stones at them, and fully expect to kill them by that means, but somehow they have escaped with their lives until now. This conduct has become unbearable, and we have sworn ‘this day that brood shall die;’ so the first thing after breakfast Esau and the Skipper toiled up the mountain with pockets full of cartridges and guns ready for the slaughter of the innocents. It takes just three quarters of an hour to get to the top; and after reaching it we tramped over some millions of acres in search of that brood, and of course it never obtruded itself on the scene. Finally the Skipper went home in disgust, remarking that ‘he wished every ryper in Norway was at the bottom of Gjendin;’ while Esau said ‘he would stay up there a month or two and find those birds if they were anywhere on our sheet of the Ordnance map.’
The Skipper had hardly walked 200 yards towards camp before he trod on the old cock, who got up observing kek! kek! kekkekkekkek, kurrack: kurrack; kurrack, krackrackackckkkkk! in an extremely indignant tone of voice, and the rest of the family immediately followed him, astonishing the Skipper so much that he missed the lot; and though we marked them down quite near we could not persuade any of them to risk their lives in flight again.
The language used on this occasion scorched the herbage off so large a patch of ground, that John down below thought that Glopit had suddenly commenced a volcanic eruption.
There are two kinds of birds known as ryper in Norway—the fjeld or skarv ryper, which is, we think, identical with our ptarmigan; and the dal or skog ryper, which we believe to be the same bird as the willow grouse of North America. The former of these is not numerous anywhere, but a few are always seen by the reindeer hunter up on the highest parts of the mountains, among the snow and rocks. They do not attempt much concealment, but their grey bodies and white wings are so exactly the colour of their habitation that it is very difficult to see them, as they sit perfectly still on the stones. If you do happen to catch sight of one, in all probability after looking at him for a little you will suddenly be aware that there is a small family of others all about him, and will wonder how they escaped your notice at first. They are not very useful for sporting purposes, as they are never found in great numbers, are too tame to give any trouble, and not particularly good to eat. The skog ryper is the bird which takes the place of the British grouse for the sportsman in Norway: he lives at a lower altitude than the skarv ryper, among the willows, wimberries, and stunted birches. In plumage he is not unlike our grouse, but not quite so red in shade, and with a white wing. During the summer he feeds on wimberry leaves, heather, and occasional bits of willow, and he is then almost if not quite equal to a grouse in flavour, but in winter, when there is nothing but willow to be had, the flesh becomes bitter and not nice to eat: the poor birds are then snared in great numbers, and may be seen hanging in English shops as ‘ptarmigan,’ which with their then white plumage they much resemble. After a good breeding season these skog ryper are very numerous in any favourable place in Norway, but they are so much inclined to lie close, that without dogs it is impossible to do much with them. Gjendin is too steep and desolate for them, but between the east end of the lake and Sjödals Vand there is some first-rate country, and also a little at the west end.
After lunch we all manned Esau’s canoe, which is the largest, because he is the smallest man; and set off down the lake to Leirungsö, the place where the professor’s hut is built at the edge of the waterfall which runs out of a small lake there (not the real Leirung’s Vand, which is further to the east).
The Skipper had noticed a remarkably fine bed of mölte bær there, which we expected to be just about ripe now, and so we had determined to picnic (!) there, forsooth, as if our life were not one perpetual and perennial picnic.
Leirungsö is nearly four miles from our camp, and the professor’s hut is an extremely comfortable and convenient little dwelling, in a most charming situation. Only one thing has been wanting, reindeer: he never found any, and left his hut a fortnight ago for a place further north, where we afterwards heard he had good sport.
After landing, the Skipper and Esau climbed up the valley to the little lake in search of something to shoot, while John remained to bathe and fish at the fall. There were lots of duck on the little lake, and in the rushy swamp at its upper end, and the Skipper put up a large brood of ryper, which we marked into a very small patch of willow scrub surrounded by bare ground. We walked through and through that patch, and threw so many stones into it that we fancy we must have killed and buried most of them, for we only persuaded four of them to fly again, three of which we secured. Our shooting was soon over, and then we gathered a lot of mölte bær, and returned to John, who was getting dinner ready; and after a regal repast of kidneys, reindeer pie, and mölte, paddled home by moonlight, arriving soon after nine.
We beguiled the journey home by songs and accompaniments by the following celebrated artists: Messrs. John, Skipper, and Esau. Among other songs was an original composition by John—air, ‘Bonnie Dundee’—