We had only passed two farms on our way, and our guide informing us there was not another for many miles, feeling very hungry after our long morning's ride, we dismounted by the side of a babbling brook for lunch, and did full justice to the ham and tinned beef we had brought from London with us. While eating our meal, our twenty ponies were allowed to wander at will with the reins thrown over their heads, and had there been any passers-by we might have been taken for a gipsy encampment
Luncheon over, everything had to be washed, and securely packed, but despite all our previous care we found some of our china had been sorely smashed, and the biscuits shaken to perfect powder.
Our guides shared our repast, respectfully taking their seats at a little distance from us, and their delight at tasting our tinned beef and mustard entertained us greatly. The latter stung poor Jon's mouth till the tears ran down his cheeks, but, nothing daunted, he persevered in taking the condiment, till he grew so fond of it as to ask for it with every kind of food, even spreading it on an Albert biscuit.
Hitherto our path had wound over a range of hills amid which we saw several small lakes, and the view looking westward towards 'Snaefell Jökull,' which rises like a pyramid of ice from the sea, was charming. Our lunch had been taken in the valley of the 'Seljadalr,' and now once[p. 105] more in our saddles, we followed a bridle-path upwards towards the plateau of 'Mosfellshei,' passing through a wild rocky glen of great natural beauty. The 'Mosfellshei' is a long, stony, dreary waste, several miles in length, so wild and rough as to render riding no easy task, the path leading through dreary tracks of lava, over which the ponies stepped with cat-like agility, hardly if ever stumbling, and going up and down hill as easily as on level ground. After two hours or more of this rough riding, suddenly, at a bend of the hill, we came upon our first view of Thingvalla Lake, and were charmed with it and the surrounding country. It was like going out of a desert into fairyland. The lake, which is 45 miles long, and of a deep cobalt blue, can be seen only in part, as the hills around project to such an extent as to apparently divide the water into a series of lakes, instead of one broad expanse. It was a glorious day with a bright warm sun, and a clear blue sky, and everything around looked fair and peaceful. We were so delighted with the spot, that we stopped to make sketches, allowing the pack ponies to get ahead of us.
Not long after remounting and calmly jogging on our way, we suddenly came upon the verge of a tremendous chasm, which, opening at our feet, divided the barren ground on which we stood, from a lovely sunlit plain of many miles in extent. Winding our way down, we entered the Almannagya by a narrow fissure. The path leads for[p. 106] nearly a mile, the rocks rising as perpendicular walls on either side from 80 to 100 feet; so narrow was it in some places that there was little more than room for the path. In other places where it widened, patches of snow still remained.
Here was indeed a halting-place full of interest, and we accordingly dismounted, and prepared to spend some time in lionising a spot so replete with historic records.
Running parallel were two or three such chasms, of minor magnitude, over the less steep parts of which we managed to scramble, before remounting our ponies, which it was necessary to do, although Thingvalla Farm lay but a few yards distant, because of the intervening river, which we had to ford.