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Near this spot bears have been seen, and one was tracked only lately. This led to the subject of bear-traps and “self-shooters,” when the Tentmaster-general enlarged on the modus operandi adopted by the postmaster at Sundal. He knew there were bears, and having fully studied the spot, determined to lay a “self-shooter,” if possible, or at all events a trap; and this he very ingeniously so arranged that when the trap caught Master Bruin a red flag should go up: this he could see with a telescope from the post-office as he sat sorting the letters. Some people had noticed that the latter operation took much longer than usual about this time; still no one attributed the delay to the postmaster’s love of bear-hunting, and they little thought that he sorted with one eye and watched for Bruin with the other. At last one day the postmaster saw the red flag. This was too much; the letter eye immediately joined the fun. He was off at once to the bear, shot him, and brought him home; and during the year he managed to get four.

Hard as it rained, we were very sorry when our boat trip drew to a close, and we felt that we should soon have to bid farewell to Torstin and Eikesdal Lake, with its many joys, rough life, and hearty welcomes. We had a glorious walk from the lake to Syltebø, and were glad when we saw in the distance the white house which was to be our haven of rest, and to welcome us as friends. Soon after our arrival our host came in from the river with a good fish; and many a one has been taken from that stream, in spite of the change which has come over Norwegian rivers within the last few years. When English sportsmen began fishing in Norway the bönder attached no value to salmon. They were surprised to see them caught with such slight rods and tackle; but, as soon as it dawned upon them that salmon were worth so much per pound, they began to help themselves by netting them at the mouth of the river, before they could ascend the stream which the enthusiastic Piscator had paid a good sum to rent. The natural consequence is that Norwegian rivers do not afford the sport they once did.

Whilst shooting at Syltebø, one of my friends found a beautiful specimen of amethystic crystal of considerable size. From here a steamer runs to Molde, one of the northern sea-coast centres, and true to its time the little screw came off the landing-place with hardly any one on board, for the season was far advanced: most tourists and sportsmen had returned, and we enjoyed it all the more, as it afforded us a better opportunity of seeing the people themselves.

The variety in Norwegian travel adds greatly to one’s enjoyment. In the present trip we started from a rich expansive valley; thence we ascended through woods of birch and alder by a torrent’s side, vegetation became stunted and sparse, mosses gradually disappeared, and lichens preponderated; then came barren boulders, and, above all, the everlasting snow. Having attained this, our journey was varied by a descent to the wild gorge of Utigaard; the Lake of Eikesdal, a vast body of water, with its grand fall; then again, after the boating procession, through the valley of Syltebø, by the side of its salmon river, to the sea; and finally we were on the deck of the bustling little screw steamer. On stopping at the first place we were surprised to see a large boat coming off, mushroomed with huge umbrellas, whence issued the music of Norwegian voices, and evidently those of ladies; but as they neared the steamer the soft strains ceased, and they came alongside in silence. Our array of oilskins, waterproofs, and sou’-westers announced that foreigners were on board. We, however, considered that this treasure trove should not be a dead letter on a rainy day, and the Patriarch broached the subject of Norwegian music, which happily led to an encore of all the boat songs and many others, reinforced with much gusto by the chorus of oilskins, waterproofs, and sou’-westers. They were a happy band—all ladies and no gentlemen—going to a party at the præstegaard, some few miles down the fjord. They assured us the priest would be very pleased to see us, and give us a hearty welcome. It was with much regret we were compelled to decline the invitation, especially as it would have afforded a pleasing episode in our trip, and given us an opportunity of seeing the vie intime of a Norwegian minister’s home en fête. As their boat left the steamer, they sang one of our favourite songs, and our modest chorus followed it at a gradually increasing distance until both faded away. After this cheerful but soaking morning we comforted ourselves with stories of the fjeld, salmon, and Norwegian life. Happily the Tentmaster-general was in great force, and, when called upon for a yarn, responded with “muckle hilarity,” giving us one of his reindeer experiences. Can we do better than repeat it here?

Syltebø: with Farm Implements.

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First scene, tente abri on the fjeld. Snow close above; in fact, too much snow for sport. The Tentmaster-general telescoping alone in the camp, if one may so call two tents. Having had a very hard and weary stalk on the previous day, he was resting whilst the Major and Dan went up after deer. Soon after they had settled down to work, the Finmark dog “Passop” became very uneasy, and so fretted the string by which he was led that Dan thought he might break away, which would be sudden destruction to everything; he therefore carried the dog in his arms. Shortly afterwards, Dan, doubtlessly becoming slightly tired of carrying the dog, relaxed his hold a little. At that moment Passop caught sight of a buck, sprang from Dan’s arms, and bolted after the deer. Dan threw up his arms in despair, and gave vent to several Norwegian hunting quotations unfavourable to Passop’s future happiness. One thing was certain—the dog would go till he died from sheer exhaustion, and Dan would never recover his favourite Finmarker. Dan soliloquised, and watched long with his telescope, and finally gave way to grief. The next few hours were very blank and sad—deer and Passop both gone. In the afternoon, with melancholy thoughts and sluggish conversation, they began retracing their steps to the camp, which was about six miles distant. As soon as they were in sight of their fjeld home the Tentmaster-general came cheerfully to meet them, for he had seen seven deer steadily going down to a lake, and had anxiously awaited the return of Passop. No time, however, was to be lost. Off he went in pursuit alone, with the Major’s rifle. Hardly had he got away from the camp when he caught a glimpse of more deer—two this time, both going to the edge. He lay down to watch them, for patience as well as judgment is required in reindeer work. After some time a strange sound, like the bark of a dog, came down; but who ever heard the bark of a dog in the wilds of the fjeld and on the snow? Listening again, in a few minutes, from behind a huge boulder, came a stor buck straight on, with a dog close behind. What a chance! Happily the Tentmaster was equal to the occasion. In the twinkling of an eye the shot was fired, the buck was hit, but carried his bullet with him, and made for the water. The dog gaining on him a little, he dashed into the water to swim for it; but Passop dashed in too, for by this time our hunter had recovered from his astonishment at the strange dog, and recognised it as Passop. The ice-water of these lakes is, of course, intensely, cold, and the dog was obliged to come back: he, however, did not do so until he had had a good tug at the deer, which by this time had turned on his side and was dead. A second time Passop tried to reach him, and was obliged to return; but the third time he got on his back, and sitting there, held the horns in his teeth. As the dog could not bring him ashore, what was to be done? By this time the Major had come up, and determined to swim for him, and tow him on shore. The ice-water was too cold for him also, and he was obliged to turn back. The deer was too far out to lasso, even could they lead the line up from the camp. But nil desperandum. Hardly had their wondering got full swing when a tremendous squall swept down the hillside, caught the deer and Passop, and they drifted in. The Major made another attempt, and the deer was landed. They were soon off to the camp, where Dan, with a very sad heart, was preparing speise. When the latter looked up and saw them coming, accompanied by his beloved dog, his expression soon changed, and Passop was caught up into his arms as quickly as he had sprung from them in the morning, while Dan, with a radiant face and his head a little on one side, turning round to the Tentmaster-general, said, “Good man, Maget good man.” Passop was made much of, Dan’s happiness restored, and the one bottle of champagne was iced in the snow, to drink to “Rensdyr jagt paa hoie fjeld.” It was a great day happily terminated, and long to be remembered.

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