Exploration in Iceland is a very different affair. In these days when a country, apparently accessible, has not been opened, we may safely determine à priori that its difficulties and dangers have deterred travellers. Here the only parts worth the risk, the expense, and the hardships, are the masses of snowy highland thrown into one under the names of Vatnajökull and Klofajökull, and the great desert, Ódáða Hraun, subtending their northern face. To investigate these “awfully romantic” haunts is a work of expenditure; and tourists arriving in Iceland know nothing of what is wanted. A party of less than four, one being a Swiss or Færoese mountaineer, would not be able to separate when necessary; and each must have ten horses,[292] as food, forage, and fuel have all to be carried. In the snow and the lava they will find nothing, and the tent will be the only home. Provisions would be represented by barrels of biscuits, bread, beef, and pork, with compressed vegetables, the maximum weight of each keg being 40 lbs. For drink, whisky or other spirits, the forbidden oil of whisky to be preferred if procurable. Patent fuel and pressed hay can travel in Iceland crates. At least one of the party should be able to shoe horses, so as not to rely upon the guide, who may perhaps prick two hoofs in one day. A change, or better still two changes, of irons for each nag, and four times the number of nails, must be the minimum: the lava tears off everything in the shape of shoes, and three hours without them lame the animal. The party might set out about early June in a schooner hired at Copenhagen, and land their impediments at Djúpivogr. After buying ponies and engaging native servants, they would ascend the Fossárdalr, strike the lakelets called Axarvatn and Líkarvatn, ford the Jökullsá near its head, and penetrate into the great snow-fields. Or they might make the Lagarfljót at Hallormstaðir, ferry over the river, establish a depot at Valthjófstaðir, or Egilstaðir, the highest farm up the valley, and march south.
For the snowy range, the explorer needs all the “implements of Alpine warfare,” with the addition of a pair of inflatable boats, each carrying two—the reason will appear in the Journal. Ice-axe and spikes can be bought from Moseley, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden; and ropes from Buckingham, Broad Street, Bloomsbury: all these articles are also sold by J. S. Carter, 295 Oxford Street, “under the patronage of the Alpine Club.” Mr Whymper prefers the Manilla rope, though somewhat heavier than Italian hemp; the former being 103, and the latter 93, oz. per 100 feet. They should not break with a lighter weight than 2 tons, or 196 lbs. falling 8 feet, or 168 lbs. falling 10. At least four 100-feet lengths[293] should be taken; and the tyro, who had better stay at home, should learn from “Scrambles among the Alps” (London: Murray, 1871), the way to tie and not to tie. The knapsack and alpenstock must be light; Mr R. Glover, Honorary Secretary of the Wanderers’ Club, kindly assisted the author in applying to the War Office, Pall Mall, for one of the “male bamboos,” now used as cavalry lances: it proved, however, somewhat heavy. A cousin, Edward Burton, was also good enough to send for a pair of truviers, or Canadian snow-shoes; but these rackets are not so useful as those of country make.[294] Boots for riding, for walking, and for wading, are absolutely necessary. Binoculars, French grey spectacles, and sun-veils must not be forgotten, and when they come to grief, the face, especially the orbits, can be blackened, after the fashion of the Cascade Range Indians, with soot and grease—the explorer will look like an Ethiopian serenader, but there will be no one to see him. Watches and instruments must be in duplicate, or, better still, in triplicate. The map should be in four sections, guarded from the wet with copal varnish; and skeleton pocket-maps save trouble. Mr Longman (Suggestions, etc.) supplies a copious list of explorer-tools: the author travelled with two pocket aneroids, a larger one left behind for comparison; three B. P. thermometers; Saussure’s hygrometer; a portable clinometer; an aréometre selon Cartier; three thermometers (max. and min.); two hygrometers, the usual wet and dry bulbs;[295] a prismatic compass; and Captain George’s double pocket-sextant—almost all supplied by Mr Casella. A six-pocket waistcoat, with an inner pouch for money, is the handiest way to dispose of the aneroid, small field thermometer, compass, clinometer, silver-sheathed pencil, pen-knife, and strong magnifying glass. Mr Watts, a young law-student, of whom more presently, suggested for crevasse crossing a ladder twelve feet long, which, turned up at one end, might serve as a sledge: it reminded me of Mr Whymper’s troubles. This, together with the bamboo alpenstock, the snow-shoes, lamp, spirits of wine, kegs, and other small necessaries, were left at Djúpivogr for the benefit of future travellers.
For the Ódáða Hraun, besides food, forage, and fuel, the explorer will require to carry water. The sun’s heat is intense even after Syria; and dust-storms, when not laid by sullen, murky sheets of mist, or the torrents discharged by angry, inky clouds, are bad as in Sind and the Panjáb. Native attendants must be carefully rationed: they will live, at their own expense, on bread and butter, or rather on butter and bread; but they will eat the best part of a sheep at the employer’s, and they will drink, as the saying is, “any given quantity.” On the Hraun, Rigby’s “Express Rifle” may be useful in case of meeting a reindeer, and pistols and bowie-knifes will encourage the guide to defy the Útilegumenn, les hommes hors de la loi, with whom their superstitions people these solitudes. It is as well to carry glycerine for chafes and sunburns, poor man’s plaister, and materials indispensable in case of accidents. The holsters should contain lucifers, and the coat-pockets metallic note-book and measuring tape, insect bottle with bran, and an old magazine for carrying plants to camp.
The Reykjavik guides will assuredly refuse to accompany such an expedition, and will declare that no Icelander can be persuaded to say yes. This, as will be seen, is not the fact. But raw men who take scanty interest in exploration, can hardly be expected to incur great risks. About the end of July, somewhat late in the year, students en vacance, speaking good Danish, a few words of English, French, and German, and perhaps a little “dog Latin,” would be persuaded by three or four rixdollars per diem to become “vacation tourists,” and something more. They must not be treated like common guides, and they also should be furnished with strong boots and bedding, for nights on the lava and in the snow.
This long Introduction may conclude with a pleasant quotation from Prof. C. Vogt: “Plus je reporte mes souvenirs vers nôtre voyage accompli cet été, plus je me sens attiré vers l’Islande, dont la nature, eminemment sauvage, porte un cachet tout à fait particulier, et dont le sol volcanique offre encore tant de questions à resoudre.” And the traveller’s memory will in future days dwell curiously upon the past, when
“The double twilights rose and fell
About a land where nothing seemed the same,
At noon or eve, as in the days gone by.”
THE DWARFIE STONE, HOY, ORKNEY.