Iceland: Horseback tours in saga land

by W. S. C. Russell

Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile

The short and simple annals of the poor.”

The two beds were placed end to end on one side of the room. Each was five feet long and not over two and a half in width. How these six-foot men can sleep in any comfort in five-foot beds is a mystery. The mattress is a well stuffed feather bed, the coverlet is of eider down. The down is stuffed into a tick like a pillow and like a pillow it has a white case. One virtually sleeps between two feather beds. In the nightly struggles to kick the foot board out of my short bed, the overgrown pillow, used as a blanket, often fell to the floor and sometimes as a last resort to straighten out, I followed the coverlet to the floor, used it for a mattress and with a steamer rug slept in peace.

Nine in the morning found us at breakfast. An hour later, having paid our host his modest reckoning, with handshaking all round and a hearty góðr á daginn, pronounced as though spelled go-an-dine, meaning literally “good to the day,” an ancient Scandinavian salutation and universal in Iceland for centuries, we started to Thingvellir. After riding for half an hour over the barren plain thickly studded with fragments of the ancient basalt and with eyes steadfastly fixed upon the beauties of the lake, we came to the brink of a mighty chasm. Below our feet is the plain of Thingvellir, the Mecca of Iceland, the seat of the ancient parliament, the resultant of the combined freakishness of earthquake and volcanic forces. It is a remarkable geological formation. The sunken plain is nearly ten miles long and five miles broad.

We stand on the brink of the Almannagjá, All-Men’s-Rift, so named because in ancient days when the nobles and law-makers were assembled in the plain below, the common people met upon the heights along the brink of this chasm for a great national holiday of about two weeks. To our right, south-west, the sunken valley is filled with the waters of the lake. To the left, northeast, rises the abrupt wall of Ármannsfell, a lofty mountain of trap. To the south-east, five miles away and extending from the far side of the lake to Ármannsfell is the Hrafnagjá, Ravens-Rift. This rift is parallel with the one upon whose brink we are now standing. The sunken plain varies in the depth of its depression from twenty-five feet at the northeast to over a hundred feet at the south-west, below the level of the surrounding moorland. The plain itself is rent, rifted and shattered into thousands of fragments as if hot water had been dashed against a plate glass window on a frosty morning. Hundreds of chasms intersect each other in the sunken plain in a huge network. They go deep down to the bed of the lake and the lake follows them up under the lava and the water glimmers at the bottom of these chasms.

How was this formation wrought? In prehistoric times, that is before Iceland was discovered, how much earlier we do not know and the rocks do not reveal the secret save the probable period of the flowing of the lava itself which filled all the valley, the surface cooled and the fluid below this crust was under pressure and forced a passage through the barrier where the lake now lies and drained away. This left a mammoth cavern with a hot, laminated, blistered and shrinking roof. Time passed. The shrinking continued. The stress became sufficient to produce the great fault, an earthquake, and in one mighty tumble the entire roof of the lava chamber collapsed, breaking away from the walls which now form the moorland side of the great parallel rifts. As it fell it was shivered into acre-sized fragments, tilted and turned so as to present a billowy appearance. Time has mercifully clothed the ragged mass with verdure, tangled masses of dwarf birch, which, from the distance of the brink upon which we stand, soften the harsh outlines and partially obscure the chasms. As the roof of the cavern fell it broke away from the mountain walls on either side of the plain and pulled the ragged mass with it. This formed a second wall and between these two walls runs the Álmannagjá on this side of the plain and the Hrafnagjá on yonder side. From the top of the inner walls the slope is gradual down into the plain, much like the inward sloping sides of a platter. On the moorland side enormous niches extend into the wall and protruding from the second wall are masses of lava pulled out of these places which would exactly fit the ancient matrix could they be restored. These are so numerous in each of the rifts that there is no doubt as to the correctness of our view of the formation of the rifts and of Thingvellir.

Over the brink of the tableland and into the Álmannagjá tumbles a fine sheet of water, the Öxerá, Axe-River, which follows the chasm down to a break through the inner wall, spreads over a portion of the plain and enters the lake. At our feet there is a narrow side passage leading from the brink down into the rift which has been laboriously levelled and a good road now leads to the lower level. This pass in ancient days was the strategic point of many a stout fight. In the Burnt Njal we read a vivid description of such a fight when the issue of the trial was unfavorable to one of the factions.

We will now ride down the incline, cross the bridge over the foaming Öxerá and draw rein at the Valhöll, Great-Hall-of-the-King. This was erected when King Frederick of Denmark visited the place in 1907. That the good king toured a portion of Iceland at this time is a blessing to travellers because special roads were built, bridges erected and inns constructed for his accommodation.

We turned the ponies over to Johannes who took them to the pasture upon the moorland above the rift. It was only eleven in the morning and we had ridden but an hour yet we decided to spend the day in a further examination of this historic spot. The time allotted proved inadequate and a year later, on our return from the north, we passed an entire day here. Less than half a dozen people were stopping at the Valhöll. We were assigned a room like a beach bath house with two bunks, one above the other as in a steamer. We did not know till the next summer that this hotel had first, second and third class lodgings. It was the only place in Iceland where we ever found any distinction. On our second summer we had first class accommodations, which meant a large comfortable room with a regulation bed and the meals served privately in the adjoining room in place of on a bench in the large hall.

Immediately we set out to explore the place. A mist was creeping in from the lake and down from the mountains. This soon developed into a “Scotch mist” which is an easy falling rain. We went to the Öxerá, explored the deep rift between the walls, which in places has been fenced off for sheep cotes. We climbed the wall to the top of the falls, peered down into the numerous fissures and were astonished to find snow at the bottom of one of them. It is a narrow chasm, very deep and the sun can not reach the bottom. We followed the wall eastward for two miles where we found a place to descend into the plain. On the return we wandered among the crevasses, dodging blocks of lava and jumping the narrow rifts where down a hundred feet the water glimmered. We returned in the rain for our mid-afternoon meal which consisted of broiled trout from the lake. It rained vigorously and we devoted some time to the neglected notebooks, also to an examination of the guest book. They do not use registers, simply a book in which the parting guest writes his name and any comments he chooses. There is an old Icelandic proverb which runs as follows,—