Iceland: Horseback tours in saga land

by W. S. C. Russell

In that place I stood and saw

Things that filled my soul with awe.”

—Miss Menzies.

Morning dawned with a gentle rain. Hour after hour it fell with no promise of abatement until ten, when the clouds were rifted, the sun shone through and the dripping plain glistened. We decided to set out for the long ride to Geysir. The ponies had been in readiness for an hour in anticipation of an earlier start.

We turned into the trail leading across the plain, along the border of the lake towards Hrafnagjá, Johannes following with the train at some distance. When we reached the rift we halted to examine it until Johannes arrived. This chasm is longer than the Almannagjá but not so deep and surely not so impressive. It lacks the beautiful waterfall and the historical associations of the latter. It extends along the side of the mountain which we were about to climb. Many blocks of basalt have tumbled into it in one place and over these a suitable and safe passage has been constructed. As we crossed the chasm the rain began to fall, likewise the temperature. Long before we had reached the summit of the mountain pass the rain was pouring upon us and rolling off in rivulets from horse and rider. This was a good test of our specially made waterproof clothing and it stood the test. Never a drop penetrated save up the sleeve of the bridle hand.

At the summit, the clouds scattered again; this time in earnest and we experienced no more rain during the long trip. It was just one long and glorious summer day and we wandered care-free in full enjoyment of the wonderful country. Near the summit we passed a lonely little farmhouse and the people being absent in the hayfield the lonesome dog came out to make our acquaintance.

At this place the trail winds through an exceedingly rough area of lava, tangled and twisted. It was my first experience with recent volcanic products and it was with absorbing interest that I examined this material, as the ponies climbed the steep gradient and threaded the narrow path through the labyrinth of angular blocks. Above our heads rose a line of peaked and jagged volcanoes, Kálfstindar, Calf-Peaks. This place has been the center of considerable volcanic activity as evidenced by the different forms of lava, i. e. lava of different periods of eruption also by the weathering piles of tufa and conglomerate. Near the trail there is a peculiar formation, a tintron. This is a volcanic chimney, rising about nine feet out of the lava plain. The opening at the top is in the form of an ellipse and the tube extends forty feet down into the solid lava. The sides are blistered and it has the appearance of having been a blow-hole from which thin lava was thrown upward in the form of a fountain as water from the nozzle of a hose. There are several of these unique formations in the north which will be discussed when we reach Mývatn.

Soon after leaving the tintron, the trail wound downward along the side of the mountain and under projecting cliffs of tufa and brought us suddenly in view of the fair valley of Laugardalr, Valley-of-the-Hot-Springs. An entrancing panorama was spread out at our feet. The luxuriant green of the valley contrasted strangely with the scorched and blistered barriers over which we had been climbing. In the distance a smiling lake of no mean proportions cut a large space out of the meadows. On the nearer and the farther shore of Laugarvatn, Hot-Spring-Lake, rose columns of steam in slender spirals quivering in the breeze and vanishing in the upper air. Numerous sheep and cattle marked the valley with dots of white and brown. Besides the nearer hot springs clustered a group of farm buildings and the distance caused their turf roofs to appear like tiny hillocks. This lake and valley appear like a monstrous chrysoprase in a grand setting. The valley is enclosed by the needle spires of the volcanoes which are red, brown, yellow and gray and streaked with a mixture of all these colors on their naked slopes where the melting snows have swept down many an avalanche of ash and cinder.

We descended by a steep path to the lower level, passing many a towering pile of conglomerate of soft texture and wading through many a talus of ash and sand where the myriads of zeolites glistened. The masses of rock protruding from the tufa cliffs give them the appearance of huge plum puddings. Reaching the verdant plain we changed ponies and while waiting for them to graze, we explored a small cavern in the base of the cinder pile. This cave has long been used as a retreat for the sheep in times of storm. It has since been cleaned, a turf dwelling erected before its entrance and it now forms the home of a young Icelandic couple who have set up their housekeeping here since our visit. Remounting we sped away over the meadow, crossing many small brooks and arrived at the farm by the hot springs. This place has many signs of prosperity, such as the quality of the buildings, the numerous flocks around the lake, the abundance of hay and the thrifty patch of potatoes in its special turfed enclosure. We were cordially welcomed, taken to the guest room and served with hot coffee, milk, pastry and delicious griddle cakes, large in area and quite thin, buttered while hot, sprinkled with sugar and then rolled tightly. We found these griddle cakes at many of the farms and can cordially recommend them to a dainty appetite. At the close of the lunch we repaired to the hot springs which always had for us an unfailing interest. They are at the very edge of the lake and have formed small mounds of silicious scinter mingled with lime and alum. Wherever the hot water has fallen upon the land there is an incrustation of fantastic form. Most of the water boils over into the cold water of the lake. The spring furnishes hot water for all domestic purposes and is a great conserver of fuel. The clothes are washed in tubs beside the springs and then rinsed in the lake. Here the wool is cleansed before shipment. In the hot ground the bread is baked, the dough being enclosed in earthen jars. In a fuelless country it is a gift. It is a strange contrast this pouring out of boiling water in the margin of the cold lake.

We hastened across the meadow along the border of the lake to regain the trail leading to Geysir. Hasten is the correct word. No air was stirring and the clouds of tiny mý, midges, that rose out of the long grass as the ponies disturbed them, simply smothered us. They filled the ears of the ponies, crowding in with the long hair and swarmed in patches upon their flanks and legs. Instances are related where the midges so tormented the ponies that they rushed into the water, in spite of the protestations of the riders, that they might get rid of their tormenters. No horse of my knowledge has his ears so completely filled with hair as the Icelandic pony. Doubtless this is an adaptation for a special purpose and I believe that purpose was to protect these delicate organs from these stinging insects. We drew forth our fly veils and put them on with some relief, but as we did it while at a full gallop they were not securely fastened and some of the pests got under the netting. Here they were happy, for we could not drive them away. In desperation I pulled off my veil, for the express purpose of giving all the midges an equal chance. It needed no urging to put the ponies to their best paces, for they well understood that the insects would leave us when we had attained an elevation above the meadow.