Iceland: Horseback tours in saga land

by W. S. C. Russell

The ascent of Vaðlaheiði, Wade-Heath, in sunshine is one of the best rides in Iceland. The long fiord opens out to the Arctic Ocean at our feet and the distant Jökulls rise into prominence with diadems of ice upon their brows. The pastures on the lower slopes stud the valley with gems of emerald. Nearing the summit we came upon the unmelted snows of winter, which were crusted sufficiently to support the horses. Here we found a company of men laboriously dragging telephone poles to the summit to repair the damage of the winter storms. At an elevation of 2,300 feet above the fiord we reached a flat moorland which slopes gently, at first, towards the east. We paused to bait the ponies and stretched ourselves at length on a mound of Arctic flowers and gazed across the valley to the Vindheima Jökull, Home of the Winds.

We followed a zigzag line of cairns down towards the valley of the Fnjóská, Touch-Wood-River. The view of this valley with the broad, swift river flowing in a long series of S-curves, the enormous mounds of volcanic ash fantastically sculptured by the wind, the little farm by the river where we refreshed ourselves with real cream and the forest of diminutive birch on the opposite bank of the river, these will never be forgotten. To one accustomed to seeing the joyous meadows of Iceland in undulating reaches of emerald green sprinkled with brilliant flowers, the tangled heaths of the uplands where roam uncounted sheep and half-wild ponies and the barren slopes of the foot hills of the volcanic ranges, as viewed from any descending trail,—this prospect is extremely pleasing. It must be remembered that there are no real forests in Iceland. Henderson, writing in 1817, says,—

“About a hundred years ago the valley exhibited one of the finest forests in Iceland, but now there is not a single tree to be seen,—such has been the havoc made by the inclemency of the seasons and the improvident conduct of the inhabitants. The remains of this forest are still visible on the east side of the river, which divides the valley, in the numerous stumps of birch trees which present themselves, some of which exceed two feet in diameter.”

That there were large forests in the ancient days we have plenty of evidence in the numerous references in the Sagas. In the thirty-sixth chapter of Burnt Njál we read:—

“There was a man named Swart, Bergthora’s house-carle. Now Bergthora told him that he must go up into Redslip and hew wood; I will get men to draw home the wood.”

There is further evidence that the wood was large enough so that it was hewn for ship-building and for houses. Since Henderson’s day, the Fnjóská forest has sprouted and grown to a considerable size. The trees are four to eight feet high and mostly of birch. There are several of these birch forests in Iceland and the government not only protects them but provides a trained forester to study the local problems of forestation. Though not large enough for timber yet the birch has a definite value for the people. The branches and brush are used to lay between the layers of fuel while drying and the larger pieces are used to make plaiting on the roofs over which turf is laid. The tough birch also lends itself well to the making of rakes and other implements upon the farm.

Until quite recently the passage of the Fnjóská was most difficult and we were agreeably surprised to find a reinforced concrete bridge spanning the flood. What a task was its construction! The cement and steel had to be transported over the mountain by the ponies from Akureyri but a great mistake was made in its width. It is suitable for horseback crossing but will not permit the passage of even a two-wheel cart of short axle, such as is being introduced upon some of the farms. The building of these bridges is doing much to bring the remote farms into closer relationship.

Crossing a waste of wind-driven sand and ashes we arrived at the parsonage of Háls, Ridge, a farm of great antiquity. For many centuries it has been the resting place for travellers across the mountains from Akureyri to the east. Even in Saga days, when farers from over the seas drew up their ships in the fiord for the winter and journeyed eastward for “guesting” they made use of this place for refreshment. We did not call as we hoped to reach another farm at the far end of the lake by evening.

The descent of the ridge into the upper end of the valley is pleasing because of the varied scenery. At the foot of the hill we crossed a bog and forded a small stream; the bog was difficult on account of recent rain and the ponies moved with greatest caution. When we reached solid ground we halted to graze the ponies and to examine the rich flora of the locality. As we mounted a party of Englishmen whirled by at a furious gallop. This gave us some concern as we knew that the farm towards which we were making our way had accommodations for only one party and it looked as if they intended to be the party. We learned later that they turned towards the north in search of a coal deposit, which it is needless to say they did not find.

Ljósavatnsskarð, Lake-of-Light-Pass, is a narrow valley, a watershed. The stream that tumbles down the gorge from the mountains divides into two arms, one flows eastward into the lake and the other westward into the Fnjóská. The ride down towards the lake is one continual crossing of small streams that rush down the snow gullies. From the pass to the margin of the lake we crossed, by actual count, fifty-three of these white streams during a ride of two hours.