Iceland: Horseback tours in saga land

by W. S. C. Russell

Flag of the Arctic Club of America on the Summit of Krafla.

Obsidian Ridge, Hrafntinnuhryggr, near Summit of Krafla.

We had planned to leave Skútustaðir at eight in the morning but it was one in the afternoon when we parted from our genial host. His little daughter opened the tún gate and we rode out upon the great heath which reaches from Mývatn to Ljósavatn. The great delay was caused by the straying of the ponies. A week before I had swapped a pony with the farmer at Ljósavatn. The pony had taken it into his wise little head to return to his old home without the trouble of carrying his pack and he was followed by three of our riding ponies. It was several hours before Ólafur overtook them and returned to the lake. The innumerable midges around the lake greatly annoy the ponies and often cause them to wander. Sometimes they are so violently attacked by swarms of these insects that they will rush headlong into the water to rid themselves of their tormentors. When the grass is good and the wind and midges do not annoy, they do not wander but graze quietly during the night and are easily captured when wanted. A child with a string will go to the grazing land, fasten it around the lower jaw of one of the ponies, mount and drive the troup to the farm house to be saddled. It is never necessary, as it often is in New England, to spend an hour to coax a horse with a measure of grain. The Icelandic horse is a type peculiar to the country. He is the descendant of the Scandinavian steed taken to that country centuries since by the early settlers. He has become thoroughly inured to the conditions and has developed characteristics not found in any other breed of horses. His weight is from 500 to 600 pounds, though some run a little heavier. The mane is very thick and long; the tail is a great brush about ten inches in diameter and unless clipped drags upon the ground. In the driving wind, rain or sleet, the pony turns his tail to the storm and with lowered head, if untethered, walks out the gale. The wind spreads the thick hair over his hips and even though matted upon the surface with sleet it becomes an admirable protection. The hair of the tail is very long and is used by the farmers for making ropes to bind hay. The horses are well built, usually fat, free from blemishes, slender in the legs, wide between the eyes, broad backed and deep chested. Their sagacity is remarkable. In fording rivers, in crossing the ragged lava, in picking their way over stone-strewn heaths, across quaking bogs, or in the rugged defiles or on the precipitous slopes of the trailless mountains, they are the wisest, kindest, surest and the finest saddle horses.

The endurance of these little steeds is a continual surprise to the stranger. In the bogs and in rubble riding they are extremely cautious and if they are allowed to negotiate the difficult places in their own way, will never bring the rider to grief. I said they were sure footed and the fact that I have been thrown a few times is not contrary to the statement. When a pony is ridden at an eight mile pace down a declivity thickly strewn with loose stones, if he stumbles three times a month it should not be attributed to the pony as a fault but rather to the recklessness of his rider. Their living is obtained entirely out of doors. In the spring the young horses are driven into the mountains where they run wild until late in the autumn when they are taken to the farm for the winter. It is only occasionally during the most severe portion of the winter that they are provided with hay and never with grain, except work-horses in the city. When four years old they are broken to the saddle. There are about 50,000 ponies in the country and hundreds are exported to Denmark and Scotland yearly. The steamer upon which we returned from Iceland the first summer carried 376 ponies. The saddle ponies have different steps, some amble, some trot, some gallop, some pace,—all have at least two of these methods while some of them have all of these methods and a good rider can take his choice or have his pony change from one to another.

A troup of ponies on a journey will usually stay together. Although we frequently passed through mountain pastures where scores of horses were grazing, we never knew one of our ponies to leave the company of his own companions. On arrival at a farm the ponies are led with a string, for the Icelander is jealous of every blade of grass within his enclosure and it is a mark of discourtesy to permit the ponies to graze about the buildings. The best ponies are raised in the rich valleys of the north rivers and it is there that the Icelandic gentleman goes for his fancy saddle horse, as the Yankee formerly went to Kentucky.

The straying of the ponies is not the only cause of a late departure in the morning. The Icelander is never in a hurry. Every night we held a solemn council with the guide and it was usually agreed that we would leave at nine in the morning, sometimes the time set was eight. But, if the ponies had not strayed then it was found that several of them must be shod; if they did not need shoeing the saddles needed attention; if the saddles were in good condition then the morning coffee was late, so that we usually started two hours after the appointed time.

The best advice to a prospective Yankee in Iceland is,—Do not fret. Go and take photographs while the ponies are being saddled. When they are saddled go and take some more. When everything is ready, start. To the nervous and rushing American this is an unusual procedure. But, the charm of Icelandic travel is the abundance of time, freedom from any real cause for worry and the knowledge that darkness can not overtake the summer traveller, no matter where or when he travels. There is also the certainty that he will receive a cordial reception, no matter when he arrives. Impatient Americans need a summer on horseback in Iceland to curb their impetuosity.

One day we had a pleasant experience in calling at a farm house where lived friends of our guide. We were invited into the guest room which contained a narrow bed, a big round table and an organ made in Brattleboro, Vt. Our host produced the usual horn of snuff and with it some excellent cigars. He then played and sang to us in Icelandic,—“There’s a Land that is Fairer than Day.” He wished us to photograph his children but their mother first insisted in putting them through the hair-combing process. After this they were lined up in front of the house, seven in a row. After repeated efforts on the part of the older ones to keep the hands of their baby brother out of his mouth the picture was taken with success. The mother disappeared for half an hour and then returned with coffee and freshly made pancakes rolled in sugar.

The host and hostess then showed us all over their house, a turf structure and typical of the older houses in the country. Such farm houses contain narrow, windowless corridors, winding in labyrinthian maze from room to room. In this house one passageway led to a large open mound where a fire is made to smoke fish and meat and incidentally the whole house and everything in it. Another passage leads to the real kitchen with an iron stove. The walls are all of turf as are the partitions and the roof, with just enough driftwood in the roof to make a framework to hold the turf in place. Steep stairs lead to the baðstofa, sleeping apartment, which frequently forms the sleeping and sitting room and the common work room of the entire family, especially in winter. Bunks built into the wall extend around the room and are frequently filled with seaweed or feathers over which is spread a fold or two of wadmal and a thick coverlet of eider down. The floor of the baðstofa is of boards but the floors down stairs are frequently of hard earth which frequently becomes damp. From the ceiling are suspended numerous articles of domestic economy while large chests, ornately carved, containing clothing and valuables are scattered through the house.