Thverá, a Highland Home in the Öxnadalr.
Vatnsdalshólar, Numberless Conical Hills in Vatnsdalr.
During the week the rapidly melting snows had carried away the bridge over the Thverá and we found it necessary to cross the torrent on a stringer. With a little coaxing all the ponies walked across except our faithful black pack pony. Vexed at the delay in removing his packing boxes, and anxious to be with his companions grazing on the opposite bank, he ran rapidly up and down the stream, repeatedly trying the river for a place to ford with his load which was still fastened to the saddle. Ólafur was on the opposite side resaddling the other ponies. Old Black became frantic, shook himself repeatedly, ran sideways into a projecting rock in the canyon and freed himself from his load; he then ran to the stringer, crossed and grazed contentedly with his mates and in positive forgetfulness of the wreckage he had left strewn upon the opposite shore. The cases had burst open and their contents were scattered along the sides of the river and some of the items were actually rescued with difficulty from the running water. Fortunately Old Black was not carrying my photograph outfit that morning as was his usual custom. Again in 1913 in my crossing of the interior of Iceland I had this same horse and of all the pack ponies which I have used during my four different journeys I have never found one equal in value to this one. His peculiar trait was to pick a trail for himself and his intelligence in this work was noteworthy. He was always given the most valuable portion of my load and whether in the bogs, on the rough mountains where there were no trails or in the fording of difficult rivers he was always worthy of the trust I imposed in him. The one accident mentioned above is the only one he has had in his long years of service as a pack pony.
Clumps of mountain ash, in Europe called rowan tree, here and there adorn a sheltered spot and their association with the angular lava recalled to my mind the Lay of Geirod, a kind of parable concerning the fires of Iceland. Greatly abridged it runs as follows:—
“Loki, the beguiler, flew away one day in quest of adventures in Frigga’s falcon dress. He flew to a huge castle over the sea and alighted on a great castle and looked into the hall. Geirod saw him and ordered him to be caught. The slave climbed the wall with difficulty and Loki laughed to see the labor the man made. He resolved not to fly till the slave had nearly caught him. He waited too long, as he spread his wings to mount to the next height and lead on his pursuer, the slave caught him by the feet and took him to Geirod, the giant, who, when he looked at him believed him to be a human and not a real bird. He bade him answer but Loki was silent. Loki could only regain his liberty by promising the giant that he would lure Asa Thor to this fastness without his hammer. Geirod was sure he could destroy Thor if he could meet him without Thor having his wonderful hammer. Loki beguiled Thor to visit Geirod without his hammer; but a friendly giantess, Grida, Grace, in whose house Thor lodged, knowing the plot of Loki and Geirod, loaned Thor her staff and iron gauntlets.”
“Thor discovered the plot and in trying to escape waded the sea, whereupon Gjálf, (din or roar of ocean), Geirod’s daughter, flung the waves at Thor. Thor cast a rock at Gjálf and he never missed when he cast a stone, and thus with stone hurling and with the aid of his staff and gauntlets he reached the land. He caught hold of a friendly ‘rowan’ and climbed out of the water.”
Because of this myth the mountain ash has ever since been sacred to Thor.