Iceland: Horseback tours in saga land

by W. S. C. Russell

In the afternoon the Doctor from Blönduós arrived at the farm to pay a social call and the farmer brought him to our sitting room, while the eldest daughter served us with the usual social beverage in Iceland. Two pleasant hours passed during which we gained much information about Icelandic customs, local history and legends.

The rain came down still harder in the evening but we welcomed it as it promised warmer weather and bare ground on the morrow. So much water had come into our bed room that it was only by judicious side stepping and walking on the tops of the packing boxes that we were able to reach the bed without a cold and muddy footbath.

There are three things in Iceland that have never been counted:—The islands in Breiðifjörðr, Broad-Fiord, the lakes of Arnavatnsheiði, Eagle-Lake-Heath, and the conical hills of Vatnsdalr, Water-Dale. Our stopping place, Hnausar, which signifies rough ground, is in the midst of these peculiar hills and in the center of the valley. We spent three days among the hills and found them of marked interest to the geologist. Hundreds of acres are covered with the cones rising from the plain to an elevation of from twenty-five to over one hundred feet. Oftentimes they are so near together that their bases are confluent and thus seem to be double peaked in a few instances. Geologists have given different reasons for this queer formation. One states that they are of glacial origin and were left when the ice melted in the form of moraines; another is of the opinion that they are the results of great avalanches upon the glacier, which in melting left them here. Another states that they are merely the weathered fragments of a local lava flow. I spent a day in their examination and so will give my reasons for rejecting the causes assigned by these gentlemen and substitute my own conclusions in order that future scientists interested in the geology of Iceland may confirm or refute according as they weigh the evidence.

They can not be glacial moraine as there is no evidence of any glacial action in any way upon any of the fragments and it must be remembered that as compared with glaciated areas in other lands Icelandic glaciation is as if it occurred yesterday. In fact glaciers are still covering many square miles of the table land. There is no evidence of any water erosion on any of the stones. They could not have been avalanches upon the ice sheet for there are no mountains near at hand from which such masses of material could have come. And if it is argued that the avalanches were at a distance it turns the problem once more into that of the moraine. The character of the valley and its low mountains will not permit our reason to accept either the glacial or the avalanche theory.

There is no evidence of any great lava flow either in plugs, intrusive sheets or surface flow, neither in the necessary abundance of scoriae and blistered fragments to warrant such a theory. And if there were, we must then explain why these are “cones” and not craters with blistered rims and solid slopes. We must turn to Mývatn for the explanation. It is my opinion that deep seated and violent subterranean explosions of considerable frequency took place here, as in the case of Hverfjall the giant explosion crater of Mývatn. It heaved up the crust in crumpled masses, mingling the different basalt formations of ancient flows which lay in superimposed sheets. How else can one account for the many kinds of lava in a single cone, the absence of blistering and cones in place of craters? I have performed an interesting experiment in the laboratory upon this theory and with results that seem to verify the above conclusions. A two liter copper beaker was chosen. It was half filled with clay dust of different colors in layers. This dust was prepared by thoroughly drying the clays, pulverizing and then dusting it through a double fold of cheese cloth. This gave me particles large enough for my miniature experiment. The beaker was then slowly heated from the bottom. After due process of time with the increase of heat the subterranean gases, in this case air in the dust, expanded. At first with slightly audible bumps and a faint trembling of the surface. These increased until the action became violent and small mounds were thrown up which formed true cones with mingled colors from the different depths.

Vatnsdalr is a fair and pleasant valley, when the sun shines. No wonder that it possessed a charm for the early settlers with its parallel mountain ridges of entrancing blue, its noble river expanding into fine sheets of water where trout are abundant and its fertile meadows of broad expanse. It is historic ground as well as legendary. It has known stirring days and its heroes were the bravest of any who wielded the axe and bill in the troublesome times when blood alone could recompense a personal affront or a crossed lover. A whole sheaf of Sagas relate the deeds of the men and women of Waterdale. The valley is the same as of old. The inhabitants point out the exact localities where the guest halls of the nobles stood and where their temples of sacrifice were reared to propitiate the gods of Valhalla; they show one where the champions battled for their rights, where the lovers held their trysts and the mounds where the heroes were entombed. These incidents have been handed down from generation to generation, from father to son and the stories were oft repeated in the bathstófa during the long winter evenings when the Arctic shore was frozen and the wind whirled the drifting snows around their turf huts.

Besides the lengthy Sagas there are numerous shorter stories that have been preserved in written form such as that of Gisli, the Outlaw; Grettir, the Strong and Glum. It is a knowledge of the Sagas and the legends that spread the charm over this valley, that leads one from the present to the past by a jump backwards of many centuries. To visit Iceland, especially the Saga Dales, in ignorance of their history would be like tramping through Scotland without any acquaintance with Sir Walter Scott, or a sojourn in London without a knowledge of Dickens.

In most countries the progress of modern life, with its inventions and the eternal scramble for the latest style in everything, has obliterated much if not all of the past and one can only obtain the colors of the former ages in the ruins of a castle or cathedral or from the written pages of the antiquary. Not so in Iceland,—farms, mountains, rivers, lakes and meadows remain the same and under the same names given to them by the first settlers, though it be ten centuries of time. No railway or canal, no public improvements, modern cities or factories have obliterated the ancient landmarks. Even the manners and dress of the people are little changed from that early day. On the ruins of the tumbled-down hut of his grandfather the grandson erects his house in the same fashion and the descendants of the first imported sheep furnish skins for shoes still tanned, cut and fashioned after the ancient model. To visit the remote dales of Iceland is to be set backward in history and fashions a thousand years.

The Waterdale Saga tells us how Ingmundr, a grand old Viking, after years of sea-roving and plundering along the shores of the southern seas settled in this valley with his followers. He had made a vow that no matter where he might roam that Norway should always remain his home. The witches of Finland prophesied that Iceland would be his resting place and so it was. At the farm called Hof, Temple, one may still trace the position of his great Scali, Banquet Hall, and there beside it winds the river where the old man lost his life. He had promised protection to a renegade who treacherously slew his benefactor. Ingmundr went to his high seat in the hall after the blow, wrapped his cloak around him and died alone. His grandson, Ingólfr, was “the handsomest man in all the northern lands.” Here is a song written about him over 800 years ago by a little maiden who admired him:—

“All the pretty maidens