Having relieved my emotion by this crude expression of my feelings, I took one more fond look and then turned in to rest for the night, feeling amid my regret at leaving old Iceland, something akin to an inward pride, to think that although so humble a member of the Alpine Club, I had been enabled to accomplish so much, and that, too, notwithstanding the doubts of my friends, and the opinion of Mr. Forbes, who seems to have formed very erroneous notions as to the Vatna Jökull, or of the determination and endurance a member of the Alpine Club is capable of if once he sets his mind upon exploring a mountain.
To return to my narrative. Soon after day-break my men and I were again astir and in our saddles; but I was sorry to perceive that the weather had changed for the worst, which was a serious thing for us, seeing that we had a long, bad road before us, as well as a tiring journey to perform under various difficulties, enough to daunt the sturdiest of us. To add to our misery the clouds above were black as ravens’ wings, and a fierce wind blew in such piercing gushes that we could scarcely stand against them, as they came bursting on straight into our very teeth. As I shuddered beneath the blast, I consoled myself with the thought that such a parting with Iceland was, after all, quite characteristic; and soon one poetic notion after another took such possession of me that by the time I had got thoroughly awake I began to find myself growing quite warm with excitement, and of course less sensible to the real severities of the storm. True to his kindly nature, and well sustaining the character of his countrymen, my old friend the bóndi of Ísholt resolved to see me part of the way on my journey; and although unwilling to trouble him, I must certainly acknowledge the extreme pleasure this trifling act of courtesy and kindness afforded me. And when at last the hour arrived for us to separate, we shook each other heartily by the hand, and cheered ourselves in a parting cup which drained the last of my schnapps. “God speed” having been expressed on both sides, I resolutely turned my back upon the fascination of the distant mountains, and faced the driving storm of wind and sand to thread my way southward.
Our route at first lay over a series of low terraced hills, and presently a wet tedious ride brought us to a cluster of small stone cairns, round which were collected a number of horses’ bones, not a very cheering sight to our own animals, and they seemed rather shy of the ghastly remains of their ill-fated brethren.
While looking on this sad sight, Paul told me it was often the custom to write a verse, and leave it in a bone upon such a mound as this for the next traveller, and, accordingly, I wished to do so too, but could not find one suitable, and so we felt ourselves relieved from the responsibility of keeping up the “old custom.” It would have been all the same, however, if we had desired to do so, for the cheerless prospect of fog and rain, with the apparently boundless Sprengisandr around us, varied only by an occasional glimpse of some snowy Jökull, would have been sufficient to freeze the most gushing of poetical ideas.
Wishing to quit this spot without delay, we determined upon taking the route known as the Arnarfells-vegr upon the west bank of the Thjórsá rather than follow the track upon the east, as by doing so we should be able to cross the numerous smaller rivers whose confluent waters form the Thjórsá, one by one, instead of having to wait perhaps a day or so, until the waters of the Thjórsá should be sufficiently low to enable us to ford them.
In the course of our journey we passed between Arnarfells Jökull and Tungufells Jökull, and thence bearing to the west, we got as close to the former as possible in order that we might cross these smaller arms at their source. Some of these arms, I imagine, must be very difficult in warm weather, for even upon this cold and stormy day they were in many places over our horses’ girths.
Arnarfell, upon the N.E., rises from a band of glaciers, from which steep slopes of snow sweep up to the black peaks of Arnarfell-hið-Mikla which must be of considerable altitude, a little more than a Danish mile away from the termination of the glacier. The nature of the ground we were traversing precluded the possibility of quick riding, hence it took us five hours more to reach Arnarfell-hið-Mikla, which was to be our destination for the night. This elevation is a cluster of eminences formed of agglomerate, which has been weathered into peaks of considerable height, and these are traversed by several dykes and intruded masses of basaltic lava. Here we found a good patch of grass and angelica, extending along the sides of Arnarfell-hið-Mikla, as well as along the banks of the river washing its eastern base.
Our arrival at this part disturbed a bevy of swans, which at this season of the year (August) lose the feathers of their wings, of course preventing their flight. Taking advantage of this, chase was immediately given, and four of their number very soon captured.
I am glad to say the next morning showed us a more cheery prospect, for a stiff breeze blew from the N.W., and although the clouds hung upon the mountains, the sun occasionally broke through, encouraging us to put some of our wet things out to dry. While this was being done I ascended the Arnarfell-hið-Mikla, and was well repaid for my trouble, for the clouds were lifting from the adjacent mountains, which gave me a peep at the Vatna Jökull, as well as the more western hills, over the broad plain lying between it and the Arnarfells Jökull. The Sprengisandr is here cut up by a network of rivers and streams, which upon our side of the Sprengisandr all flowed into the Thjórsá. We now pursued our way with a bright sun shining upon us; the ground was in most places covered with swampy moss, which was much better travelling than the stones of the preceding day. Many streams with quicksands had to be crossed, whose waters were all the deeper for the fine weather we were enjoying. Turning thence directly southwards we struck the main stream of the Thjórsá. Travellers to the south who take the eastern route generally cross this stream at this point, but they are sometimes detained for days in consequence of freshets, which may occur at any season of the year; therefore the west side of the Thjórsá, though a little longer, is found to be much the surer road. Here we saw a number of sheep grazing upon the opposite bank, belonging to farmers in the south; and as may be well imagined, we hailed their appearance as the first sign of the “Suðurland” we were approaching.
After a short enjoyable halt here, we continued our journey to a point between the rivers Kisá and Miklilœkr, where we encamped. On continuing our journey, an uninteresting ride over an undulating and gradually descending moor, which in fine weather commands a good view of Hekla, brought us to an ancient lava stream which had flowed from the Rauðu Kambar, an old volcano lying to the west of the road, and here again we found ourselves amongst lava, pumice and black sand.