It was blowing hard from the east with heavy rain, but upon the west side of the mountain before us (Örœfa) the sun was shining in the most tantalising manner, so that as we urged our horses along the heavy sands we were fain to fancy ourselves exploring those dazzling glaciers and snowy slopes which seemed to fascinate the sunshine and detain it from reaching us.
We were soon under the lee of the mountains before us. Sheltered from the wind and the storm, we could stop to admire the grand sweep from the Örœfa to the commencement of the Skeiðará Jökull. Looking back at Núpstað, we saw it enwrapped in gloom, the clouds clustering round the Lómagnúpar,[1] a mountain which seems to attract all the bad weather to Núpstað and the storm sat heavily upon the western portion of the plain of Skeiðarár Sandr, which was exposed to the fury of the east winds.
Crossing the river Skeiðará, we reached the Saga-famed Svínafell. Here we stayed to refresh ourselves with the national panacea for the ills of Icelandic travel, namely, a cup of coffee of the real Icelandic brew! The art of making good coffee is one of the greatest accomplishments of the fair sex here, and it is a pity it is not more generally attained by the lady population of other countries. The occurrence of drinkable coffee in Iceland, a good cup of it being always to be obtained at the poorest farm, is the more remarkable, as the coffee sold by the merchants at the various stores is never of the best quality; but is principally the Java coffee. The grand secret of success in this special domestic art is doubtless owing to the fact that the coffee is roasted at home, exactly to the right turn, and deftly manipulated in some particular way which early training and long practice can alone effect. The last and by no means the least adjunct to this national bonne bouche is in most cases a good supply of cream.
Being thus fortified, we were taken to see a birch-tree upon the hill behind the farm. This tree might have been five-and-twenty feet in height, and it was considered the largest tree in this part of the island. There is, however, a considerable growth of bushy trees, principally birch, in the valley called Núpstaða-skógr down which the river Súla flows. It is by far the largest wood in the south of Iceland. Núpstaða-skógr is likewise remarkable for containing a breed of wild sheep, which belongs to our friend Ayólver, who is the owner of the skógar, together with the valuable farm of Núpstað. There is also another patch of wood at the north-west base of Örœfa, which is of great use to Svínafell and the adjacent farms.
The hills behind Svínafell are basaltic; but as we proceeded further eastward, we soon found ourselves surrounded by the more recent products of the volcano Örœfa, which towered above us upon our left hand. Seeing a party of horsemen approaching, we whipped our little drove together, and met them upon the grass which was a few hundred yards off.
The party consisted of an Althing’s-man, who was going to Reykjavík to attend the Althing, or Icelandic Parliament, with his servants, and the priest from Sandfell, at whose house he had been staying, and who was escorting him for a short distance. The priest turned out to be a cousin of my man Paul, so after a brief colloquy, and requesting the Althing’s-man to convey our greetings to friends at Reykjavík, we rode on to Sandfell.
Our road lay past several beds of white pumice which had all been ejected from Örœfa. A smart gallop over cinders and fragments of lava brought us to the church and parsonage. Sandfell is situated at the south base of Örœfa. Behind it rise barren hills of compact agglomerate, composed of volcanic ash and fragments of lava, but our friend the priest is compensated for his dreary surroundings by having one of the prettiest Icelandic women I have seen for his wife. She seemed quite piqued because I could not own to thinking Sandfell a very pretty place. Going hence, we crossed the stream of lava and agglomerate, which I was informed resulted from the eruption of Örœfa in 1862. This stream is a remarkable one, inasmuch as the agglomerate has flowed down in a semi-molten state, cotemporaneously with the lava, both being mixed together; the agglomerate appears to preponderate, but this may be the result of the lava being of higher specific gravity, which causes it to sink to the bottom of the stream.
We stopped for the night at Myrum,[2] on the south-west of the Breiðamerkr Sandr. The bóndi, like all the people of this district, was hastening to get to Papós with his wool. We supped and breakfasted off some birds which our host called Svartfugl. They were the nicest birds I had ever tasted in Iceland, the meat being tender and plenty of it, and I thought so well of this dish that I took one of the birds away with us for our lunch on the road.
Here we hired a fresh horse, leaving Paul’s, which had contracted a sore back, and started over the Breiðamerkr Sandr. The sands, like the Skeiðarár Sandr are the result of the great efforts of the Örœfa and Vatna Jökulls, more especially the part of the Vatna known as the Breiðamerkr Jökull, which was the one whose movements we had to examine.
The road over these sands is long and dreary, especially in such weather as had just overtaken us. We passed an extensive encampment of farmers, who were on their way to Papós; but, despairing of crossing the rivers which traverse the Breiðamerkr Sandr upon such a day with heavily laden horses, they had decided on remaining encamped upon the little patch of grass they had reached. About one third of the way over the Sandr we arrived at the farm of Kvísker, which is situated upon a little oasis of grass-land. We found it a very acceptable halting-place, and although we were wet, we were glad to sit down and take coffee and schnapps, and smoke a pipe inside; the room had no windows, and it was filled with planks and carpenter’s tools, for the house was being enlarged. We could obtain but little food for our horses, and the greater part of our day’s work had yet to be accomplished, so a quarter of an hour saw us again to horse, and rapidly approaching the extreme point of the advancing Jökull. This Jökull appeared unlike most of the Icelandic glaciers I have seen. Instead of terminating in an even slope, or steep rounded cliffs of ice, sometimes fissured, but generally very regular, it terminated in an irregular wall of cloven and contorted masses of the rifled and dislocated glaciers; while the more elevated masses assumed the form of spires, towers and grotesque architectural shapes. As we were intently looking at them, some of them tottered and fell. It is indeed a serious matter to contemplate the short distance now left between the Jökull and the sea—at one point not more than 250 yards—in addition to this, new rivers have been formed between the Jökull and the sea, which have to be crossed, but which it would be impossible to do with a strong south wind blowing. The Jökulsá is quite bad enough, but to have several miles of road converted into quicksand by the diverted waters of the Jökulsá, and to have new rivers in addition to the advance of the Jökull, is enough to make the people of the district fear for the road to Papós. One consolation may exist—that the Jökull has advanced before, and, after a considerable time, retreated. Still, as an old inhabitant of the neighbourhood informed me, “It never has advanced as it does now,” and even upon the other occasion, upon the whole, it gained ground. Alas! poor Iceland—both fire and water appear allied against it; the latter especially, in all its forms—boiling, cold, and frozen, and in the form of rain, hail, snow, and vapour! We were obliged at one point to travel along the sea-shore, where we espied the body of a large fish with some dark objects moving about it. A nearer approach showed it to be a small whale, which, from olfactory evidence, had lain there for some time. The dark objects, startled at our appearance, rose in a covey of—well, the same birds of which we had enjoyed the flavour at Myrum. Svartfugl have never tasted quite so nice to me since. At last the Breiðamerkr Sandr were passed; fresh mountains rose before us, and the weather cleared. To our right was a remarkable lagoon, Breiða-bólstaðalón; which is a narrow fjord, twelve miles in length, enclosed upon the south by a large sand-bank running parallel with the shore. This lagoon is open to the sea at the north-east end, but is too shallow for ships to enter.