Spinning in the Sæter: Isterdal.
Spinning in the Sæter: Isterdal.
To see Isterdal the only way is to walk. Let us, therefore, continue on from thesæterin the direction of the Valdal. This was done with Ole Fiva. Soon we began to ascend, for the end of the valley is precipitous, with a fine fall, the top of which must be reached before arriving at the plateau,botten, orballoch. On commencing the ascent Ole pointed out in the river below a spot where a bear had been killed; and higher upagain where a bear lived, for he had seen it there. Some idea of the situation is given by the opposite woodcut, with theaiguilleson the right. This is looking down Isterdal. The path was effaced the day before we passed by the descent of a quantity of rough stuff, more than sufficient to have carried us with it into the valley beneath. Theaiguillesare of a similar formation to the Troltinderne in Romsdal, and seem to be a nursery of trolds for future ages.
The Head of the Valley: Isterdal.[See larger version]
The Head of the Valley: Isterdal.
[See larger version]
The evening glows on these pinnacles are marvellously and beautifully grand, and the transitions of hue from one to the other beyond imagination and conception. Still we work up. Ole, ignoring the slightly defined regular track, goes up really awful places, hauling himself up, and astonishing his follower and companion by displaying the most unnecessary and enviable agility. All honour to such strength and energy! By this time we had reached the plateau from which the murky Ister takes a header into the valley which lay at our feet. Once on the plateau, we could get along better over the stunted flora and bare rocks, with snow here and there, especially on the south-west side. The track is indicated by a few pieces of rock, put here and there in a pile, which being of the same formation as the rock we are walking on, the similarity of colour makes them very indistinct at times: the best way is to look out for one on the sky-line, if possible. After a long tramp we crossed the Ister again, and found it still more turbid, which was puzzling, as it seemed to come from a glacier above; but of this more anon. We worked on until we could look down Valdal, and having drunk in nature in that direction, took a little food from our wallets, and lay down for anal frescosiesta on a handsome natural carpet offjelde reisand other vegetation.
After that, Ole began telling of expeditions, traditions, and excursions to the Jager’s Steen, and formally wound up with the report of a frozen lake which a hunter had seen, but which had not been visited since. Could we find it? Was the Herr inclined to go? “Most certainly.” So we started.
There is a wonderful sense of freedom, and yet of a closer commune with one’s Creator, in wandering over almost untrodden ground to admiresome portion of his works that have been rarely visited by man. It is suggestive of drawing aside the veil of the tabernacle of nature; and happy is the man who derives comfort and soul strength in so doing! Ole led straight up over rocks bare and betumbled; not a symptom of vegetation; above us a glacier coming to the edge of a precipice, and the melting ice forming a fringed fall. We lay down, looking over the side on a bed of scarlet and crimsonfjelde reis, a kind of cotoneaster. Beyond this ledge we saw the glacier imperceptibly coming on, backed in the long perspective of glacial blocks by a huge bare mass of rock, the Biskop, and the Drönningen. This was the source of the Ister. The water, some distance from the foot of the fall, passed over a soft deposit, which sullied its pristine purity right down to the sea, the “murky Ister,” thus acquiring near its origin its characteristic turbidity.
Melting Glacier over Valdal.
Melting Glacier over Valdal.
Now for a try for the unknown lake. Ole keeps on, thinking he has his bearings all right. At last, having climbed up by the side of a fall dashing down through bare rocks, came the summit, and creeping round a boulder, before us lies a lake intensely deep in colour, and full of icebergs and floesof old ice. Where we stood there was snow, with tracks of reindeer; but in places the former had melted, thelemmingshad been there, and the reindeer-flowers were coming up. These we eat withfladbrod og smörafter a time, for we could not at once settle down to a snack without paying a tribute of respect to the majesty of nature before us. Beginning our meal in earnest, in the midst of it we heard a noise like a roll of thunder, the direction of which we soon discovered. On the left side of the lake the vast expanse of snow was riven by a gigantic avalanche, which ploughed its way down, and, coming to the edge of the rocks, plunged headlong into the lake, agitating all the ice, and causing the icebergs to jostle each other; but both water and ice soon regained their equilibrium, and nature lay before us in solemn silence and undisturbed majesty. It can well be imagined that having once attained such a spot—some 5,000 feet above the sea—there was a desire to linger, though the day was fading, and we had five and a half hours’ walk home. However, “En route!” was the word. Straight down from bare rock to rock simply ends in no knees after a time, and one’s legs become something between strips of asparagus and sea-kale. There was, however, one thing in store: once on a fair road, we could make some running. It was a lovely evening: we were late, it was true, but, as horses go freely with their noses towards home, we both took to the road very kindly, and went along with a will. Ole did not talk much. It is the pace that kills, and after sixteen hours’ trudge with our provisions, he no doubt felt that he had done enough. With health and strength, such a day amidst grand scenery is a joy for ever.
Church Axe.
Church Axe.