Chapter 4 No.4

THE SOGNE FJORD (continued)

Sailing down the Sogne Fjord from the sea coast, the scenery gradually assumes wilder and grander proportions as we advance. At Vadeim it is just beginning to be interesting and attractive, and when we come to Balholm we enter into the finest part of the fjord.

Here are prosperous farms, smiling orchards, and waving cornfields, and as an effective contrast, glacier and snow-field crown the high and steep mountains around.

Tradition points to this place as the scene of the Swedish poet Tegner's "Frithjof Saga."

Among other burial mounds ("grav-haug") of chiefs from the Viking age at Balholm is pointed out that of King Belè, whose daughter was Ingeborg, whilst at Framn?s, across the fjord, dwelt Frithjof the Viking. These names all occur in the "Frithjof Saga."

At Balholm stands an English church, the only one to be found among the fjords. Built for the use of English visitors in summer-time, its design is similar to that of the ancient wooden "stav-kirk," at Vik in Sogn. It was erected recently, mainly through the efforts of the brothers Kvikne, who during their lifetime have been the means of transforming Balholm from a mere wilderness to a place of great beauty, and one of the most important places of resort among the fjords.

In an earlier part of this book reference was made to the life at a "s?ter," or mountain out-farm, a description of which may here be found of interest.

Many of the peasants who live alongside the fjords are also owners of large portions of the mountain plateaux in their neighbourhood, and on these excellent grazing is found in the summer months.

When the heavy work of the spring has been finished on the home farm, and the snow has left these highlands, and when the vegetation has had time to establish itself anew, the whole farm household gets ready to remove the domestic animals to the "s?ter." It is a picturesque sight, this cavalcade, the animals all confusion, cattle lowing and sheep bleating, their bells tinkling merrily as they skip about, the sturdy little ponies, heavily laden with necessary goods and chattels, bringing up the rear. All seem full of glee that they can now have a few months of ideal grazing on those high lands after their imprisonment indoors all the long winter.

Climbing and struggling onwards up the steep valley, then through almost trackless regions of rocks and stunted trees, they at length arrive at their destination, often after some fifteen or twenty miles of travelling.

Life at a "s?ter"

At the "s?ter" they rest for the summer months amid rich vegetation by the margin of a lake or mountain tarn, surrounded by high mountain-tops. Here they graze on the bosky slopes to the music of babbling brooks.

The "s?ter" houses are mostly small and low, of one story only; they are usually of a very primitive type, being, in fact, the earliest style of house building now in existence in the country, this ancient form surviving here long after it had been abandoned in the home farms. Attached to the dwelling-house, or forming part of it, is a dairy where butter and cheeses are made.

A white cheese, "melkost," is made from fresh cow's milk; a very strongly-flavoured old cheese comes from buttermilk-it is called "gammelost"; and from goat's milk they make "gjedost" or "brimost."

The women and girls only live up at the "s?ter," and in addition to the cheese and butter making, they must attend to their domestic animals during the four longest summer months.

The men come up from the home farm at the week-ends with necessary provisions, and take back with them the produce of the "s?ter."

Bracing is the rarified air of these high lands; and although the sun's heat is great, it is tempered by the breezes which come from snow-field or glacier on the higher mountains around.

A s?ter, Vetle Fjord

When the wild berries are ripe, the younger girls climb the heathery slopes and fill their wooden pails with the cranberries, bilberries, and cloudberries ("multeb?r"), which abound in great profusion.

Fagesi, Levros, Pentekol, Buskin: to these and other quaintly sounding names the cattle answer, the goats also being known individually by such names as Skjomos, Blegeros, Kvideben, etc.

The cattle have their chosen leader, who wears a bell attached to a leathern collar around the neck; they are led by its sound, and keep within hearing distance as they graze. The sheep and goats also wear bells, nearly all of them, but the sound of these is quite distinct from the cattle-bells.

At a certain time every evening the cows may be seen slowly making their way of their own accord to the "s?ter" house, where they quietly wait to be milked.

When it is necessary to call them from a distance, they answer to the sound of the "lur," a kind of alpine horn. This is made of birch, and is about four feet long. When blown lustily it gives out notes clear and sweet, in sound not unlike those of a cornet.

On the "lur" the "s?ter" girls are expert performers, and during the long summer evenings they love to make the mountain crags echo with delicious airs, which they produce from this primitive instrument.

The cattle know instinctively when there are bears in the neighbourhood.

At such times they hurry to the "s?ter" huts, around which they crowd, and from their melancholy lowing the girls are led to know that there is danger near. A bonfire is quickly made and kept alight throughout the night; the "lur" is also brought into requisition. Thus, by the aid of fire and music, the danger is averted, for Bruin, being fond of neither, gets himself away as quickly as he can.

Not very many years ago bears were fairly numerous in the high and wild mountain region which lies between the Sogne and Nord Fjords, but, owing in a great measure to the more general use of better guns, they have steadily decreased. The average annual number of bears shot in Norway between the years 1840 and 1860 was 230. This number has gradually dwindled down to a yearly average of 40 for the past decade.

Fjaarland in Sogn is a noted stronghold of these animals, and in this neighbourhood many bears have been shot in recent years.

One old peasant, who lived in Suphelledal here, informed me that he had during his lifetime shot over 30 bears. As witness to his tale, his face and scalp showed even then old, but quite distinct, traces of the rough handling he had received in the pursuit of his favourite sport. On one occasion, after having lain in wait for several days up the mountains, he was suddenly confronted by a she-bear with a young cub. So quickly did she appear from behind a rock, and so close to him was she, that he had not time to fire before she struck him on the head with her powerful forefoot, which action tore his scalp over his face and laid him prostrate on the ground. For a moment he felt the hot breath of the bear around his ears as he lay with face buried in the turf. No doubt thinking that he was killed outright, she proceeded, at a few yards' distance, to scrape with her powerful claws among the loose earth and débris in order to make a hole in which to hide her prey.

She stopped from time to time to look up from her work to see if her victim showed any signs of life, and being at length convinced that all was well, she went on with her task with greater energy, and from her strong claws the loose earth and stones flew in all directions.

Bear-hunting

The peasant's opportunity, for which he had breathlessly waited, presented itself. Jumping up, he seized his rifle, and with cool and steady aim he was fortunate in bringing down by that one fatal shot a fine animal in the pink of condition. He succeeded at the same time in securing her young cub, and thought himself to be in great good luck that day.

Two fine glaciers, Bojumsbr? and Suphellebr?, are in this district of Fj?rland, and both may be visited in a few hours from Mundal. These glaciers are arms of the great Jostedalsbr?, the most extensive ice-field in Europe.

The Bojumsbr? is the most important of the two in regard to size, and the surroundings are majestically grand. King Oscar II. visited this glacier in 1879.

At the Suphellebr? may be seen and heard at any time huge masses of ice falling over the precipice which cuts off the lower from the upper glacier.

At the foot of the lower glacier are several very beautiful ice-caverns, deep blue in colour, from which flows the pale-green ice-water on its way to the head of the fjord which is not far distant.

Glaciers of Fj?rland

The valleys in this district are wild and grand. There is, however, rich grazing land, and the peasants are all well-to-do; they retain in primitive fashion the habits and customs of their ancestors, and are very hospitable and kind-hearted.

The people of Sogn-"Sogninger," as they are called-are, on the whole, a powerful and gifted race. Those of Outer (Ytre) Sogn are, as a rule, placid and even-tempered, and the natives of Inner (Indre) Sogn are quick, lively, and excitable. Their dialect ("Sognemaal") is clear, rich, and full-sounding. It is one of the dialects most resembling the old Norwegian language.

Sogn was at one time the seat of mighty families, and many a warlike company of Vikings has sailed from this fjord. The ancient kings of Norway occasionally visited Sogn, but not always in a friendly way.

An old historical saga tells of a visit which King Sverre paid the "Sogninger" to take vengeance upon them for the killing of his bailiff at a place named Kaupanger, near Sogndal. Kaupanger, by Sverre's orders, was burned, and so were the houses of Sogndal. The inhabitants of these places fled to the mountains and woods, where they hid themselves and thus escaped.

Fj?rland, Sogne Fjord

Immediately after this event King Sverre met his antagonist, Magnus Erlingson, at the mouth of the Sogndal's Fjord, at a place called Fimreite. Here it was that the rival fleets came into contact. The king gained the decisive victory, and thus secured to himself the crown of Norway. This engagement was fought in the year 1184.

On the left bank of the Sogne Fjord is Slinde. At this place, near the close of the thirteenth century, lived Audun Slinde, one of the powerful chiefs whom King Erick dispatched to Scotland to fetch his bride, the Princess Margaret.

Outside the churchyard at Sogndal stands a "bauta sten," an upright column of stone, on which is the runic inscription: "King Olav shot among these stones."

As we proceed along the main Sogne Fjord we obtain glimpses down branch fjords, and beautiful vistas open out. Mountain torrents and waterfalls are seen on every side threading their steep descent among the crags, now gliding over smooth glaciated rocks, now wriggling in tortuous, snake-like fashion, then a sudden leap over a steep precipice, ending with a final splash into the waters of the fjord.

A steamer's cargo

At sunset the new-fledged moon peeped over snow-topped mountains, which are ruddy with the sun's last rays. The fjord water around is dashed with purple and pale gold, rose, and emerald. A large, cumbersome boat, laden to its utmost capacity with sheep and lambs, puts out from shore to meet the awaiting steamer. The boat is roped to the steamer's side; the sheep, handled tenderly, are transferred from it to improvised pens on the steamer's foredeck, the sheep in one compartment and the lambs in another. There is also a large open packing-case, which contains the youngest lambs.

A chorus of deep bass and thinnest treble continues spasmodically. The shepherd is among his flock, his whole time taken up in keeping watch and ward over them, especially over the lambs, whose feats of jumping tax to the utmost his patient watchfulness.

As the steamer ploughs along, a pleasant breeze plays on the surface of the now steely grey water.

The snow on the high mountains changes colour to a pale lilac, and the moon brightens as twilight advances, while over in the west the first faint star of evening glimmers in a sky of palest amber.

As we proceed the fjord contracts, the mountains are higher and steeper, in places almost perpendicular, and the waterfalls rush down with greater impetuosity into the dark fjord.

We now turn into the N?r? Fjord in brilliant twilight, and some of the grandest and wildest scenery of Sogn is presented to our view. We observe that the kind shepherd is covering up with a sackcloth the smallest lambs, which are in the packing-case on the fore-deck, as a protection from the cool night air, which is rather inclined to be frosty, even on this lovely night of May. The farther we advance up this fjord, the more sombre and overpowering is the impression we receive of this magnificent fjord scenery.

N?ro Fjord

We now approach the little hamlet of Dyrdal, romantically situated at the entrance to the narrow valley of the same name. Here huge mountains rear their massive walls into the twilight sky. The N?r? Fjord is narrowest at this point, being only a few hundred yards wide.

The sound of the steamer's syren now echoes with a metallic ring from one mountain to another in diminishing cadence of sweet notes, and in reply two large boats put out from shore to meet the steamer. With much struggling the woolly flock is transferred to the boats from the steamer, the sheep and lambs appearing quite happy-to judge by the sound of their voices-at the prospect of being on terra firma again.

At a lonely farm situated in the wildest part of N?r? Fjord it was my happy fortune to stay for some days in the merry month of May. On my arrival there, and in compliance with a signal from shore, the steamer slows up, and a boat is brought alongside. A friendly good-bye to the obliging captain, and I am rowed ashore, where I meet the kind owner of the farm, my host. He and his good wife ("kone") show me through the house, an excellent example of a "bonder's" home of the olden time.

The principal living-room is about twenty feet square. The walls display unusually thick baulks of timber, while the huge beams show distinctly the marks of the axe which fashioned them. The heavy doors are nearly square in shape, with lock and handle of antique design in wrought-iron. On one side of this room stands an elevated open hearth ("peis"), over which hangs a crane, and to this is attached a huge copper cauldron. The smoke from the peat fire escapes through the roof by a very wide open chimney. A clean-scrubbed massive table almost fills one end of the room by the side of the wall-benches. High-backed chairs, several spinning-wheels, and a carpet-weaving frame help to fill up this spacious apartment.

To reach the room set apart for me I must climb up wooden ladder-like steps. My room, simply but comfortably furnished, was fresh and clean. On the left side in a dark corner was the customary low, wooden, box-like bed, which I saw at a glance was, for one of my stature, much too short. It was piled high with some soft material on the top. This covering proved on examination to be a 4-feet square air-tight bag containing eiderdown about a foot deep. Under this was only the thinnest cotton sheet, and I began to wonder how these two as a covering could possibly remain together in harmony throughout the night, and as to whether they were calculated to cover all one's limbs at one and the same time.

On being very considerately asked on the following morning how I had slept, and if I would like an extra eiderdown on, I courteously but firmly declined.

In the N?r? Fjord

At 8 a.m. came breakfast-time. On the table were placed several kinds of native cheese, brown bread, butter and potato-cakes, dried mutton ("spege kj?d"), and boiled potatoes, four boiled eggs, and a large bowl of creamy milk. In addition to these delicacies, a cup of excellent coffee was brought in. The meal nearly ended, and not having made much impression on this mass before me, the good wife again invited me-almost coerced me-"to make a good meal," and seemed quite disappointed to find that my capacity was so limited.

Similar fare was my portion for the other meals, varied only with boiled goat's flesh, ptarmigan ("rype"), and hare or wild reindeer.

These kind-hearted peasants did all in their power to make my stay comfortable. They enjoyed a little gossip from the world outside their fjord, and it was interesting to hear them talk in their very pronounced and ancient dialect ("Sognemaal"), which is as unlike modern Norwegian "as she is spoke" as the English of Chaucer's time is to our own modern tongue.

At Styve, the wildest and most impressive part of this narrow fjord, the massive peaks of Steganaase tower overhead, on their tops a crisp powder of new snow-this was at the end of October-and across the fjord rise up perpendicular buttresses of mountains of equal grandeur and awe-inspiring character. The fjord is here about 4,000 feet deep.

At twilight the full moon was just struggling from among wreathing mists which clung around the high peaks, indicating at the same time the presence of showers of fine snow above, and as we proceeded light snow-flakes descended, falling lightly on the steamer's deck.

We were now ploughing through crackling ice, which floated in detached patches on the surface of the water.

In winter-time the fjord from here to the hamlet of Gudvangen is completely frozen over, the steamer being quite unable to proceed farther. The fjord is at that time a highway for sledge traffic to and from the steamer. In this manner the mails are conveyed over the ice to Gudvangen, where other sledges are in waiting to carry them overland to Vossevangen.

Gudvangen is so completely enclosed by huge mountains that the sun's rays do not reach it during four months of winter. The sun lights up some of the nearer tops, however, about mid-day, but then only for about a couple of hours, when all becomes grey again.

In winter and early spring destructive avalanches of snow and rock shoot down with terrible velocity into the fjord and valley from the precipitous mountain masses above, especially when thaw sets in and the heavy mantle of snow is melting.

At one place in particular in N?r?dal it will be observed, in driving, that the road threads in and out among huge boulders of rock. These massive stones formed part of a huge avalanche which descended from the crags here only a few years ago. The postman, driving at the time down the valley, only just escaped the danger by taking shelter under a large boulder near the remains of a former avalanche.

Many of the farm-houses in this narrow valley are built under the shelter of rocks, so as to be protected from the wind, which sweeps down the valley at times with terrific velocity, chiefly in winter.

N?r?dal

Some years ago I spent two October weeks in Gudvangen and N?r?dal. Arriving there overland from Vossevangen, and not dreaming but that I was certain of obtaining accommodation at the inn at Gudvangen-it being considerably past the time of tourists-to my intense surprise, I found the place full to overflowing with country folks in holiday attire-a wedding party-and, to the music of the riddle, the younger peasants and girls were dancing the favourite Halling-fling.

Every room at the inn was crowded, cakes and home-brewed ale being everywhere in evidence.

The kind and genial innkeeper, with profuse apologies at being unable to accommodate me in the house, found me, at last, a little room over the bakehouse close by, which I found fairly comfortable under the circumstances-it was at least warm and dry.

The following morning all was bustle and excitement. In the roadway outside the inn rosy-cheeked peasant-girls, in their prim, bright costumes, were exchanging pleasant banter with the boys, while the older men lounged around in groups, with hands in pockets, engaged in talking gossip at intervals between puffs of tobacco-smoke.

The wedding "bryllups" was to be celebrated that morning, and everybody was now ready except the bride, whose friends were engaged in adding the final touches to her maidenly toilet. A start is soon made, first a kind of informal procession along the short stretch of road to the pier, and a scramble into the boats, then out on the fjord, their oars keeping time to the strains of the fiddle. They row along pleasantly for a couple of miles, and then arrive at the small white wooden church, which is situated picturesquely on a rocky mound at Bakke.

There is, from here to Gudvangen, a footpath, but in parts it is somewhat rough. In several places it crosses screes of loose stories, which repeated avalanches have ground down in their career from the overhanging cliffs above to the deep fjord below. Every winter this mountain path across the screes is wiped out of existence, and a new one has to be made when the spring comes.

The wedding service over, the whole party, the clergyman ("presten") now included, return to the inn to partake of the wedding feast, and to drink the healths ("skaal") of bride and groom. The festivities are prolonged with hearty excitement, eating, drinking, and dancing the Halling-fling and Spring-dance day and night for over a week.

During my stay at Gudvangen at that time, an old woman, short in stature and poorly clad, approached me one day by the roadside, and, carefully unwrapping a many-folded parcel, at length produced a few English coins of silver and bronze. These she had earned during the past summer from passing travellers by the sale of flowers from her little garden patch. She begged me to exchange into Norwegian money these coins, which she could not use. It was a pleasure to see her wrinkled face light up with genuine gratitude for this slight service rendered her.

A few days afterwards this same little woman met me again, and gave me a tiny paper packet, which, she said, contained a few four-leaved clover sprigs. These she had taken all day to discover among the scant herbage on the mountain-side, and if I would only take and keep them, I should be lucky ever after. And who shall say that I was not?

N?r?dal is one of the grandest valleys in Norway. The narrow ribbon of road threads the deep valley, crossing and recrossing the clear mountain torrent, whose close acquaintance is kept the whole of the distance to the foot of the steep Stalheimskleven.

All the way the stupendous mountain masses seem almost ready to topple over from both sides into the narrow, gorge-like valley. The high, dome-shaped mountain, which is a conspicuous feature on our right as we proceed, is Jordalsnuten. Eagles, falcons, and other birds of prey inhabit these rugged fastnesses.

N?r?dal, from Stalheim, Sogne Fjord

At an ancient farm at the foot of Jordalsnuten the farmer showed me the feet and powerful claws of a golden eagle. These he had converted into base and pillar for a pair of candlesticks. It had happened on one day during the previous summer, when the farmer's household were engaged in the hay-field, that their work was interrupted by the sight of a large eagle, poised at a height of several hundred feet in the air. From its talons a young sheep was hanging. As they watched they saw that the eagle was gradually descending, although making powerful and frantic efforts to rise. As it neared the ground all hands rushed at once to the spot, and with hay-fork and scythe they attacked and dispatched the powerful bird and saved the sheep. Evidently the weight was rather more than the eagle could carry away, and, being unable to extricate its crooked talons from the woolly fleece, it found itself entrapped by its own prey.

The road now gradually ascends the valley, and at the foot of Stalheimskleven it takes sixteen zigzag sweeps up the face of the cliff, which is here about 1,000 feet above the valley. Immediately on the right as we ascend we see a pretty waterfall, Sivlefos, and on the left we get a glimpse of Stalheimsfos. These two fine waterfalls are romantically situated in deep and craggy gullies.

From the summit of the pass we have one of the grandest and most impressive views of the kind in Norway. Looking backward down the sublime N?r?dal, the grey, rounded dome of Jordalsnuten rises majestically on the left, its steep sides deeply furrowed by the action of avalanches. The mountain mass on the right is Kaldafjeld, and in the extreme distance we can just distinguish Kilefos, the fine waterfall near to Gudvangen. At our feet are the two waterfalls we saw on our climb up Stalheimskleven, Sivlefos and Stalheimsfos, foaming in their rocky ravines, their combined waters flowing on in a silver thread along the bottom of the deep valley. So narrow in places is the valley that there appears to be only room for the river and the road.

In the summer months this highway from Vossevangen to Gudvangen, connecting the Hardanger district with that of Sogn, is much used by travellers, and traffic is often greatly congested, especially at the terminus at Gudvangen, where the Sogne Fjord steamers are joined.

We are now among some of the most magnificent scenery in the country, and this grandeur is continued into the impressive Aurlands Fjord, which rivals its neighbour N?r? in sublimity. The huge mass of Bejteln, furrowed with enormous ravines, stands like a sentinel at the junction of the two fjords, with snow-crested Steganaase behind, rearing its mighty peaks to the skies. Huge perpendicular buttresses wall in the fjord on both sides, and from their tops waterfalls are precipitated in long streaks down the glistening dark rocks, while deep gorges are torn into the mountain forms, separating one immense gable from another.

At the foot of one of these deep gorges, and romantically situated, is the small hamlet and church of Underdal. To the left, farther up the fjord, stands Aurland, or Vangen, the principal village in the fjord parish ("vasbygd") of Aurland. The small stone church here, it will be observed, has an unusually high-pitched gable and steeply sloping roof.

From the head of this Aurlands Fjord, by ascending the Flaamsdal (the valley of the swollen river), magnificent views are obtained out over the fjord.

The road up this grand valley terminates at Myrdal Station, on the new Bergen-Christiania Railway, and near the Hallingdal entrance to the long Gravehalsen tunnel, amid mountain scenery of overwhelming grandeur and sublimity.