Part 11

At this altitude we found the ptarmigan sitting about. The shooting of these birds does not commence until August 15th, and they seemed to know that we, as Englishmen, would not shoot before that day. So we actually threw stones at them, and one old bird, when knocked off the top of a large stone, positively came back to see what it was all about. Soon after this we discovered _freske spör_ (new deer slots). The dogs livened up for a time. All soon settled, however, into steady travel again. Danjel was telescoping continually, but frequently a supposed reindeer turned out to be only a stone in the snow, till at last the Patriarch ventured to remark that there were “mange stor steen in Gamle Norge, og maget god telescope jagt,” which Danjel understood to suggest real deer instead of stones, and we should all have preferred, as it was one of the objects of our expedition, shooting reindeer to telescoping them. They are very wild, and quite justify the old saying, “Mange dyr, mange øine” (many deer, many eyes). Our course now lay from Buvalden due north, and we started in good time from Thorbvu for the snow ranges, leaving the horses and baggage below, we going as light as possible, with our own food for the day, and plenty of goat cheese. At lunch Danjel explained to the Patriarch that he should eat much goat cheese, for if he eat sufficient he should partake of the nature of that saltatory animal, and in time jump cleverly and boldly from rock to rock—an accomplishment in much requisition during our wanderings.

An incident of piscatorial interest occurred here. We sent a hunter, who had never had a rod in his hand before, down to a lake, or _vand_, to try for some trout. In an hour he came back with about twenty, averaging nearly one pound each. Of course he was not casting, or “flick” would have been the fate of the fly; he only trailed. Still his success was perfect, and he was delighted with his new sport.

The male reindeer are called _bucks_, the female _ko_ and _semle ko_, and the young _kalve_. In the daytime they roll in the snow, and if they sleep at all, it is certainly with one eye open. Having seen and telescoped many large stones, and taken them for deer, there was a strong inclination to inquire more closely as to the probability of sport, and a suppressed anxiety to hear a definite opinion as to our chance of a shot, if nothing more. The hunter must be patient, persevering, careful not to appear even as a moving speck on the interminable expanse of virgin snow, and take his sport quietly, for better or worse. Our Tentmaster had made many expeditions, had seen many deer, and even when his chance came an impetuous—shall we say friend?—rushed out in front of him, fired, and missed. So tradition said. We are glad to state that this did not occur during our present trip. His successes arrived, however, after a time, and never will he forget the day when he killed his first reindeer. Long may he live to kill more!

Let us here give his first experience; so pray silence for the Tentmaster.

THE TENTMASTER’S FIRST TRIP, AND HOW HE TRIED TO GET A REINDEER.

“In the year 1863 I ascended the glorious Norwegian fjelds for the first time to hunt reindeer. What a charm is conveyed in these words, ‘first time!’ The first salmon or trout caught; the first grouse or partridge shot; the first meet at cover and burst with the hounds; the first climb up the snow peaks of Switzerland; the young beauty’s first London season, or first night at the opera or ball; and last, not least, first love, all have a peculiar zest never afterwards equalled.”

(N.B.—The Tentmaster is rather sentimental.)

“I experienced this feeling in August, 1863, when, journeying up the magnificent Romsdal valley, on arriving at a station I noticed a splendid head of reindeer horns lying outside the station-house. On inquiry I found that a Norwegian hunter had brought them down from the fjelds. I lost no time in searching him out, and soon arranged for an expedition together. I had no provisions, tents, spare clothing, or other appliances which my subsequent experience has shown to be requisite, but began the ascent with the meagre store of some raw coffee berries, _flatbrod_, cheese, and biscuits. The hunter (Dan I call him) could not speak English, nor I Norske; but we got on pretty well by pantomime. After a pleasant but toilsome three hours’ walk through the grand scenery peculiar to the Norwegian fjelds, Dan’s hound Passop (the reindeer hounds are held in a leash two or three yards long) suddenly squatted down in great excitement, with his nose steadily pointed to a huge rock about three hundred yards distant, and gave a peculiar low whine. Dan was down immediately, and signalled me to do the same. He was certain that reindeer were close at hand, but a full half-hour’s telescoping failed to disclose their whereabouts. Nothing could induce Passop to move; his sniffing nose kept steadily in the direction of the rock; while he occasionally gave us a most intelligent, imploring look, as much as to say, ‘Do something.’ Unable to see any trace of deer, we dare not move. Dan thought that wherever they were, there they would remain some time; so, with faithful Passop on the watch, we determined to have lunch. Not a bite, however, would Passop touch—not even _flatbrod_ thick with butter. There he squatted, with his nose still to the rock, the model of a watchful sentinel. Lunch finished, Dan began telescoping, and soon discovered the cause of Passop’s agitation. The tips of antlers were visible above the rock, and in distinct relief against the sky. They were perfectly motionless; but we were quite sure, after many exciting inspections with the telescope, that a large buck was resting behind the rock. As the wind was not very favourable Dan said we must be quite still, and remain till we saw a movement. In my innocence I wished to smoke a pipe, but Dan forbade it. The excitement was increased by Dan saying it was a large buck, probably an outlying sentinel, and that a herd of deer was not far off, which proved correct. Our patience being exhausted, Dan, much to the delight of Passop, ordered a forward crawling movement; and, with time and patience, we got within eighty yards of the rock, where we determined to halt and wait. The tops of the antlers were still motionless. Poor Passop was trembling with excitement, and his companions much the same. In this position another half-hour passed, when suddenly Dan exclaimed, ‘Look!’ Passop became very uneasy, when we had the pleasure of seeing a splendid _stor buck_ rise up and stand before us broadside, with his head turned to where we were crouching. Passop behaved splendidly, remaining perfectly still, while I shall never forget the expression of his eyes, and his occasional side glance at us, as much as to say, ‘Now then.’ Resting my rifle on a convenient rock, I took aim steadily behind the shoulder, pulled the trigger, and, to my horror, it missed fire. The buck heard the snap, and started off at a rattling pace; Passop struggled wildly to get out of the leash; and Dan exclaimed, ‘Gud bevar mig! Give me my riffel.’ I handed it to him, he recapped it, and fired at about two hundred yards’ distance without effect. Passop collapsed, and the translation of his thoughts into English was indicated by the expression of his face, ‘I have done my best!’ No doubt he had a clear conscience; and work being finished, he commenced eating _flatbrod_ and butter with great zest. The inevitable pipes were now brought out for consolation. Wonderful weed—exquisite after a success, soothing after a defeat!

“We now made our way to a stone cave to pass the night, where we had coffee and _flatbrod_. The cave was just large enough for me to creep in, and I passed the night on dried moss, sleeping soundly till daybreak. The night being very fine, Dan took up his quarters outside the cave, had coffee, and slept soundly on dried moss too. After breakfast we started, Dan being sure we should find the herd. At one o’clock we discerned them, fourteen in number, taking their noonday siesta on the snow; but in vain we tried to get within shot. Next day we saw herds of deer, but without being able to get within range on account of the quantity of snow. On the third day I returned to the station, much delighted with my first reindeer-hunting experiences. Often as I have been on the fjelds since, the three days of 1863 have not been surpassed, although

NO DEER WAS KILLED.”

• • • • •

It would be well here to say a few words respecting the tents and their arrangement.

A regular _tente abri_ carries two very well. Of course there are more room and comfort for a single inhabitant; still, for general travelling, in which luggage may only too truly be described as _impedimenta_, the tent referred to may be used. Every morning, if the weather permits, the waterproof sheet and cork bed should be laid out to dry, and the skins also. The trench round the tent must be well looked to, the lines tightened, and the ponies tethered, as it is rather disagreeable to be awakened about two A.M. by a storm of rain and wind, and to discover your pony, with his linked fore-legs well tangled in tent lines, doing his best to pull down the whole concern on the heads of the occupants. Far more delightful is it to be aroused on a bright, crisp, and fresh summer morning, when, if near a _sæter_, the cause of it may be the jodelling of a _pige_ in charge of the cows—Swiss as to character of song, exceedingly Norske as she calls to them to follow. In the country districts animals follow more frequently than they are driven. Kindliness is the rural, coercion the town influence.

Many of our readers will notice that under the initial letter at the commencement of this chapter, the powder-flask and general arrangement are very much like the old bandoleers still hanging in the guard-chamber of Hampton Court Palace and others at Portsmouth. They were most general in Charles I.’s time, and are beautifully shown in De Gheyn’s costumes of Culverin-men and Harquebusiers. In this case the bandoleer was made of steel, and it is faithfully rendered, with the cord by which the whole arrangement was hung over the shoulder of the hunter.

By this time we deserve sport. We have travelled far and worked hard for it. Let us see the result. We had arrived at a great height, at the snow-fields called Sneebreden, like the Folgefond in the Hardanger, We had slid, crawled, and struggled, sometimes moving one behind the other at an angle to reduce our surface, creeping on the crisp, dry, hard snow, wading rivers of snow-water (very cold tubbing indeed), sloshing at the edge of the snow, where the reindeer-flowers bloom, and going through various other incidents of snow travelling, till at last we arrived at a smart drop, previous to another _fond_. Here the Patriarch had to be eased down, and his pendent position is only suggested in the cut (p. 147). Soon Trophas began to draw upon some slots in the snow, and it was the unanimous opinion that they were “fresh.” Trophas pulled hard, held back by Ole, who eventually began to half trot. To the unsentimental mind the action was that of a blind man’s dog eyeing coppers in the distance; but Trophas was in earnest, and at last the top of a horn burst upon us, and in a second our fate was disclosed to us. There was nothing but the gralloch of a reindeer _kalve_ shot yesterday—one horn, one hoof, &c.—as shown in the sketch (p. 148). How could it be accounted for? Many suggestions were thrown out, many improbabilities considered feasible, and at last a matter-of-fact mind launched the frightful proposition that the glutton seen by Ole near our tents the night before our arrival was nothing but a native hunter, who had been stalking us, and had killed the _kalve_ of which the remains were now at our feet. Nothing daunted, we flattered ourselves that at all events we had now commenced in earnest, and remembered the saw that the worst beginning has the best ending.

Travellers in Norway are surprised, as they pass through the valleys, to see so few cows. This is easily explained. They visit this interesting country when these animals are away, like themselves, for a holiday; and as every dog has his day, so every Norwegian cow has her outing, and goes to the grass pastures in the upper plateau to enjoy life until the white mantle of snow is ready to garb the upper ranges and drive the cows and _piger_ down to their homesteads and winter quarters. As already described, these _sæters_, or _châlets_, are high up, and frequently afford the energetic nature-loving traveller and genuine hunter cover and shelter, we may almost say comfort—_cum_ very much _grano_, though. In snow-work it becomes almost luxury to have one of these to fly to in very bad weather. Tent life is the most truly enjoyable thing—though there are times when a tent may be blown down and soaked through—to say nothing of the milk supply at hand, which is meat and drink at all times, although very filling at the Norwegian price. This will account for our associating a _sæter_ so prominently with our snow-work. The one given in our woodcut (p. 149) was inhabited by Maritz, who was there by herself from July to the beginning of September or end of August, according to the early or late fall of the snow. The 20th of August generally brings the first fall of snow in this latitude (63°). During our stay we always slept in our tents, as we all feared the parasitical ticklings the _sæter_ would inevitably have afforded us had we given it the chance. All the summer through the old snow lay round the antiquated wooden building, and seldom indeed was it that Maritz had any one to speak to, as there was no road or path of any kind. Still she was all kindness. Did she not send a pair of cuffs to the Patriarch’s wife, and iron them, so to speak, after her manner, with the back of a wooden spoon, as she hummed a plaintive ditty in the minor key? Perhaps she thought the lady would hardly like to wear them, or else that they might find their way to some great people. Maritz, too, held to the superstitions of her ancestors. Thus her porridge swizzle-stick—which is like the West Indian swizzles, but larger—made from the five-shoot top of a young fir, was always prepared with a cross cut at the end or swizzling part of it, to keep the Evil One from turning the milk sour. This, too, she sent with the cuffs.

A little outdoor shed, or _laave_, was our general cooking-place, into which four of us sometimes squeezed, and, as the dogs filled up the interstices, we were as closely packed as sardines, the whole being seasoned with the oil of good fellowship. It is wonderful how invigorating this life is. What a system for a sanatorium! How well balanced should one become with such fresh air, simple food, and exercise, and with all the energy and toughness requisite for this work! It is inconceivable how kindly, obliging, and tender towards others a life like this makes us. Such was the influence of our head-quarters. Prosiness must be avoided, however; so another day on the snow with the hopes of sport, and no buck fever if we get a chance. Bad landmark that, if perchance it befall us. We hope it will not: if it do we will forget it.

For our line the shortest way would be across the _vand_ where the trout were caught, and Danjel reported the discovery of an old boat of that class which has no iron nails about it, but all wooden pegs, and yet not particularly inviting as to safety, as the baling-ladle of birch wood gave the idea that whoever last used it thought it would be wanted by the next comer. However, as the hunters were agreeable and we could all swim, we determined to try it. So off we started, with ominous gurglings and washings to and fro in the bottom of the boat, fast, frequent, and furious. The ladle was heartily plied, first by one strong arm, then by another; but still the water came. This brought to our remembrance the Scottish Highland custom of baling the boat with a good large shoe, and that if you only take a pair the power becomes doubled.

Happily we arrived safely, and soon started for a long day’s work over unknown ground. The weather had cleared, and everything seemed to combine in our favour. There was a hearty good spirit among our hunters and ourselves, each fellow wishing the other good sport, and the dogs were keen to a degree. They longed for a revenge after the affair of the old gralloch, and flattered themselves that, if we were not unlucky, they would get fresh blood before nightfall. We were soon beginning to ascend steadily, and about an hour after starting, the Patriarch, working his way under some overhanging rocks, met with a surprise. An eagle, a large specimen, swept over his head and shadowed him. With his rifle in its case and across his back, the noble bird was safe, and the Patriarch delighted. Must there not be a nest? Yes, there was. Rough sticks and the lightest of down feathers were all that it was made of—rude, simple, and, one would think, uncomfortable for so grand a bird. Some of the down feathers were taken as a souvenir, and now and then brought out and floated, so light are they, in recollection of our having found one of the noblest of birds at home.

By mid-day we were out on the open snow, with hardly any rock shelter for stalking, should fortune favour us. The reindeer, however, were not “at home;” so we stopped at a suitable rock for lunch. How we enjoyed it! Old Trophas wagged his tail with a conviction that “no sport, no food,” would never be his fate as long as there was something left in our wallets. So we all rejoiced together, winding up with a little whiskey and hearty wishes for good sport.

Soon after lunch the tips of some horns were just visible on the snow-line. A large expanse of snow lay before us, with some small rocks half-way. Could we reach them? No; so we waited for the chance of the deer working up our way. Unfortunately they moved in the opposite direction, and our chance was gone. Still we had seen some, and that inspired fresh hope. Later in the afternoon we again saw a herd, and telescoped them for a length of time. Soon after this a second herd became visible, and it was most interesting to watch their manœuvres, which we did until they joined and moved off—of course in the opposite direction. An immense expanse of snow was now before us, and once we saw four herds of reindeer, and could count about one hundred and forty. For a long time we had hope, and agreed that if we could only get one we should be satisfied; but even that was denied, for the four herds gradually blended and went straight off, leaving us in the most perfect solitude, reindeerless.

[5] This head, of forty-one points, is in the collection of Sir Charles Mordaunt, Bart., at Walton Hall.

By this time we had a long distance to travel to get back to our tents. Fortunately the light fades so little that it hardly signifies; still great care is required to judge of the best footing after leaving the snow, as the hunter leads, and can go any way, even to rolling down places like a hedgehog, and sometimes sitting down for a slide. Indeed, going home becomes a kind of steeple-chase over unknown ground. In such cases woe and grief must be the fate of the novice. At the highest elevation we passed an immense boulder, very much like the Logan Stone, and of similar dimensions, though perhaps larger. On the top of this was a much smaller one, but of different geological formation. This gave rise to considerable discussion about the glacial theory, as there was a non-believer present. What could have produced this remarkable combination but the action of glaciers passing over the surface, bearing huge masses of rock from distant parts, and, as the ice melted away, depositing them? These boulders were found at an elevation of 5,000 feet or more. We also met with a most interesting instance of pink snow, very marked indeed in colour. All these varied phases of nature did much to repay us for our disappointment respecting the deer. This the difficulties of the descent also made us for the time forget, as Danjel Kulingen was tearing away as hard as he could possibly go, sometimes letting himself down, then hanging on to the undergrowth of heather, sliding, rolling, or jumping. We often solaced ourselves with the idea that if we could only get him on the flat for ten miles for a finish, we could give him a spin and run him in at high speed.

Whilst we had been telescoping the deer our Aalesund friend was having sport. On our return we found that he had been over to our tent to see us, and had left word of “Sport, sport,” and a message to try for a meet. This, unfortunately, could not be arranged, or we should have seen joy depicted on his face when he described to us where and how he killed his first reindeer.

The Norwegians believe that the horns of the reindeer, boiled down, are good for consumptive people. There is no doubt that the reindeer themselves eat, or rather gnaw them when they are shed, which occurs in November. The males shed their horns first, the females retaining them longer. We found several horns partially gnawed through, and, when we consider the number of deer, there must be some reason why the shed horns are not more frequently picked up. The same idea of horn soup for consumptive cases occurs in Scotland, where the horns of red deer are also found gnawed. One would imagine that the best time for this _potage_ would be when the horn was first formed, and the “velvet” is on, or when the horn is being renewed; and during this period it is very warm indeed, as large arteries run inside the velvet, or horn skin, and are engaged in depositing bone on the old stems, until the horns are complete and the velvet fretted off in September.