Number in series 26; Year of publication 1932 - Fell and Rock ...

THE ROMSDAL 187which are strewn over the tops of Scafell Pike and the Glyddrs—every Jotunheim Pass and every hogsback ridge is covered withthem; ore the natives call them, and ora pro nobis we chantedover them. We had lived at those old cattle sabers high amongthe hills, where generations of peasants have squatted throughthe summer, log cabins which are now being turned into touristhuts to accommodate the enthusiastic Norwegian hikers. Wehad had marvellous days, too, when swirling curtains of cloudcleared off suddenly and you saw distant rock peaks, their wetribs and faces shining like jet and casting sapphire shadowson the snowfields below ; when suddenly little tarns emergedfrom nowhere and seemed to hang for a moment among the mistslike plates of blue-green lustre, hang there and then suddenlyfit into the landscape, greener than ever against the snow andthe long views of purple or yellow ochre hills beyond. I amnot exaggerating, however, when I say that we had not seena single cultivated field or lush pasture since we walked up toTurtagro from the Sognef jord; not one, until the evening weleft the Jotunheim, descending to Roisheim after a day ofbrilliant sunshine and views on the tourist-ridden snows ofthe Galdhoppiggen. Roisheim was a real valley village in areal valley bottom, cut up into patches of arable and grass.Coming down from the mountain we saw its fields enamelledin the evening light. There were real farms, the old ones ofbeautifully browned squared logs, the new ones of dressed planks,rather dolls'-house looking. Next morning a motor-bus took us torailhead at Otta, in the Gudbrandsdal.It was a grilling afternoon in the train and very enjoyable tosit and frizzle for a while. In the wide reach of the valley,where the hills roll backward and upward on either hand,thunderclouds were drooping and the colour was intense,browns and velvety indigos on the hills and gleaming yellowishgreens on the grassy meadows. The hay was all cut, and theneat farms stood serenely just on the first slopes of the hills. AtDombaas, where the lines for the Romsdal and Trondheimbranch, we had time to eat surprising sandwiches in the stationbuffet and then we entered the Romsdal proper. Themetals descended in loops and curves, slung along the hillsidesat dizzy heights. Now, we were travelling in our true direction,then a tunnel, and emerging we found that with nightmare