river was one mass of foam, as from time to time we caught glimpses of it far below, between the birches and firs which covered the mountain side. At last, on turning a corner, we saw, far up the valley, a light floating cloud resting on the hill-side; this is the spray from the fall.
Soon after this point we left the road, and followed a foot-track; now across a few pine logs over a rushing stream; now up a rugged water-course, still ascending to the higher table-land. The weather was intensely hot, and many were the halts we made to rest and drink the cold spring water. At last we reached a small söeter, or châlet, not far from the fall, the roar of which was becoming more audible every minute—a loud deep booming sound, then a slight cessation, and then the heavy booming sound again. Here we rested a few minutes, and had some milk and wild strawberries, which grow so plentifully in Norway. The rudeness of the log hut and the roughness of its inmates seemed somewhat in harmony with the stern and savage grandeur of the scenery. A few yards further on, and we stood on the edge of the chasm into which the river falls: words are but a weak medium to convey any notion of the magnificent sight before us.
The Ruikan Foss.
The first object the eye rests upon, or rather is fascinated by, in the very centre of the picture is the fall itself, before which are two enormous barriers of steep, jagged, black rocks, forming a natural gateway to the fall. Over these, centuries ago, the water must have come; gradually, little by little, year after year, the irresistible rushing water has worn away those iron rocks into their present form. All the lower part of the fall is completely hidden in rolling clouds of spray, which rise far above the top. From this circumstance it is impossible to estimate its exact height, for who shall penetrate the recesses of that fearful chasm? Seven, eight, and nine hundred feet have been stated as the height by different writers, and some have even fancied that the height might be ascertained from the pulsations which the water makes in its descent. Far above the fall there is a cloud of spray from another fall, which the river makes before its grand and final plunge; this first fall is invisible from below. It was quite fascinating to watch the actual fall of the water; there is no grand rush or tremendous leap, it seems rather to slide over the edge of the precipice; all idea of weight is lost; it seems to be water spiritualised, and falls over in light and airy wreaths of snow, the edges of which break away into lighter and airier wreaths of foam. Ever varying is the play of the sunlight on those fairy foam-wreaths as, one after another, they break off and roll up again in clouds of spray. All round the scenery is very grand; so much so,that it somewhat dwarfs the fall. Right above on one side towered almost perpendicularly one of the Fjelds, presenting a surface of bare rock, while far behind stretched the lovely valley, clothed with the birch, the alder, and the fir; far above on the right was the pinnacle of the Gousta, while here and there down the valley might be traced the river like a line of light. It was a scene long to be remembered, the roaring waterfall, the jagged rocks, and the light and shadow in the valley, and on the distant hills. I have often thought of it since, while sitting beside an English fire-side; what a contrast it must be in its winter dress, all the hills covered with snow, icicles clinging to those black rocks, but the mighty river still rushing on!
Nearly the whole of Thellemarken is one vast pine forest; and those who have once been in a real pine-forest will never forget the rich fragrance of the cones, and the luxurious undergrowth of ferns. The full force is at once felt of the poet’s lines:
This is the forest primeval, the murmuring pines and the hemlocks
Bearded with moss,
which here really hangs down from the boughs like
Harpers’ beards that rest on their bosoms.
And when views of the distant country are obtained, it is still the same eternal forest stretching for miles, now dark and black, with here and there silver lakes, like diamonds sparkling in the sun, and the dark shades gradually dying away soft and hazy into the distance.
Rude desolations wild and bare,
Kissed into colours by the wandering air.
