26 
by a Danish friend of mine. At the top of the Fos, and just 
above the birch tree, where the dwarf willows begin to grow, we 
stopped, nominally to admire the view, but in reality to rest a 
little. Truly it was a fair picture to look upon. The peaceful- 
looking seeter, with the cattle and goats browsing around it in 
greenest pastures, the foaming river Utla below, here a tem- 
pestuous rapid, there a deep pool; then, beyond the river, cliff 
piled upon cliff, terrace upon terrace, where, until some rude 
avalanche shall come down and sweep them away, grow the 
sombre-hued pines and graceful silvery birches, which blended in 
most harmonious colours with the purest emerald of the mosses, 
the greyish blue, and now and then brown rocks, or others as 
black as darkest winter’s night, which again formed a strong 
contrast to the snows above, the clouds, and milk-white cataracts. 
Of sunshine there was but little. Forward up the valley, clouds 
still reigned supreme, and left much for our lively imagination 
to picture. After walking a mile up the valley, we turned aside 
to the left, crossed a ridge, and then descended 814 feet into a 
tiny valley, where we could see nothing, and consequently steered 
very carefully, and erected diminutive cairns on prominent rocks 
to guide us on our return, We had yet a second ridge 3,276 feet 
above Vormelid to cross before gaining Midt Maradal. Whilst 
climbing this ridge, or mountain buttress as it is, the weather 
was decidedly unpromising; we could see nothing. Mohn and I 
had frequently noticed that the higher Horungtinder, after being 
enveloped in thick clouds for nearly a whole day, very often shine 
out with double beauty late in the afternoon or evening, and we 
told Knut that such would be the case now, but we thought 
otherwise. On nearing the top of the ridge we discovered that 
the higher we got the lighter were the clouds, so I ran forward, 
and when on the top—glorious sight! There before me was the 
sharply serrated aréte of the Dyrhougstinder, which form in the 
west of the valley a black colossal, nearly perpendicular wall, 
8,000 feet high. The top portion of this wall only was visible, 
and the contrast it showed to the clouds below was wonderful. 
I shouted out to Mohn and Knut who soon came up. Shortly 
after we saw the bottom of Midt Maradal, 1,500 feet below us; 
then the clouds swept up the valley and all was obscured for a 
few minutes. After that a glorious, perfectly inaccessible- 
looking peak, a continuation of our ridge, appeared. ‘Is that 
Skagastélstind ?’ we all exclaimed; we could only see the top, 
and the clouds lent it such additional grandeur that we had no 
proper conception of its height, or of its relative position. It 
disappeared from our view as quickly as it had come; and 
presently a truly noble aiguille appeared—a never-to-be-forgotten 
sight. Further doubt was impossible, and the former, Mohn 
rightly said, was only one of the Maradalstinder. Another peak 
