62 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 



for the tents ; but, as the old saying is, " more haste, 

 less speed." My pony, a young grey, thought it 

 desirable to cross its forelegs, with the result that 

 we came an imperial cropper, much to the amuse- 

 ment of the rest of the party. That evening I killed 

 a Whimbrel as Geoff was erecting the tents, and 

 my pony having now learned to stand fire, and even 

 allow me to shoot off his back, I forgave him for 

 giving me such a hard toss. We had ridden about 

 forty-five miles, so took a day off, as is always 

 desirable after a start on any expedition. It 

 allows everything to settle down, although the 

 wonderful little ponies showed no sign of fatigue 

 after their continuous work of the past week. I 

 saw Scaup, Long- tailed Duck, Wigeon and Scla- 

 vonian Grebe on the lake, and the first pair of Ice- 

 land Falcons soaring high in the air. The next 

 day we passed through mountainous country, 

 hoping to make that night the Skalfandi Laxa, of 

 which Thorgrimmer had given a glowing account 

 as a place of great trout. 



During the afternoon an exquisite piece of wild 

 scenery presented itself in the magnificent waterfall 

 of Godafoss — in form a small Niagara in its way, 

 but without that great cataract's distasteful sur- 

 roundings. There were no shrieking hackmen, no 

 solicitous photographers and no vulgar buildings 

 to offend the eye and oppress the senses — only a 

 great roar of yellow waters fresh from the virgin 

 snows. Here the only sounds that rise above the 

 thunder of the torrent are the melancholy wail of 

 the Golden Plover and the babbling cry of the 

 Whimbrel, and they are a charming and natural 

 accompaniment of so grand a scene. After leaving 



