268 THROUGH NORWAY WITH THE VESEY CLUB. 
Dec., 1890. 
vigorous days I have manipulated a Norwegian oar for a 
dozen or more miles at a stretch, I am bound to say that 
their clumsiness and weight makes them entirely unsuited to 
an English oarsman, unless he be himself of the horny-handed 
waterman type. The number of the crew depends on the 
number of passengers and distance from station to station, 
but most usually is three, one of whom commonly pulls a pair 
of oars. Though on the most frequented routes steamboats 
ply daily, the rowboat is still in great request. 
The Dovrefjeld, upon which we spent nearly a week, has 
not changed much with the passage of the centuries. Nearly 
eight hundred years ago, when, as till but the other day 
the whole of the land traffic from Christiania to Trondhjem 
passed over its bleak solitudes. Government established upon 
it four refuges for belated travellers, and endowed them with 
what we are apt to think a modern panacea, a “ Govern¬ 
ment grant.” These refuges or “ Stuen,” were Fogstuen, 
Jerkin, Kongsvold, and Drivstuen, and exist to this day in 
the form of the four fjeld stations, by which passes the 
newly-completed engineered road. The stations have changed 
with the years, but the fjeld, as of yore, is given over to 
absolute desolation. This we had ample opportunity of 
seeing, for on the day after our arrival we botanised up the 
Jerkinlio, a hill overhanging the station, and up which for a 
thousand feet the old and historic road climbed. While the 
majority botanised, a party of eight on this day made the 
ascent of Schneeliatten (7,700 feet), under the guidance 
of Mr. Jerkin and his son, got lost in a snowstorm, and 
with great difficulty found their way to the shelter hut, where 
they passed the night. Whether they actually reached the 
summit or not T cannot make out. The fresh-fallen snow 
which we saw, made us somewhat anxious for the climbers ; but 
our anxiety would have been greater had we fully realised then 
that guides, in the Swiss sense of the term, hardly exist in 
Norway ; though, given an unimpeded use of their eyes, the 
peasants of the fjeld can steer to perfection, 
A short journey next day (July 8th) over a nearly level 
road brought us to Kongsvold, and left us sufficient time for 
a walk high up on the fjeld to Mr. Kongsvold’s saeter,or moun¬ 
tain farm, where the cows belonging to the station are kept 
during the summer and cheese-making season, Here are made 
those comical brick-shaped brown cheeses, which appear on the 
table at every meal, and are a never-ending source of amuse¬ 
ment to the English traveller. The Norsk revel in cheeses, 
and the choicer forms are kept under glass covers. It has 
been irreverently suggested that this is to keep the smell in, 
