Snæfell at Last

Snæfell is 5,000 feet high. Its double cone forms the limit of a trachytic belt which stands out distinctly in the mountain system of the island. From our starting point we could see the two peaks boldly projected against the dark grey sky; I could see an enormous cap of snow coming low down upon the giant's brow.

Snæfell is 5,000 feet high. Its double cone marks the edge of a belt of trachyte rock that stands out clearly among the island’s mountains. From our starting point, we could see both peaks standing out sharply against the dark gray sky. An enormous cap of snow covered much of the giant’s brow.

We walked in single file, headed by the hunter, who ascended by narrow tracks, where two could not have gone abreast. There was therefore no room for conversation.

We walked in single file, led by the hunter, who climbed along narrow paths. They were too narrow for two people to walk side by side, so we could not talk.

After we had passed the basaltic wall of the fiord of Stapi we passed over a vegetable fibrous peat bog, left from the ancient vegetation of this peninsula. The vast quantity of this unworked fuel would be sufficient to warm the whole population of Iceland for a century; this vast turbary measured in certain ravines had in many places a depth of seventy feet, and presented layers of carbonized remains of vegetation alternating with thinner layers of tufaceous pumice.

After passing the basalt wall of the fiord of Stapi, we crossed a peat bog made of plant fibers. It was left by the peninsula’s ancient vegetation. The vast amount of untapped fuel could warm Iceland’s entire population for a century. In many places, this vast peat bog measured seventy feet deep in the ravines. It contained layers of charred plant remains alternating with thinner layers of tuff-like pumice.

As a true nephew of the Professor Liedenbrock, and in spite of my dismal prospects, I could not help observing with interest the mineralogical curiosities which lay about me as in a vast museum, and I constructed for myself a complete geological account of Iceland.

As Professor Liedenbrock’s true nephew, I could not help noticing the mineral curiosities around me, despite my bleak prospects. They interested me, and they lay scattered about as if in a vast museum. From them, I put together a complete geological account of Iceland.

This most curious island has evidently been projected from the bottom of the sea at a comparatively recent date. Possibly, it may still be subject to gradual elevation. If this is the case, its origin may well be attributed to subterranean fires. Therefore, in this case, the theory of Sir Humphry Davy, Saknussemm's document, and my uncle's theories would all go off in smoke. This hypothesis led me to examine with more attention the appearance of the surface, and I soon arrived at a conclusion as to the nature of the forces which presided at its birth.

This very curious island was evidently pushed up from the bottom of the sea relatively recently. It may still be rising gradually. If so, underground fires may well have brought it into being. In that case, Sir Humphry Davy's theory, Saknussemm's document, and my uncle's theories would all go up in smoke. This possibility led me to examine the island's surface more closely. I soon reached a conclusion about the nature of the forces that created it.

Iceland, which is entirely devoid of alluvial soil, is wholly composed of volcanic tufa, that is to say, an agglomeration of porous rocks and stones. Before the volcanoes broke out it consisted of trap rocks slowly upraised to the level of the sea by the action of central forces. The internal fires had not yet forced their way through.

Iceland has no alluvial soil and is made entirely of volcanic tufa, a mass of porous rocks and stones. Before the volcanoes erupted, Iceland consisted of trap rocks slowly raised to sea level by forces within the earth. The fires inside the earth had not yet broken through.

But at a later period a wide chasm formed diagonally from south-west to north-east, through which was gradually forced out the trachyte which was to form a mountain chain. No violence accompanied this change; the matter thrown out was in vast quantities, and the liquid material oozing out from the abysses of the earth slowly spread in extensive plains or in hillocky masses. To this period belong the felspar, syenites, and porphyries.

But later, a wide chasm opened diagonally from southwest to northeast. Trachyte was gradually forced out through the chasm and would form a mountain chain. The change happened without violence, though vast quantities of material were expelled. The liquid material oozed from deep within the earth and slowly spread into broad plains or mounds. The feldspar, syenites, and porphyries date from this period.

But with the help of this outflow the thickness of the crust of the island increased materially, and therefore also its powers of resistance. It may easily be conceived what vast quantities of elastic gases, what masses of molten matter accumulated beneath its solid surface whilst no exit was practicable after the cooling of the trachytic crust. Therefore a time would come when the elastic and explosive forces of the imprisoned gases would upheave this ponderous cover and drive out for themselves openings through tall chimneys. Hence then the volcano would distend and lift up the crust, and then burst through a crater suddenly formed at the summit or thinnest part of the volcano.

But this outflow made the island’s crust much thicker and therefore more resistant. One can easily imagine the vast quantities of compressed gases and masses of molten matter that built up beneath the solid surface. Once the trachytic crust cooled, they had no way to escape. So a time would come when the pressure and explosive force of the trapped gases would lift this heavy cover. The gases would force openings through tall chimneys. The volcano would swell and lift the crust, then burst through a crater suddenly formed at its summit or thinnest point.

To the eruption succeeded other volcanic phenomena. Through the outlets now made first escaped the ejected basalt of which the plain we had just left presented such marvellous specimens. We were moving over grey rocks of dense and massive formation, which in cooling had formed into hexagonal prisms. Everywhere around us we saw truncated cones, formerly so many fiery mouths.

Other volcanic phenomena followed the eruption. Basalt first erupted through the openings that had formed. The plain we had just left contained marvelous examples of this basalt. We were moving over dense, massive grey rocks that had formed into hexagonal prisms as they cooled. All around us were cones with their tops cut off, each once a fiery opening.

After the exhaustion of the basalt, the volcano, the power of which grew by the extinction of the lesser craters, supplied an egress to lava, ashes, and scoriae, of which I could see lengthened screes streaming down the sides of the mountain like flowing hair.

After the basalt ran out, the volcano released lava, ashes, and volcanic debris. The volcano had grown more powerful as the smaller craters died out. I could see long slopes of debris streaming down the mountainside like flowing hair.

Such was the succession of phenomena which produced Iceland, all arising from the action of internal fire; and to suppose that the mass within did not still exist in a state of liquid incandescence was absurd; and nothing could surpass the absurdity of fancying that it was possible to reach the earth's centre.

These were the events that formed Iceland, all caused by the action of heat within the earth. It was absurd to suppose that the mass inside the earth was no longer a glowing liquid. And nothing could be more absurd than imagining that anyone could reach the earth's center.

So I felt a little comforted as we advanced to the assault of Snæfell.

So I felt a little reassured as we set out to climb Snæfell.

The way was growing more and more arduous, the ascent steeper and steeper; the loose fragments of rock trembled beneath us, and the utmost care was needed to avoid dangerous falls.

The way grew harder, and the climb became steeper. Loose rocks shook beneath us, and we had to be extremely careful to avoid dangerous falls.

Hans went on as quietly as if he were on level ground; sometimes he disappeared altogether behind the huge blocks, then a shrill whistle would direct us on our way to him. Sometimes he would halt, pick up a few bits of stone, build them up into a recognisable form, and thus made landmarks to guide us in our way back. A very wise precaution in itself, but, as things turned out, quite useless.

Hans walked on as calmly as if he were on level ground. Sometimes he disappeared completely behind the huge blocks. Then a shrill whistle would guide us toward him. Sometimes he stopped, picked up a few pieces of stone, and arranged them into recognizable shapes. These landmarks would guide us on our way back. It was a very wise precaution, but as things turned out, it was quite useless.

Three hours' fatiguing march had only brought us to the base of the mountain. There Hans bid us come to a halt, and a hasty breakfast was served out. My uncle swallowed two mouthfuls at a time to get on faster. But, whether he liked it or not, this was a rest as well as a breakfast hour and he had to wait till it pleased our guide to move on, which came to pass in an hour. The three Icelanders, just as taciturn as their comrade the hunter, never spoke, and ate their breakfasts in silence.

After three hours of tiring walking, we had only reached the base of the mountain. There, Hans told us to stop, and a quick breakfast was served. My uncle swallowed two mouthfuls at a time so we could move on faster. But whether he liked it or not, the hour was for resting as well as eating. He had to wait until our guide was ready to move on, which happened an hour later. The three Icelanders were just as quiet as their companion, the hunter. They never spoke and ate their breakfasts in silence.

We were now beginning to scale the steep sides of Snæfell. Its snowy summit, by an optical illusion not unfrequent in mountains, seemed close to us, and yet how many weary hours it took to reach it! The stones, adhering by no soil or fibrous roots of vegetation, rolled away from under our feet, and rushed down the precipice below with the swiftness of an avalanche.

We were now beginning to climb the steep sides of Snæfell. Its snowy summit seemed close, an optical illusion common in the mountains. Yet how many tiring hours it took to reach it! No soil or plant roots held the stones in place. They rolled out from under our feet and rushed down the precipice below, as fast as an avalanche.

At some places the flanks of the mountain formed an angle with the horizon of at least 36 degrees; it was impossible to climb them, and these stony cliffs had to be tacked round, not without great difficulty. Then we helped each other with our sticks.

In some places, the mountain slopes rose at an angle of at least 36 degrees. They were impossible to climb, so we had to make our way around the rocky cliffs with great difficulty. Then we helped each other with our sticks.

I must admit that my uncle kept as close to me as he could; he never lost sight of me, and in many straits his arm furnished me with a powerful support. He himself seemed to possess an instinct for equilibrium, for he never stumbled. The Icelanders, though burdened with our loads, climbed with the agility of mountaineers.

I must admit that my uncle stayed as close to me as he could. He never lost sight of me, and his arm gave me strong support in many difficult moments. He seemed to have a natural sense of balance, for he never stumbled. The Icelanders, though carrying our loads, climbed as nimbly as mountaineers.

To judge by the distant appearance of the summit of Snæfell, it would have seemed too steep to ascend on our side. Fortunately, after an hour of fatigue and athletic exercises, in the midst of the vast surface of snow presented by the hollow between the two peaks, a kind of staircase appeared unexpectedly which greatly facilitated our ascent. It was formed by one of those torrents of stones flung up by the eruptions, called 'sting' by the Icelanders. If this torrent had not been arrested in its fall by the formation of the sides of the mountain, it would have gone on to the sea and formed more islands.

From a distance, the summit of Snæfell looked too steep to climb from our side. Fortunately, after an hour of exhausting climbing, we came upon a kind of staircase. It appeared unexpectedly in the vast expanse of snow in the hollow between the two peaks, and made our ascent much easier. It was formed by one of the streams of stones thrown up by eruptions, which Icelanders call 'sting'. If the sides of the mountain had not stopped this stream of stones, it would have continued to the sea and formed more islands.

Such as it was, it did us good service. The steepness increased, but these stone steps allowed us to rise with facility, and even with such rapidity that, having rested for a moment while my companions continued their ascent, I perceived them already reduced by distance to microscopic dimensions.

As it was, it served us well. The slope grew steeper, but the stone steps let us climb easily and quickly. I rested for a moment while my companions continued upward. By then, they were already so far away that they looked microscopic.

At seven we had ascended the two thousand steps of this grand staircase, and we had attained a bulge in the mountain, a kind of bed on which rested the cone proper of the crater.

By seven, we had climbed the two thousand steps of this grand staircase. We had reached a bulge in the mountain, a sort of base supporting the crater’s cone.

Three thousand two hundred feet below us stretched the sea. We had passed the limit of perpetual snow, which, on account of the moisture of the climate, is at a greater elevation in Iceland than the high latitude would give reason to suppose. The cold was excessively keen. The wind was blowing violently. I was exhausted. The Professor saw that my limbs were refusing to perform their office, and in spite of his impatience he decided on stopping. He therefore spoke to the hunter, who shook his head, saying:

The sea stretched out 3,200 feet below us. We had passed above the snow line. Because Iceland’s climate is damp, the snow line is higher than its northern latitude would suggest. The cold was bitter, and the wind was blowing fiercely. I was exhausted. The Professor saw that my limbs were giving out. Despite his impatience, he decided to stop. He spoke to the hunter, who shook his head and said:

"Ofvanför."

"Above."

"It seems we must go higher," said my uncle.

"It looks like we have to go higher," said my uncle.

Then he asked Hans for his reason.

Then he asked Hans why.

"Mistour," replied the guide.

"Mistour," said the guide.

"Ja Mistour," said one of the Icelanders in a tone of alarm.

"Ja Mistour," said one of the Icelanders, sounding alarmed.

"What does that word mean?" I asked uneasily.

"What does that word mean?" I asked uneasily.

"Look!" said my uncle.

"Look!" said my uncle.

I looked down upon the plain. An immense column of pulverized pumice, sand and dust was rising with a whirling circular motion like a waterspout; the wind was lashing it on to that side of Snæfell where we were holding on; this dense veil, hung across the sun, threw a deep shadow over the mountain. If that huge revolving pillar sloped down, it would involve us in its whirling eddies. This phenomenon, which is not unfrequent when the wind blows from the glaciers, is called in Icelandic 'mistour.'

I looked down at the plain. An immense column of powdered pumice, sand, and dust was rising and whirling like a waterspout. The wind was driving it toward the side of Snæfell where we were holding on. The dense cloud hung across the sun, casting a deep shadow over the mountain. If the huge spinning column tilted toward us, it would sweep us into its whirling currents. This phenomenon is fairly common when the wind blows from the glaciers. In Icelandic, it is called 'mistour.'

"Hastigt! hastigt!" cried our guide.

“Hurry! Hurry!” our guide shouted.

Without knowing Danish I understood at once that we must follow Hans at the top of our speed. He began to circle round the cone of the crater, but in a diagonal direction so as to facilitate our progress. Presently the dust storm fell upon the mountain, which quivered under the shock; the loose stones, caught with the irresistible blasts of wind, flew about in a perfect hail as in an eruption. Happily we were on the opposite side, and sheltered from all harm. But for the precaution of our guide, our mangled bodies, torn and pounded into fragments, would have been carried afar like the ruins hurled along by some unknown meteor.

Although I didn’t know Danish, I understood at once that we had to follow Hans as fast as we could. He began circling the crater’s cone, moving diagonally to make our progress easier. Soon the dust storm struck the mountain, which shook under the impact. The powerful gusts caught loose stones and sent them flying like hail, as if the mountain were erupting. Fortunately, we were on the opposite side, sheltered from harm. Without our guide’s precaution, our bodies would have been mangled, torn and smashed into fragments. They would have been carried far away, like debris hurled along by some unknown meteor.

Yet Hans did not think it prudent to spend the night upon the sides of the cone. We continued our zigzag climb. The fifteen hundred remaining feet took us five hours to clear; the circuitous route, the diagonal and the counter marches, must have measured at least three leagues. I could stand it no longer. I was yielding to the effects of hunger and cold. The rarefied air scarcely gave play to the action of my lungs.

Yet Hans did not think it was safe to spend the night on the side of the cone. We continued climbing in a zigzag. It took us five hours to cover the remaining fifteen hundred feet. The winding route, with its diagonal climbs and changes of direction, must have covered at least three leagues. I could go no farther. Hunger and cold were overcoming me. The thin air barely allowed me to breathe.

At last, at eleven in the sunlight night, the summit of Snæfell was reached, and before going in for shelter into the crater I had time to observe the midnight sun, at his lowest point, gilding with his pale rays the island that slept at my feet.

At last, at eleven on that sunlit night, we reached the summit of Snæfell. Before taking shelter in the crater, I had time to watch the midnight sun. At its lowest point, it gilded the island sleeping at my feet with its pale rays.