Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - VII. Lapland
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always seem to be looking straight at your own
eyes at whatever angle you see them. We
climbed rapidly the steep opposite shore and
wandered once more over an immense marshy
plain with nothing to guide us but the sun. My
attempts to explain to Ristin the use of my
pocket compass had met with so little success
that I had given up looking at it myself, putting
my trust in Ristin’s instinct of a half-tame animal.
It was evident that she was in a great hurry, ere
long I had the impression that she was not sure
of our way. Now and then she set off as fast as
she could in one direction, stopped short to sniff
the wind with quivering nostrils, then she darted
off in another direction to repeat the same
manœuvre. Now and then she bent down to
smell the ground like a dog.
“Rog,” she said suddenly pointing to a low
cloud moving towards us with extraordinary
rapidity across the marshes.
Fog indeed! In a minute we were enveloped
in a thick mist as impenetrable as a November
fog in London. We had to hold each other by
the hand not to lose sight of one another. We
struggled on for another hour or two, knee deep in
the ice-cold water. At last Ristin said she had
lost our direction, we must wait till the fog was
over. How long might it last?
She did not know, perhaps a day and a night,
perhaps an hour, it all depended upon the wind.
It was one of the worst experiences I have ever
gone through. I knew quite well that with our
scanty equipment the encounter with a fog on
the immense swamps was far more dangerous
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