Full resolution (TIFF) - On this page / på denna sida - The "Skjærgaards."
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the sea-god’s snorting horse that bore us; from
Skjärgaard to Skjärgaard. The signal-gun is
fired, and the pilot comes from that solitary
wooden house. Sometimes we look upon the
open sea, sometimes we glide again in between
dark, stony islands; they lie like gigantic
monsters in the water: one has the form of the
tortoise’s arched shell, another has the elephant’s
back and rough grey colour. Mouldering, light
grey rocks indicate that the wind and weather
past centuries has lashed over them.
We now approach larger rocky islands, and
the huge, grey, broken rocks of the main land,
where dwarfish pine woods grow in a continual
combat with the blast; the Skjärgaards
sometimes become only a narrow canal, sometimes
an extensive lake strewed with small islets, all
of stone, and often only a mere block of stone,
to which a single little fir-tree clings fast:
screaming sea-gulls flutter around the
landmarks that are set up; and now we see a single
farm-house, whose red-painted sides shine forth
from the dark background. A group of cows lies
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