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The station at Hellesylt reminded me of old
times. It is an unmodernized Norwegian station,
rough, but comfortable. It is rumoured that a
new one is to be built with some pretensions to
luxury. If so, it will doubtless become popular
with tourists as a centre from which some of the
wildest scenery in Norway may be visited, and
combining with this the facility of access by
steam-packet and yachts.
August 19th.—In spite of our long day
yesterday we rise at 4 a.m., and at five re-embark on the
‘ Aalesund,’ which on its return journey steams
up the Geirangerfjord, a sea valley branching
westward from the Sunelvsfjord at a few miles
north of Hellesylt.
In the Geirangerfjord we have the culmination
of the wild grandeur of all the fjords of this region.
Its only rival in Norway, I may say in the world,
is the Naerofjord, which it resembles. Its
unmeasured depths are walled by precipices which
make a sheer perpendicular plunge of 3000 to
4000 feet down to its dark surface. Some
eagle-nest Crusoe farms are even here, mv sketch is
from one of them ; and gauzy waterfalls pitch from
the unseen wilderness above over the sharp upper
edge of the crag, and proceed downwards with a
curiously deliberate and leisurely motion, waving
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