Iceland: Horseback tours in saga land — Background and Themes

River Crossings as Tests of Skill

The Hvitá crossing is the most fully rendered episode in the excerpts, and it exemplifies Russell's method: he narrates a logistical problem—ferrying eight ponies across a glacial estuary at low tide—with the precision of a field report. The ponies are stripped of saddles, fitted with cod lines around the jaw, and coaxed into water 'icy cold' and laden with glacial clay. Johannes, the guide, kneels in the stern holding four lines in each hand, pulling submerged noses to the surface. The boat leaks 'frightfully,' holding over a foot of water by landing. Russell notes that 'many ponies have been lost at this crossing,' and Johannes admits to having lost several in the tide race. The episode is not merely scenic; it establishes competence and luck as central to the journey.

The Author's Voice: Between Scholar and Tourist

Russell's foreword positions him as an authority—he has lived with Icelanders, not merely visited—yet his prose is free of academic stiffness. He describes the boat's oarsmen as 'stout fellows' and the ponies' recovery as 'they speedily recovered, rolled repeatedly to dry themselves.' The narrative voice is that of an experienced traveller who still registers surprise: the current's force, the seals' curiosity, the 'grave fears' for camera films soaked in the boat's bilge. He is also a lecturer aware of his audience, explaining why a 'character study of the conservative Icelander may not be completed in a single season.' This dual identity—practical horseman and cultural interpreter—shapes the book's tone.

Landscape as Active Participant

In the crossing scene, the landscape is not a backdrop but an agent. The river is 'Hvitá, White River,' named for its glacial clay; the current 'tended to sweep the boat sideways'; the breakers roar 'just below.' Russell personifies the seals as questioning 'with their eyes our right to invade their ancient domain.' The ponies, too, are not passive transport but individuals: 'Jog Joggensen' swims the entire distance without sinking, while others 'succumbed to the cold water.' The environment forces decisions—waiting for low tide, towing lines, bailing—and the narrative gains tension from the fact that failure means losing animals or gear. The land, in Russell's telling, demands constant negotiation.

Readers approaching Iceland: Horseback Tours in Saga Land should expect a travelogue that values process over panorama. Russell is less interested in cataloguing sights than in showing how one moves through Iceland—how ponies are swum across estuaries, how guides manage risk, how a camera is kept dry. The book's structure, built around successive rides, rewards attention to the small decisions that accumulate into a journey. The excerpts suggest that Russell's Iceland is a place where competence matters as much as curiosity.

The rain hammered the window while I finished Russell’s account of fording the Hvitá, the icy water racing around his pony’s chest. That feeling of being utterly immersed in a strange, vivid landscape stayed with me. Later, browsing aimlessly, the same quiet sense of distant place surfaced again in Peeps at Many Lands: Siam — Key Ideas to Explore, a different geography, same gentle mystery.