Ultima Thule; or, A Summer in Iceland. vol. 2/2 — Key Ideas to Explore

Travel Infrastructure and Local Knowledge

The chapter on tours and guides reveals Burton's interest in the practicalities of Icelandic travel. He catalogs horse gear, traps, and tents, and later describes the three dwarf landing-piers at Djúpivogr, noting one with a double tramway that contrasts with the local anchor made of cask staves and basalt blocks. These details show a traveler attentive to the gap between imported technology and indigenous solutions. Burton also records advice from Icelandic informants: Hr Guðmundsson recommended approaching the Vatnajökull from the Blængr cone, while Mr. Watts urged avoiding the Berufjörð line—advice Burton rejected. The narrative thus becomes a record of competing local and foreign knowledge, with Burton positioning himself as the arbiter.

Glacier Exploration and Its Challenges

Burton's account of the Vatnajökull glacier is built from secondhand reports and his own plans. He summarizes earlier attempts: Danish officers who lost ponies in the early 1800s, Professor Gunnlaugsson's 1838 journey along the Vatnajökullsvegr, and Mr. Watts's 1871 effort. Watts described the glacier as a volcano-glacial region with vast lava streams and possible fertile valleys, but Burton quotes him with skeptical parentheses, marking claims like "active craters (?)" and "unparalleled elsewhere (?)" as uncertain. Burton then outlines two practicable routes of his own, emphasizing the advantages of saving a week's travel and establishing depots. The tone is practical, not heroic; the glacier is a logistical problem, not a sublime spectacle.

Sulfur as a Subject and a Commodity

The catalog lists sulfur as a subject, and the appendix indeed compiles writings by Henchel, Mackenzie, Crowe, Burton himself, and Blake on Icelandic sulfur, plus notes on sulfur in Sicily, Transylvania, and the Andaman Islands. But in the main text, sulfur appears primarily in the chapter on the Krísuvík mines, where Burton describes the Solfatara and sulfur springs. The illustrations include "The Sulphur Spring" and "Solfatara of Krísuvík." The appendix's comparative scope—from Sicily to the Andamans—suggests Burton viewed sulfur as a global commodity, not just a local curiosity. Yet the excerpts give no indication that the book argues for sulfur's economic importance; rather, the subject is embedded in a travel narrative that treats geology as one topic among many.

Readers should approach this volume as a travelogue that frequently digresses into natural history, anthropology, and practical advice. Burton's willingness to quote and critique other travelers makes the text a layered source, but the excerpts are too fragmentary to reveal the book's overall argument, if any. The catalog subjects are a starting point, not a summary; the actual content ranges more widely, and the appendix on sulfur is only one of many components.

I keep thinking about how Burton walked those Icelandic fields, noticing sulfur and stone, and how a place can hold you long after you leave. That same lingering feeling followed me through Canada, the Spellbinder — Text and Context, like a quiet thread tying one landscape’s memory to another’s. It isn’t loud about it. Just stays, softly, in your thoughts.