The ascent of _Vaðlaheiði_, Wade-Heath, in sunshine is one of the best rides in Iceland. The long fiord opens out to the Arctic Ocean at our feet and the distant _Jökulls_ rise into prominence with diadems of ice upon their brows. The pastures on the lower slopes stud the valley with gems of emerald. Nearing the summit we came upon the unmelted snows of winter, which were crusted sufficiently to support the horses. Here we found a company of men laboriously dragging telephone poles to the summit to repair the damage of the winter storms. At an elevation of 2,300 feet above the fiord we reached a flat moorland which slopes gently, at first, towards the east. We paused to bait the ponies and stretched ourselves at length on a mound of Arctic flowers and gazed across the valley to the _Vindheima Jökull_, Home of the Winds. We followed a zigzag line of cairns down towards the valley of the _Fnjóská_, Touch-Wood-River. The view of this valley with the broad, swift river flowing in a long series of S-curves, the enormous mounds of volcanic ash fantastically sculptured by the wind, the little farm by the river where we refreshed ourselves with real cream and the forest of diminutive birch on the opposite bank of the river, these will never be forgotten. To one accustomed to seeing the joyous meadows of Iceland in undulating reaches of emerald green sprinkled with brilliant flowers, the tangled heaths of the uplands where roam uncounted sheep and half-wild ponies and the barren slopes of the foot hills of the volcanic ranges, as viewed from any descending trail,—this prospect is extremely pleasing. It must be remembered that there are no real forests in Iceland. Henderson, writing in 1817, says,— “About a hundred years ago the valley exhibited one of the finest forests in Iceland, but now there is not a single tree to be seen,—such has been the havoc made by the inclemency of the seasons and the improvident conduct of the inhabitants. The remains of this forest are still visible on the east side of the river, which divides the valley, in the numerous stumps of birch trees which present themselves, some of which exceed two feet in diameter.” That there were large forests in the ancient days we have plenty of evidence in the numerous references in the _Sagas_. In the thirty-sixth chapter of _Burnt Njál_ we read:— “There was a man named Swart, Bergthora’s house-carle. Now Bergthora told him that he must go up into Redslip and hew wood; I will get men to draw home the wood.”