On the tour of which some details are now given, after passing a small river known as Trifon’s River (a name pointing to events which occurred long ago), we reached the head of the fjord where the Petschenga River discharges itself. Here, at a place called Barken, a few Lapps live. From these people we each hired a boat of the kind that is now in use in Finmark. They are long and narrow, almost exactly like those which are used on the Hallingdal River. The same kind of river has produced the same type of boat. We transferred our luggage to these river-boats, and arranged it in the centre, so that, according to our inclination, we could either sit or lie down in the boats. Then we set off, with a couple of men in each boat, one in the bow and the other at the stern, each furnished with a long pole. The boats glided on as the boatmen, encouraged by us, pushed along the banks of the river, competing with one another. The banks are covered on both sides with beautiful white-stemmed birch trees. Here and there a solitary fir is to be seen, which looks almost black by contrast with the bright green birch leaves. Further toward the south the firs are more plentiful, and quite in the distance dense pine-woods appear. The fact is, that the river rises in the south, and in travelling up it we take a southerly direction. A quarter of a mile up the river we reached such a lovely spot that we decided at once to disembark, and pitch our tents for the night. There is a level plot of ground a few feet above the river-bed, and it is as smooth and as flat as a parlour floor, so that it must have been made at some period by the river itself. Here and there are clumps of trees that are a hundred years old, birch, aspen, and mountain-ash; and in the open spaces between the clumps a luxuriant herbage is growing. It looks as if somebody, a long time ago, had laid out plantations here. From this level piece of land there is a view across the river, which flows still and deep just below, and there is another view over the fjord towards the north, while very far to the south-east, mountains with the snow upon them can be seen. A more lovely spot for a dwelling could scarcely be found anywhere, even in Norwegian Finmark. For about an hour we were busily occupied in pitching our tents, strewing thin fragrant birch twigs on the ground, spreading reindeer-skins over the twigs, and arranging our baggage according to each one’s taste, and idea of order. When all was finished we paid calls on each other, and discussed the question, what should we have for supper, or, to speak more correctly, for dinner; for in those parts one is often at dinner when it is midnight in Southern lands. ‘Fresh salmon,’ said the sportsman. ‘And young ptarmigan,’ said the botanist. ‘And cloudberries for dessert,’ said the fisherman. ‘Do salmon come up the river as far as this?’ I asked of one of the boatmen.