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Updated: May 25, 2025
Our ride, after we caught the first sight of the smoke, continued for some two hours over a series of low hills, with little green valleys lying between, till we came to an extensive bog that skirts the base of the Langarfjal, a volcanic bluff forming the background of the Geysers. It was now becoming interesting.
A feathery spray sparkled through the air. The earth trembled, and sudden gusts of wind whirled down with a moaning sound from the wild gorges of the Langarfjal. It did not appear to me that the height of the fountain was so great as it is generally represented. So far as I could judge, the greatest altitude at any time from the commencement of the eruption was not over sixty feet.
I took my sketch-book and resolved to seize the next opportunity for a good view of the eruption, taking, in the mean time, a general outline of the locality, including a glimpse of the Langarfjal. Just as I had finished up to the orifice the same angry roar which had first startled me was repeated, and up shot the dark, boiling flood in grander style than ever.
This time it was absolutely fearful. There could be no doubt the dose of sods we had tumbled into the stomach of the old gentleman was making him not only dreadfully sick, but furiously angry. At this moment, as if the elements sympathized in his distress, fierce gusts of wind began to blow down from the Langarfjal.
And yet surely, for all that, the delicate tints of the snow-capped mountains, the peaks of which were now steeped in the rays of the rising sun, the broad valley slumbering in the shade, the clear, sparkling atmosphere, and the exquisite coloring of the Langarfjal the mighty crag that towers over the Geysers were beauties enough to redeem the solitude and imbue the deserts with a celestial glory.
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