Evening star., 1947-09-07


Der OF the stat OF the Norwegian
Embassy In Washington, Is
American director OF the Oslo
University summer school.)
MJOLFJEI.L. Norway Delayed -
Blasting, scrubbing, digging and
glacier-climbing are all part Of the
American Youth Hostelers' day at
this small mountain community in
Western Norway.
A week has passed since IL young
Americans. part Of group of 225
youth hostelers doing European
reconstruction work this summer,
arrived at Mjolfjell, site of Norway's
largest hostel. We are working with
Norwegian, Danish, and British
hostelers on the construction Of a
new bunkhouse.
Two British engineers direct work.
which begins at 8 am. and ends
shortly before dinner at pm. This
is no easy schedule; most of us are
not accustomed to such strenuous
labor.
Nineteen-year -old Peggy Spencer,
staff photographer for Texas Fort
Worth Star Telegram. seldom lifts
anything heavier than a speed
graphic camera, but today she Is
mixing cement. And Frances Allen,
Hartford, Conn. finds time to assist
with domestic chores as well as out
side work. After digging trenches,
carting wood and coal. she used a
spare moment recently to wash the
cooks uniform and 30 dish towels.
Blasting of the bunkhouse founda-
ton. an exacting and dangerous
task. has been executed by the
engineers. Frequently throughout
the day a siren blows from the pits.
A blast warning, this is the signal
to run from the dining room to the
living room to avoid flying stones
that might break through the
windows.
Saturday and Sunday are leisure
days here. However, as used at
Mjolfjell, the word, leisure" is mis-
leading. We have found that the
Norwegians' concept Of recreation is
even more exhausting than our work.
At 8 o'clock in the morning yes
terday we set forth on q hike up
the Skoora Glacier and the Skaara
Mountain. Nine hours later we re-
turned to the hostel. An all-day
climb of this sort. IS miles over a
glacier and mountain 5000 feet
above sea level, is utterly incompre-
hensible until actually experienced.
There were IS people in our group,
II Americans, the rest Norwegians,
Danes and British. Starting at a
rapid pace, we walked in single file
over the narrow path that leads
south of the hostel through hilly
fields and beside two still mountain
lakes. On the banks of these lakes
there are six or seven small wooden
houses with grass roofs.
Fresh Milk.
Inhabited solely by elderly women,
this summertime community Is a
grazing ground for cattle. Alone,
the women drive their cattle-some-
times 70 miles-through the noun
tain passes to these quiet lakes
where the animals grow fat from
the soft. thick grasses of the valley.
For three months the old women
remain with their sheep and COWS,
then return to the farms which their
husbands have tended in their
absence.
It is here at the grazing ground
that we buy milk for the hostel each
day. Two Americans strap huge milk
cans to their backs after breakfast,
hike to the lakes and at 8 O'Clock
one of the women rows across the
lake to meet us. Although neither
can understand the others language,
she greets us with q smile, empties
her milk cans into ours, then waves
sood-by and returns to her cottage.
Path Gets Sleeper.
Beyond this region our path be-
came sleeper. Up and up we climbed,
away from the rounded green earth
of the valley and over sharp, Jagged
rocks far above the timberline. For
most of us, conversation came to a
standstill. Our breath was too
precious to waste on words.
Presently the character Of the
earth changed again. The smaller,
jagged rocks were replaced by
smooth boulders. Round patches of
snow looked like somber white eyes
staring from the stony slopes above
us.
Occasionally we came upon small
glacial streams. Flat on OUR stom-
achs, we rested on the warm rocks
and slipped the clear. cold water
Then, up again, slowly and care
fully we climbed toward the clouds
and sky.
Suddenly Skarra was before us, .
small glacier stretching half q mile
ahead and five or six miles to
the left and right. Together. sky
and glacier was a memorable sight,
a brilliant unity OF pure white
clouds and Ice. Hot sun on our
shoulders and stinging cold ice and
snow at our feet, we trudged across
the glacial floor. Hikers far ahead
of us looked like tiny black shadows
creeping over the glistening snow.
Mountain Top.
Then once again the earth
changed face. With Skaara behind
us, we toiled up the last rocky
heights of the mountain. The top
at last! Before us was the view we
had been waiting for. For miles we
could see the western fjordS, the