Travelogue A. Feddersen

A. Feddersen was born in Denmark in 1835 and died in 1906. He was a fisheries expert and studied hatcheries, ponds and fish farms in both Denmark and Norway. He has a large body of writing behind him. Our interest in this case is that Feddersen visited a hatchery in Drammen and the salmon fishery at Hellefossen near Hokksund:

The text is here translated into Norwegian:

After crossing the long bridge that crosses the river, I followed the river and arrived at the waterfall. The entire volume of the river's water forms the waterfall, but the flow is divided in some places by large boulders, which the water throws itself against and breaks with tremendous force. The white foam dances over the waves and dissolves into a fine water vapor, where the sunlight creates the most beautiful rainbow colors.

Just below the waterfall, the river widens and becomes calmer. Here there is a beach of rocks and sand, surrounded by steep slopes of clay and sand.

It is incredibly fascinating to stand down here and look up at the waterfall. The sound of a thousand voices mingle in an eternal roar, and the foam and the masses of water create an infinite variety of images.

But what is it that appears here and there on the surface of the curved stream before it plunges down? And what is it that in the violent turmoil occasionally sticks up or is thrown into the air?

Now it becomes apparent through the foam – there are logs on their way to Drammen.

It must be a tough ordeal for them, this journey through the waterfall – and how many such journeys have they already been through?

You can see it in the chipped and broken ends. Some of them have not withstood this final test, but have broken across. The sad remains of these proud tribes lie scattered in great numbers along the shore, between worn stones and fine sand – all ground by the same mill of nature.

On the south side of the falls, entire towers and buildings have been built from the enormous amounts of timber that protrude over the river towards the falls. Here is an impressive sawmill, where the machines are powered by the power of the falls.

Many people are busy collecting the timber above the falls and floating it to the sawmill. There the logs are stacked and roughly worked with axes – the sides are rough-hewn and the ends that are damaged are cut away – before they are rolled to the saws, where they are cut into boards and planks.

It is fascinating to watch how the logs, once placed under the saws, slowly work their way towards the saw blade, which moves calmly up and down. The sound of the sawing is completely drowned out by the thunderous roar of the waterfall.

We pass the sawmill and continue on to the timber bed that extends over the foaming waterfall. There we see some long logs that protrude far out over the waterfall and carry square boxes – or baskets – that are suspended from iron chains with the opening facing the current below the waterfall. These boxes are made to catch salmon when they try to fight their way up the waterfall with their powerful jumps. They are hung exactly in the places where such a leap could succeed – if it were not for the boxes.

The outermost box hung so far out over the foaming waterfall that I didn’t even dare approach the beam to which it was attached. Where I stood, the sound was already so overwhelming and dizzying that I instinctively grabbed the railing to keep my balance. It felt as if I was being pulled towards the depths below me, as if the waterfall wanted to catch me. It was reminiscent of the feeling you get when you stare into a large fire for a long time – an inexplicable pull you can’t tear yourself away from. Is it the same feeling that makes people run back into burning houses, and that has given rise to stories of the skunk and sea people luring people to them?

I sat for a long time watching the water tumbling away, following the logs with my eyes as they were carried away by the current and crashed into the middle of the waterfall with a hollow thud – sometimes jumping up, other times disappearing into the foaming foam, before finally, after several failed attempts, they managed to reach the calm water below and drifted further down the river.

As I sat there watching it all, I heard shouts from the sawmill. A man with a long pole came running—there was a salmon in one of the boxes, trying to jump out, but every time it fell back. When it jumped straight up, it landed back in the box.

The man came with an iron hook to catch the fish, but he apparently didn't get a good grip, because it fell back into the current. He claimed - and I believe him - that it would try again. A salmon can jump a good distance upstream, but this time it didn't reach the basket.

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