Norwegians, Ripped Mountain and Potatoes on the Canary Island of Tenerife.

     If you were to sail in to the city port of Santa Cruz, in Spain's Canary Island of Tenerife today, you would undoubtedly find a place packed with cruise ships, tour buses, eager taxis cabs awaiting on the quay, and inter-island ferries speeding in and out of the harbour. You might also be lucky enough to spot the La Palma, a floating museum. The beautiful old boat was built by W. Harkness and Son, Ltd. in Middlesbrough in 1912. It had been ordered by the British firm, Elder Dempster and Co., Ltd., who intended to improve transport between the Canary Islands.

The La Palma, a lady with fine old-fashioned lines

     If you had sailed into the same port in 1926, you might be joined on the south mole by one of the Blue Funnel or Union Castle Line ships from London. You might also have spotted a Norwegian Navy training ship parked against the south mole.

The Union Castle boats stopped regularly in Tenerife

     Tenerife was perhaps the furthest south the Norwegian Navy had ventured since Viking explorers had braved the waves. Apart from enjoying an interesting training adventure in warmer climes, the idea was for a group of young cadets to investigate if there was any connection between the pre-Hispanic Guanche people on the islands and ancient navigators from Norway. Today historians believe most of the Guanche people may have been brought to the island from North Africa by Phoenicians or Romans, perhaps in search of different dyes. Others suggest there were earlier nomadic people who drifted to the Canary Islands much earlier, possibly on rafts built with reeds from the Nile.

A Norwegian gunboat of the kind used as a training ship

     The Norwegian training ship was to remain in Santa Cruz for at least ten days before calling in at Casablanca in Morocco. A young Lieutenant, known for his keen interest in ancient Viking exploration, six cadets and two ordinary seamen were issued with three tents, backpacks and rations for five days. Their mission was to look for a cave, which was supposed to be located in the volcanic landscapes at the base of Mount Teide, and where local anthropologists had discovered a Guanche burial chamber. 

      It was a beautiful early morning when they set off on the winding, dusty road towards the colourful town of La Orotava. From there they took one of the mule tracks which were so often used by European geologists, astronomers and anthropologists to explore the great Las Cañadas calderas. They spent their first night under a spring in the Aguamansa pine forest. 

One of the tracks in the beautiful Aguamansa forest

      After finding their way through the forests and then through a desolate landscape of volcanic rocks and shrubs, they climbed up towards Mount Teide from the base of one of the sedimentary plains at the edge of the eastern caldera. The young officer and his companions then set up their camp inside a sunken dip on the pumice plains which were overlooked by an ugly and dramatic example of eruptive force known as Ripped Mountain, Montaña Rajada.

The pumice fields, a Martian landscape under Montaña Rajada

     The heat of the midday sun and the dryness in the air hit them hard to begin with. However, the climate can be deceptive at the base of Mount Teide. In fact, it wasn’t long before fierce gusts of wind had them scrambling to collect loose volcanic stones to build a barrier around their camp. Sudden chills in the air made them feel quite unsure of themselves. They had not been warned that weather conditions in the bleak, high altitude, Martian landscapes on the island of Tenerife, can become treacherous very quickly in winter. Nevertheless, those same gusts of wind calmed as suddenly as they had appeared and the young men went to sleep early. They were exhausted after the day’s trek, and looked forward to hunting for Guanche remains on the following day.

     Then, at the crack of dawn, they were all shaken awake by a strong gust of wind. Within minutes the young men were wrapping up in as many layers of clothes as they could find. It was now icy cold. In fact, it had begun to snow. More than snow, they were in the midst of a blizzard as blinding as those on Gaustadtoppen, Norway’s highest mountain. The fierce storm, with the wind making the volcanic rocks produce anguishing screams, had them huddled in their tents for most of the morning. When it ceased, allowing them to peep out, timidly pushing drifts of snow away from their tents, they were engulfed by a dense fog.

 It can snow heavily on Teide volcano and the high mountains of Tenerife 

     In spite of being hardy Norwegians, accustomed to Arctic conditions, nobody had prepared them for this kind of weather on an island so close to the western extremes of the Sahara Desert. The Lieutenant, anxious as he was to pursue their amateur anthropological investigations, told his companions they would probably abandon their expedition. He would not have known that, if they could only keep themselves warm for a day or two, the weather front would pass. Brilliant sunshine and the warm volcanic soil beneath them would soon melt the snow away.

     For the time being, however, fearing they would never find their way in the fog, the officer sensibly decided that they would stick it out for one more night. They would use their small paraffin lamps to heat up their rations, as well as their tents if necessary. That decision could have been fatal.

     The inhalation of paraffin fumes began to sting their eyes and make them nauseous. One of the seamen began to feel so unwell and drowsy that he rolled over and knocked a lamp over with his elbow. Paraffin spilled all over his legs and caught fire. He was screaming in agony and terror as is companions dragged him out of the tent and into the fog. They managed to put out the flames by rolling him in the snow, but he was badly burned. Meanwhile, the tent became a roaring bonfire. Nothing could be saved. It was a disaster.

A plaque pays tribute to José Bethencourt outside the house he lived in 

     If only they had hired a local guide, José Bethencourt, the guide from La Orotava. Without him, unfamiliar to the terrain and the surroundings, especially at night, the Lieutenant had to make a decision. Should he send two of his team off into the night in search of help, with only a compass to guide them?

     He probably made the correct choice. He was not going to risk losing two men in this strange, inhospitable landscape in freezing conditions. No, they would all huddle up in the two remaining tents until daybreak. The injured cadette was not in grave danger, in spite of the pain. He had nasty burns on his legs, but he would survive. Evidently they would need to get the young fellow back to their ship and their expedition would have to be abandoned, but that was just too bad.

      Except for the one with the horribly burned legs, the young seamen slept on and off. When they opened the tents to stretch and make coffee in the morning, the fog had cleared. There was not a breath of wind. It was quite extraordinary. 

Shrubs, like Teide broom, and jagged volcanic rocks protrude through the snow

     Not a cloud in the sky. In fact, the snow and ice very soon began to glisten with the rising sun which began to toast their faces. It was going to be a magnificent Tenerife day. How they wished they could continue with their adventure. After a good breakfast, more coffee and a short stroll to inspect their snow-covered goat track, they packed their tents away, ensured there was no rubbish left in their enclosure, and made their way down to the sedimentary plain again before heading back towards the Orotava Valley.

     It was slow-going. They took it in turns to help the injured cadette down the rocky tracks. The path was covered with snow to start with, but soon turned muddy as they descended from their campsite at nearly 7,000ft above sea level into the dense Canary pine forests. They reached the first stone and thatched cottages in Aguamansa by late afternoon.

Traditional thatched cottages adorned the agricultural hillsides

     A group of women filling brown sacks with pine needles greeted them with waves and amused cackles before running towards them when they realised the young men needed assistance. The same women invited the Norwegians to follow them down between neat agricultural terraces, and then under majestic chestnut trees to what appeared to be a small hamlet. Plumes of scented smoke filtered through thatches and the aroma of delicious goatmeat stew made the young seamen’s stomachs ache with hunger.

One of the favourite meals in Tenerife is succulent goatmeat stew

     The young adventurers were never going to make it to the comforts of La Orotava before dark so these village people offered them all they had in the way of shelter, food, water and wine. It was the year 1926, and most islanders lived from the land. There was no such thing as money in these upper hillside regions, which are known locally as las medianías. However, the inhabitants were blessed with happiness, with the routine of existing, and with the kindest hearts and warmest humour to be found anywhere on Earth. And, for just one night, these country folk belonged to the young, intrepid foreigners, especially to the one with the nasty burns on his legs.

     A rather plump lady with glorious, reddened cheeks and hands like a man's was summoned to take a look at the burned legs. Her name was Feliciana. She was the curandera, a kind of herbal doctor so often used by mountain folk. She was not a trained doctor, of course, but her cheery attitude and beaming smiles persuaded the young Lieutenant to allow her to help the unfortunate cadette. Once again, he was correct in his decision.

     Nobody had any black olives, whose juice she swore would soothe the burns. But there were plenty of recently dug-up potatoes which Feliciana proceeded to peel with a gigantic knife, dropping the peel in a heap onto the hard-trodden earth floor of the cottage they were sheltering in. She then used the same knife to cut the potatoes into fine slices. These she placed, very gently and neatly, onto the cadette’s burns, attaching them to his legs with slithers of green plant shoots. Feliciana then covered these with a warm, moistened cloth. The seventeen year old lad had already felt some relief by just watching the woman and by listening to her humming, but he felt the throbbing pain of his burns ease away when the potato dressing on his legs began to take effect. Apparently, the juice from potatoes had been used for generations as a natural reliever of pain and healer of certain kinds of wounds.

Men digging up potatoes like those used to soothe those burns

     On the following morning, just before the expedition retreated from the hills, with help from the Civil Guard in La Orotava, Feliciana came to bid them farewell. She also brought  a small earthenware vessel containing an oily ointment which she had prepared. It was a mix of what looked and smelled like lard, crushed thyme and rosemary. After carefully removing the potato slices, which were now dry, she very gently used two large fingers to spread the home-made cream over the burned legs. She also gave instructions to the Lieutenant to make sure the cadette used the ointment every day until the sores were better. And so he did. In fact, the Norwegian ship's Medical Officer was so impressed by the effect of Feliciana's ointment on the cadette's skin that he tried, in vain, to produce a similar kind of paste before opting for the more conventional methods of modern medicine. 

BY JOHN REID YOUNG

Author of:

The Journalist (a novel) 

The Skipping Verger and Other Tales ( a collecgion of short stories)

A Shark in the Bath and other Stories (a collecgion of short stories) 

El hombre de La Guancha y otras historias (a collection of short stories in Spanish) 

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