"The Search for Vinland" 'On the Trail of the Vikings' by: Kenneth M. Jungersen in: "Oceans" (Sept-Oct 1985) Ominous gray cloaked the heavens as a powerful storm seized a Norse knarr crossing the North Atlantic a millennium ago. Wind and waves toyed with the helpless little ship for days, all the while driving it farther beyond the boundaries of the known world. When clear skies returned, the ship was hundreds of miles off course. Its owner and skipper, Bjarni Herjulfsson, calmly pressed on until land loomed on the horizon a day later. An attractive landscape covered with lush vegetation came into view as he guided his ship nearer. Herjulfsson never named his discovery, but his successor, Leif Eriksson, thought "Vinland the Good" appropriate when he explored its bountiful shores. Neither man could have imagined the lengths to which latter-day scholars would go in attempting to relocated their Vinland. Norse mariners ventured onto North American shores repeatedly for three centuries in the wake of Herjulfsson's unexpected discovery. They came to explore, to exploit abundant natural resources, and to colonize. Still, they left precious few artifacts to mark their achievements and no conclusive proof of where Vinland was. The most popular theory is that Vinland--the name Leif Eriksson gave to Bjarni Herjulfsson's first land sighting--was Newfoundland. However, several historical researchers, including me, have come to believe that Norse descriptions of the new land's climate and vegetation make a stronger case for Cape Cod, Massachusetts, as the first settlement in North America and for Newfoundland as a later colony. A handful of the early voyages are remembered in all-too- brief passages in some of the sagas in the Icelandic "Flateyjarbok", meaning "Flat Island Book". A history of the early Norse explorers that was written in 1362, these fabulous tales offer tantalizing clues about Vinland, but are riddled with gaps and apparent inconsistencies. The principal surviving manu- scripts are based on earlier works, which are in turn based on verbal histories passed from generation to generation for cen- turies. They reflect the perpetuated errors, omission, and additions that are bound to crop up with each retelling, as well as the inevitable editing of the scribes who committed them to parchment. Depending on one's rationalizations and interpreta- tions, then, Vinland can be placed just about anywhere from Ungava Bay, Canada, to Tidewater Virginia. According to the sagas, Bjarni Herjulfsson set sail from Iceland around 985 to join his father's fledgling colony in Greenland, which had been discovered by Norse explorers several years before. Herjulfsson hardly fit Hollywood's picture of the proper Viking. He seems to have been a staid businessman who cared little for adventure and lacked the flamboyance generally associated with his contemporaries. Even his attire clashed with the horned-helmeted, animal-skin-clad Viking of popular concep- tion. A simple shirt and breeches covered with a tunic of coarse material probably draped his frame as he stood resolutely on the creaking halfdeck of his knarr and surveyed the low, wooded hills beyond the breakers. The fertile new land certainly was not Greenland. Herjulfsson must also have realized that it was not known to his countrymen, but any curiosity was thrust aside as he wrestled with the dilemma of how to get back to the known world. Herjulfsson had only verbal descriptions to guide him to Greenland, and no inkling of where this new land fit in. He had reason to recall a remark he made before embarking from Iceland: "Unwise may be thought our voyage, since none of us had come into the Greenland sea." Navigation in his day was hardly a precise science. The compass was nonexistent, longitude could not be calculated, and distance traveled could only be estimated in rough approximations of "days' sailing". (A "day's sailing" was the distance a ship would make under good conditions in a twenty- four-hour run--approximately 150 miles.) About the only thing which could be determined with any accuracy was latitude. Hence, latitude sailing was commonly used by the Norse. It required simply that a skipper attain the known latitude of his destination and then cruise either east or west until making landfall. From there, intimate knowledge of a coast or the sighting of a landmark or beacon would guide him for the final miles. Herjulfsson's intended course to Greenland undoubtedly was plotted in this fashion. Knowing only his latitude, Herjulfsson left the new land behind as a fair wind drove the ship along. Excitement mounted two day later when land was again sighted. Closer reconnaissance showed this second land to be fairly level and well-wooded. Tired of the confines of the knarr's exposed halfdeck and, one suspects, of the simple fare available aboard, the crew wanted to land for wood and fresh water. Herjulfsson refused and insisted they press on. The season was late, and he was determined to find his father's new homestead before winter set in. A southwesterly breeze drove the knarr onward for three days before a lookout spotted yet another landmass. Mountains capped with glaciers and snowfields dominated the landscape. Herjulfsson concluded that this latest discovery seemed "un- profitable". Despite some similarities to Greenland's physical description, he dismissed it and moved on, skirting the land for an unspecified number of days before discovering "it was an island." For four more days, the knarr raced across the sea, driven by a tremendous south-westerly wind. The mast creaked and the hull groaned as it plowed through the North Atlantic at furious speed. The single sail had to be reefed to reduce the strain on the ship and rig. Finally a towering mountain peak sprouted on the horizon. Guided by the lofty summit--the tallest in southern Greenland--Herjulfsson steered landward, eventually reaching a fjord near the base of the mount. His odyssey ended when he found his father's homestead among those on that very fjord. The "Flateyjarbok"'s rendition of Herjulfsson's remarkable journey is spartan in detail, but is still considered to be the most accurate source and does provide important clues about where Vinland was and where it could not have been. The commonly held assessment that he sighted Newfoundland, Labrador, and Baffin Island, in that sequence, fails to accommodate several key points made in the saga. A cursory look at a map shows that the southwest winds which drove Herjulfsson's ship for the last two legs of the trek would have bedeviled ship and crew every inch of the way if the popular theory were correct. The last leg in particular would have been nearly impossible because of the severity of the winds involved. By contrast, a course from the northern tip of Newfoundland to the southern tip of Greenland fits almost perfectly with the heading. Zipping along at the limits of its endurance, a knarr could just make the 730-mile crossing in the allotted time. Another point in Newfoundland's favor as Herjulfsson's last landfall in North America is his discovery that it was an island. He made this significant observation only after skirting its coast for days and without visually circumnavigating it. How then did he know the big landmass was an island? Perhaps by elementary deduction. If the coast he followed was Newfoundland's western one, he could have concluded that it was an island based on his limited but rapidly expanding knowledge of the region. Herjulfsson knew he has been blown south in the initial storms and could extrapolate that he had also been driven well to the west since he was discovering new lands. Thus he could have deduced that he had passed the eastern and much of the southern reaches of Newfoundland without ever actually seeing them. No other island large enough to be mistaken for a mainland exists anywhere within the possible scope of his voyage. Even if one ignores the wind directions and the surprise discovery that the third land was an island, Baffin Island's latitude all but rules it out as a serious contender. Latitude was about the only thing Herjulfsson could calculate with reason- able accuracy. Even given crude sightings, he would have known he was too far north at Baffin Island's southern extreme. Why would he have compounded the error into the hundreds of miles by following its inhospitable coast north? Only an incompetent would commit such folly. Thus Newfoundland becomes the leading contender for Herjulfsson's third sighting and departure point from the New World. It follows that Nova Scotia was the second and Cape Cod, Massachusetts, the first. Both remain credible according to the saga. Herjulfsson's North American adventure was a fluke. The next Norse contact some fifteen years later was a deliberate effort to ascertain the extent and potential of the new lands he had stumbled upon. This new expedition's leader was the son of Eric the Red, who had discovered Greenland. His name was Leif Eriksson. Because of Eriksson's dynamic leadership, his name became the name associated with discovery of Vinland and other New World territories. Eriksson was a shrewd and ambitious man who had just re- turned to Greenland after a trip to the king's court in Norway when he decided the time was ripe to follow up on Herjulfsson's voyage. Armed with every scrap of data he could collect from his predecessor, he bought Herjulfsson's ship and assembled a crew of thirty-five men. Eriksson's plan was simple. He would retrace Herjulfsson's course in reverse. Abundant stores for a lengthy voyage were stowed in the open hold amidships. When a favorable wind came, the knarr's sail was hoisted, and the old ship moved gracefully out of the fjord. The heading and length of the crossing are not recorded, but a brief account of the eventual landfall is. Eriksson guided the knarr to an anchorage and dutifully went ashore to reconnoiter. Herjulfsson had been ridiculed because he failed to do this, and Eriksson was determined to make at least a cursory inspection at each new land. Standing on a windswept plateau, he could see large moun- tains capped by ice in the distance. The intervening land was "like one stonefield". Eriksson concurred with Herjulfsson's assessment that the land was "good for nothing". Before leaving its bleak, grassless shore, he named it Helluland ("Land of Flat Stone"). The anchor dropped over the side again when the knarr reached a cove off Herjulfsson's second land. Sandy white beach stretched off in either direction, and a carpet of forest blanketed the surroundings landscape. The land itself seemed fairly level as the mariners rowed ashore to make their recon- naissance. To men accustomed to Greenland's harsh environs, the woodlands must have been inviting, but Eriksson wanted to con- tinue his survey. He named the area Markland ("Woodland") and led his men back to the ship. The sail filled once more, and the lapstrake hull sliced through the sea. The knarr ran "before a north-east" wind for two days before a lookout spotted another land on the horizon. A small island north of the land was the expedition's first stop. From its heights Eriksson studied the surroundings. The clear unsullied weather must have afforded a spectacular vista of a virgin land bordered by a shimmering sea. Eriksson regained his ship and sailed "into a sound, that lay between the island and that cape, which went north from the land, steering west of the cape", according to the sagas. The tide had begun to ebb, and the knarr's hull suddenly shook as it ran aground in a grating of sand and wood. It was stuck fast only a short distance from their intended destination. Impatience and a burning desire to explore made waiting for the tide's return unacceptable. Some of the crew left the stranded knarr and rowed ashore to where "a river fell into the sea from a lake". Their preliminary excursion ended when the ship was refloated, and they returned to bring it up the river and moor it in the lake. It was decided that the expedition would winter beside the lake. The first simple shelters were soon superseded by the construction of a large house. Eriksson divided his crew into two groups. Alternating daily, one would explore the countryside while the other tended to camp chores. A heavy set German named Tyrker strayed on one of the outings and made the surprising discovery that wild grapes, not unlike those found in his homeland, grew in abundance. His find was the icing on the cake. Salmon had been caught in the river and lake, lumber was plentiful, and the winter was so mild ("there came no frost") that cattle would be able to find suffi- cient grazing land. The mild winter passed with the Norsemen gathering timber and further information about the new land. Someone noted that on the shortest day of the year, day and night were of more "equal length" than in Greenland and Iceland. By the time spring came, a full cargo of precious timber was ready, and the after- boat brimmed with grapes. The expedition was almost ready to set sail for home, but hot before Eriksson settled upon a name suitable to "the land's products". He obviously had the same real estate savvy as his father. Eric the Red had managed to attract settlers to his bleak, snowbound discovery by naming it "Greenland". Eriksson also wanted a name sure to appeal, although his was a fairer appellation. Vinland ("Wineland") seemed appropriate. Having named the last of the lands Herjulfsson had merely viewed from a ship, Eriksson ordered the single sheet of sail hoisted and the heavily laden knarr put to sea. Eriksson never returned to Vinland, but other Norsemen followed his lead and ventured to its beckoning shores. They seemed to have had little trouble finding it, even without compass or accurate maps, if indeed they had any maps at all. Placing Vinland today is a bit more tricky. When the ruins of a bona fide Norse settlement were un- earthed near the northern tip of Newfoundland, many concluded that this must have been Eriksson's Vinland, perhaps the very spot he wintered. Advocates of this theory place Markland on Labrador's coast and Helluland on Baffin Island. Eriksson's description of Helluland is applicable to parts of Baffin Island, but it also fits ar area in Newfoundland. Eriksson must have entered a sheltered bay or cove to anchor. If he steered into Canada Bay on the northeastern coast of Newfoundland and landed on its western shore, he would have seen a dreary setting like the one he described. Portions of Labrador resemble Markland, but so too does the area near Cape Sable, Nova Scotia. The scant details leave ample room for debate. Only after sailing from Markland does Eriksson's narrative give enough specifics to trace his voyage with a greater sense of certainty. His two-day run to the southwest from Markland would have neatly bridged the gap between Nova Scotia and Cape Cod; it would have been an impossibility from anywhere along Labrador's coast. This hints that Cape Cod might have been Vinland. The trouble is that the cape, like every other possibility in North America, fails to conform to all of Eriksson's observations about Vinland. Lack of a fully suitable candidate for Vinland has led many to choose only those observations in the saga which lend credence to their particular theory and either broadly interpret or ignore the rest. James R. Enterline, for example, postulates in his book "Viking America" that Vinland was near Payne Bay on the western shore of Ungava Bay, Canada. His argument begins by questioning the semantics of the word Vin, a tack followed by others as well. The contention is that Vinland should be trans- lated as "Pastureland" and not the generally accepted "Wineland". Several saga sources contradict this conclusion. Numerous specific references to grapes and grape vines can be found. Corroboration also comes from a separate source. In Adam of Bremen's work, "Liber de Situ Daniae", written less than a century after Eriksson's trek, a passage says that Vinland was so named because of the good grapes growing wild there. Enterline also contends that the timber Eriksson mentions in Vinland and Markland was merely an assortment of stunted scrub trees of the sickly kind which can be found north of the tree line. This seems improbable, since Eriksson and subsequent voyagers gathered shiploads of timber. When Eriksson's brother Thorvald ran his ship aground and broke its keel on a later trip to Vinland, a replacement was fashioned from local timber. A tree of substantial proportions and strength must have been used. The broken section of keel was then erected as a beacon to ward off other mariners, hinting at its size. Ungava Bay's geography cannot be reconciled with the dis- tances and directions of Eriksson's journey. The significant observation about the length of the days in winter precludes Payne Bay entirely. It lies at almost the exact same latitude as southern Greenland. There would have been no noticeable dif- ference in the length of the days. This is not to say that Norse adventurers might not have visited the region. In fact, archaeological excavations have found remains of structures distinctly unlike Indian or Eskimo dwellings. Beacons built near shore and stone-lined ember pits like those found in Iceland and Greenland hint at Norse contact, but no conclusive proof has been found. L'Anse au Meadows, Newfoundland, is a more intriguing prospect. The only irrefutably Norse artifacts ever found in North America were unearthed there. Helge Ingstad, who led the excavations at the site, believes that the absence of wild grapes in the region can be accounted for if one considers that wild gooseberries might have seemed as good to the Norse explorers. This fails to account for all of the references to vines, because gooseberries grow on bushes. But even if granted a plausible substitute for an important piece of the puzzle, L'Anse au Meadows sharply deviates from the Vinland of the sagas. Temperatures plunge so far below freezing in winter that sheets of ice coat the surrounding sea in glittering white. This icy mass generally does not break up until May, a condition in stark contrast with Eriksson's experience of "no frost". A small watercourse does descend into the sea near the excavations, and its source is indeed a pond. But this waterway is too small to accommodate even the modest dimensions of a Norse knarr. What is more, a weaving instrument called a spindlewhorl was found at the site, which indicates that women were present. That suggests that this colony was founded after Eriksson's first temporary settlement, which did not include women. The sailing directions, as already noted, fail to conform with Newfoundland, whereas they can be reconciled with Cape Cod. The weather there, influenced by the warming effect of the Gulf Stream, is mild in winter. Wild grapes can be found in abundance to this day. Timber and grazing land were plentiful. The only dicey part is to match Eriksson's initial description with a modern map. Cape Cod and its neighboring islands have changed somewhat over the past thousand years as wind and waves ceaselessly build them up and break them down. The island he used to get his bearing may have been Great Point, Nantucket. The narrow spit of sand linking the point with the rest of Nantucket is sometimes submerged, making it an island. Cruising northwest from there into Nantucket Sound, the expedition might have run aground near the mouth of the Bass River. In accordance with the saga, the sound lies to the west of the northward jutting arm of Cape Cod. Frederick J. Pohl speculates that Eriksson discovered the arm of the cape during later exploratory outings, but that it worked its way into the description of the initial landing. He also spec- ulates that the "land" south of the island and the "land" with the cape were not one and the same. With these two rationaliza- tions, the saga seems to fit. The Bass River flows lazily from Follins Pond near the south shore "elbow" of the cape. The waterway is readily navigable by small craft, and a knarr could easily been brought up from the sea. But perhaps the most intriguing thing is that excavations in a gully alongside Follins Pond have turned up evidence of what might have been a Norse boat shed. Excavators found remnants of wood and stone supports for the keel and adjacent props. A ship, whose dimensions, hull design, and weight all fall within the measurements for a typical Norse knarr, once rested in the gully, Unfortunately, drainage through the site infused new carbon into the wood remnants, which make an accurate carbon dating impos- sible. Could this have been there Eriksson's ship lay sheltered? The Cape Cod region boasts several other purported "proofs" of Norse contact, none of them conclusive. An enigmatic stone tower stands at Newport, Rhode Island. It dates from at least the earliest colonial era, but some say it was left by earlier residents. Its three windows face the sea, which makes one question the generally accepted premise that it was a mill. Dighton Rock, in Dighton Rock State Park, Massachusetts, is an enormous boulder literally covered with various inscriptions. Its jumble of hacked figures and characters had several authors, who probably added their marks at widely varied times. With imagination, stick-like figures resembling Norse runes can be found, but the marks could just as well be interpreted in com- pletely different ways. Another inscription attributed by some to a Norse author is hacked into a 200-pound slab of rock called the Bourne Stone. It was found near the Cape Cod Canal and is on display today at the Bourne-Aptuxet Historical Site in Bourne, Massachusetts. One translation interprets it as reading "God gives us light abun- dantly." Was this a reference to the longer days in Vinland? Few believe the stone is genuinely Norse, and some, Professor Barry Fell in particular, theorize that an Iberian left it long before Norse contact with North America. A third stone inscription turned up on an obscure little island south of Cape Cod. The first two of its four lines were translated as reading, "Leif Eriksson, 1001". Shortly after the stone's discovery some sixty years ago, it received cursory attention. The weathered symbols were photographed and the pictures examined by three of the period's experts on runes. They concurred that the inscription could not be contemporary with Eriksson's visit because of grammatical anomalies, a mixture of runes from different periods, and the use of Roman numerals to mark the date. None of these experts ever actually saw the stone, however, nor was it removed for proper study. It was left to weather away in the surf and forgotten. My own research, conducted on both sides of the Atlantic, has led me to conclude that the inscription's dismissal may have been premature. In a work devoted entirely to the copying of runes, Erik Moltke stresses that lighting, coupled with inadequate knowledge of an inscription's language and contents, often can lead to "faulty readings". If the indistinct outlines of the worn letters were misread from the photos, then grammatical flaws and perhaps inappropriate letters would likely crop up. Grammar in runes should also be viewed with the understanding that there were no published rules. Few individuals knew the runic alphabet, and those who did certainly did not give it regular use; carving symbols in wood or chiseling them into stone is a tedious process. The runic alphabet underwent three distinct periods during the centuries it was in use. Though generally grouped into these categories, there was no exact date at which use of a certain symbol ended and a new one was instated. The transformations were gradual, with more remote areas generally lagging behind in changes. Authentic inscriptions exist with mixtures of early and later runes. The use of Roman numerals together with runes was considered a major flaw in the inscription. The combination was rare, but did exist. A tiny coin struck in Denmark around 1070 bears runic letters on one side and Roman characters on the other. This authentic coin, struck less than a century after Eriksson's voyage, rests in the collection of the British Museum. Prior to his Vinland expedition, Eriksson was in Norway, where he visited King Olaf Tryggvesson. The king was a fervent convert to the new faith, Christianity, and he imparted some of his zeal to his guest. Eriksson must also have been exposed to another new development, the Roman alphabet. The Roman lettering system was accompanying the spread of Christianity. It greatly influenced the development of the last major variant of the runic alphabet during the tenth and eleventh centuries. But even if Eriksson did not pick up any of the new language himself, he undeniably was with others who should have. When he returned to Greenland he was charged with spreading the new faith there, and according to Olaf Tryggvesson's saga in the "Heimskringla" (1230), "had with him for it a priest and other teachers". One of these men, maybe not even a Norseman himself, may have hacked the brief monument. The inscription might also date from any subsequent Norse voyage, or it might indeed be a forgery. But it certainly merits a closer look than it received. Toward that end I set out to relocate the inscription, a task which proved far more compli- cated than I had expected. The tiny Cape Cod island it lies near is now a military reserve and used for target practice. Understandably, it is off- limits to civilians. Getting clearance to visit was difficult and time-consuming. The next step was to arrange a trip to the island during extreme low tide, the only time the inscription might be visible. The United States Navy cooperated in every possible way, and on the designated day two navy helicopters were ready and waiting. The weather was perfect as we flew out across the sea to the little island which might host a clue to Vinland's whereabouts. There were five of us: the base operations officer, a navy photographer, an ordnance expert, my partner, and me. We plodded through the tall grass and poison ivy and scrambled down to the rocky shore. Boulders of every conceivable size and shape stretched off in either direction and out into the surf; finding one particular stone from among the multitude would be no simple task. Three-foot swells further hampered our efforts. Time ran out before we found our objective and we dutifully donned our flight suits and climbed back onto the island proper to awaiting the arrival of another helicopter. A second attempt some weeks later seemed more promising, despite a heavy overcast which threatened rain. The sea was nearly dead calm, and we had the help of the air crew because this time the helicopter stayed with us. With eight people involved the search progressed rapidly. We soon found a battered boulder which seemed about the right shape. Marine growth encrusted much of it, and only after some had been removed could positive identification be made. Today the inscription continues to take a round-the-clock beating from the surf and wind. I have acquired federal and state permission to remove the stone, as well as the requisite archaeological permit. Only a dearth of funds stands in the way of recovering the stone and giving it the proper examination it warrants. Meanwhile, bit by bit the faint marks are being erased and with them a possible link to Vinland's location fades into obscurity. It may be that Leif Eriksson's Vinland will remain an unsolved mystery. Today, aside from a scattering of holes in boulders in Follins Pond which resemble Norse mooring holes, the only visible sign of the Norse presence is a modern one. Streets named Leif's Lane and Viking Drive crisscross the area near Follins Pond where Leif Eriksson might have wintered so long ago. JUNGER01.ART