Auli frá Sleðbrjót

Vilhjálmur Einarsson:

Memories about Mark Watson.

It was in July 1956 that Haukur Snorrason, the editor of Tíminn, contacted me with an interesting purpose: Could I undertake an exploration or search expedition for an English American, Mark Watson, who was on a dog hunt? The most remote areas of the country were of interest as the search was directed towards dogs with the purest characteristics of the Icelandic dog. Watson was planning a trip to the East and I was the ideal "guide," intimately familiar with the area and having recently graduated from an American university.

It so happened that my parents, living in Egilsstaðir, were on their first trip abroad, and my father, a building official in East Iceland, left his Land-Rover in my care during their absence. Although this task did not quite fit with my preparations for the Olympic Games that autumn, I accepted.

Watson was a tall photographer and carried himself with the air of an English nobleman, being of lordly descent. He stayed at the guesthouse in Egilsstaðir, while I stayed at home in "Laufás," but we dined together at the hotel. There, he was seated to the right hand of the host, as seating was arranged by rank, with the driver at the farthest corner. It was a wet period with occasional sunshine during this week-long expedition. Initially, we explored the vicinity of Egilsstaðir, driving to farms and engaging with the farmers. The results were limited.

On the third day, we intended to search in Jökulsárhlið. After driving a very short distance "north" and just passing where Fellabær is now, Watson suddenly yelled and ordered me to stop immediately. He had then spotted a dog that appeared out of the fog. Watson jumped out and soon had the dog in his arms, ecstatic, with no other option but to take the soaking wet creature into the car. We then drove to the nearest farm, Ekkjufellssel, as it seemed most likely that the dog came from there. No, oh no, the people there did not recognize the animal. Similarly, we went from one farm to another until we gave up on finding the rightful owner. Consequently, the number of guests at the hotel managed by Sveinn Jónsson, the hotelier and major farmer, increased, and affection grew between Watson and the mysterious dog. He started asking me to place an advertisement on the radio. I resisted for a long time, finding it somewhat ridiculous to advertise as follows: "A dog has been found..." It would just be laughed at and considered a joke!

The days passed one after the other, driving southwards with his companions, Watson and the dog cuddled together in the front seat of "Robbi, the car". In Breiðdalur and on the coast of Berufjörður, Watson made purchases. Being a translator during these transactions was memorable. The farmers showed considerable business acumen, as it was always about pure gems. But before proceeding further in the transactions, Watson wanted to hear the pedigree. And there was no delay in the response: many a farmer could trace his dog's lineage through 7-8 generations! This was important for Watson because to get the breed officially recognized, if I remember correctly, 25 generations needed to be clear. I don't remember mentioning numbers regarding the price, but the price didn't matter, the farmers received a set price but could perhaps have gotten twice as much. Everyone was extremely satisfied at the end of the play. If I remember correctly, the harvest was 6-7 dogs and now special cages had to be built at the Co-op's woodworking workshop to transport the animals by flight south and then to a dog farm in California. Watson's eyes glowed when he confided in me his hopes for this costly dog breeding plan: "I hope to make it onto the cover of Life magazine when I have succeeded in pure breeding the Icelandic dog and the breed has been legally recognized."

But let's turn finally to the first dog Watson found in the fog. Whether the dog announcement stirred excitement or our trouble with the lost dog became widely known in the district, I do not know. The owner came forward. He turned out to be Geir, a farmer from Sleðbrjót in Hlíð, 30 km from Egilsstaðir. The farmer was at this time working in Egilsstaðir, and the dog had almost followed him all the way. The purchase was smoothly agreed upon, and now we got to know what the dog was named. I was quite surprised to hear the dog's name and started to think about how Watson would like it. Moreover, he couldn't pronounce it, as English people are unable to pronounce the "au" sound.

The name of the dog was AULI! The shock was the new owner's reaction, surprised and saddened when I translated this name into English: STUPID!

This article has been published in Sámur, journal of HRFÍ, the Icelandic Kennel Club.