In the Icelandic novel Sjálfstætt fólk (Independent People) by Haldor Laxness and from 1934 the main character Bjartur í Sumarhúsum gets lost in the remote snowfields. He is in the mountains to find
the last sheep, which they did not get with them at the last sheep gathering.
The snow storm surprises him. He is walking for days through snow and ice, and after a wild ride on the back of a reindeer bull he falls in to the freezing cold and partly frozen river Jökelå. He rescues himself, but is wet, cold and exhausted, and at last he resolved to house himself in the snow. In a snowdrift he forms a simple cave and is squatting in the darkness under the snow.
“He had not rested long in the snowdrift before the cold began to penetrate him; a stiffness and a torpor spread up his limbs, all the way to his groin, but what was worse was the drowsiness that was threatening him, the seductive sleep of the snow, which makes it so pleasant to die in a blizzard; nothing is so important as to be able to strike aside this tempting hand which beckons so voluptuously into realms of warmth and rest.
To keep the oblivion of the snow at bay it was his custom to recite or, preferably, sing at the top of his voice all the obscene verse he had picked up since childhood, but such surroundings were never very conducive to song and on this occasion his voice persisted in breaking; and the drowsiness continued to envelop his consciousness in its mists, till now there swam before his inner eye pictures of men and events, both from life and from the Ballads -horse-meat steaming on a great platter, flocks of sheep bleating in the fold, Bernotus Borneyarkappi in disguise, clergymen’s wanton daughters wearing real silk stockings; and finally, by unsensed degrees, he assumed another personality and discovered himself in the character of Grimur the Noble, brother of Ulfar the Strong, when the visit was paid to his bedchamber.
…
This was
rather a long night. Seldom had he recited so much poetry in any one night; he
had recited all his father’s poetry, all the ballads he could remember, all his
own palindromes backwards and forwards in forty-eight different ways, whole
processions of dirty poems, one hymn that he had learned from his mother, and
all the lampoons that had been known in the Fourthing from time immemorial
about bailiffs, merchants, and sheriffs. At intervals he struggled up out of
the snow and thumped himself from top to toe till he was out of breath. Finally
his fear of frost-bite became so great that he felt it would be courting
disaster to remain quietly in this spot any longer, and as it must also be
wearing on towards morning and he did not relish the idea of spending a whole
day without food in a snowdrift miles from any habitation, he now decided to
forsake his shelter and leave the consequences to take.”
