This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler.

Jarrolds’ “Holiday” Series.

THE HANDBOOK
to the
RIVERS AND BROADS
of
NORFOLK AND SUFFOLK.

by
G. CHRISTOPHER DAVIES,
Author of “Norfolk Broads and Rivers,” “The Swan and her Crew,” etc., etc.

REVISED AND ENLARGED.

eighteenth edition.

JARROLD AND SONS,
3, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, LONDON;
LONDON AND EXCHANGE STREETS, NORWICH.

branches: 182, king street, great yarmouth;
the library, cromer.

(All rights reserved.)

CONTENTS.

ILLUSTRATIONS.

INTRODUCTION.

Since the first appearance of this Handbook, and the larger volume on the same subject, which the preface to the first edition stated to be in contemplation, the Broad District has become highly popular. Each year the tourist stream increases, but, happily, there is still plenty of room. No doubt some of the old habitués, who liked to have the whole landscape to themselves, grumble at the change, but the less selfish persons, who happily constitute the majority, do not object to seeing a dozen yachts where formerly they saw but one, or a score of anglers where in past years but half-a-dozen might be seen.

A large trade has arisen in the letting of yachts, boats, and pleasure wherries for cruising purposes; but the inn accommodation has made little advance, and is still too meagre, and insufficient for the demand. The yachts have made great strides in speed and in number. The Norfolk and Suffolk Yacht Club has flourished exceedingly, and its regattas are popular.

Artists have found out the charm of the quiet scenery of the Broads, and visit us in great numbers. Notably Mr. E. H. Fahey and Miss Osborn have given exhibitions in London devoted to the district. Then littérateurs without number have written magazine and newspaper articles, and others, after a few days’ scamper, have written exhaustive guide-books; and so the ball, which the present writer set rolling in earnest some years ago, is helped merrily forward, and the Rivers and Broads of Norfolk and Suffolk are fast becoming one of the most popular of English playgrounds.

I should like to put the brake on a little in one respect. One guide-book writer appears to treat the riverside meadows as commons, and suggests that yachtsmen should bring lawn-tennis sets and cricket materials with them. Pray don’t take such absurd advice. All riparian owners adhere stoutly to their just rights. It must be remembered that the rights of the public are limited to passage along the navigable rivers and the navigable broads, and the use of the banks of navigable waters for mooring purposes and for towing. The soil of the greater part of the river-beds is vested in the Crown, therefore angling is free to the public. Strictly speaking, the shooting over the Crown rivers is free, but this does not give persons a right to shoot an inch over the banks. Looking to the fact that the Bure is very narrow, and passes through private game preserves, let me earnestly entreat visitors not to fire off guns either at birds or at bottles (which last amusement appears to be a favourite one) above Acle bridge. The sport to the visitors is nil, while the annoyance to the riparian owners is extreme. The riparian owners are generally willing to afford the well-behaved public all reasonable facilities for enjoyment. Let this be repaid by the public refraining from potting away at waterhens and pigeons, or other birds on the banks.

It may be well to add that, up to about the year 1830, the Broads and wet marshes were simply waste; but by the Enclosure Acts and Awards, these watery commons were allotted and divided among the neighbouring landowners. In some cases the rights of navigation and staithes were expressly reserved. In others no reservation was made, and the Broads are absolutely in the hands of private owners. In other cases again, staithes and rights of way have grown into disuse, and channels have become choked up by mud and vegetation. In no case, however, has the right of the Crown to the bed of the common river been affected or changed by the Enclosure Awards.

A great point to remember is, that the possessors of the Broads set as much store by their bulrushes and water lilies as the admiring visitor; therefore, do not gather any off the Broads. All flowers and grasses which grow in such luxuriance by the riverside, within the river wall, or the three yards from the river margin where the navigator has an indefeasible right, may as well be gathered for pleasure as die and rot. Here there is abundance for everyone; but to penetrate into quiet nooks of Broads and help oneself to other people’s valued property, is an indefensible act, which by oft repetition has much irritated owners against the public. It is in this respect also that visitors from a distance are most prone to err, because, without reflection, it appears that no harm is done. Nor would there be much harm in a single instance, but “many a little makes a mickle.”

As a general rule, visitors from a distance behave exceedingly well, being educated persons with a due sense of law and order. The bottle shooters, coot potters, and noisy revellers, the swan’s egg robbers and grebe destroyers, the persons who use one’s boat-houses as luncheon rooms or dust bins are, unfortunately, home products. Of course, I hear of all offences that are committed, and by some people I am actually saddled with the responsibility of any breach of good manners on the part of the public, because I am supposed to have brought the latter to the Broads. I therefore beg the large unknown public (of whose friendliness to me as an author I have had so many proofs), when they visit the Broads, not to allow the exhilaration of an enjoyable holiday to interfere with a due propriety of behaviour.

The hitherto unwritten rules of the Rivers and Broads are these:—

Do not, in the neighbourhood of other yachts or houses, indulge in songs and revelry after eleven p.m., even at regatta times.

Bathe only before eight o’clock in the morning, if in sight of other vessels or moored in a frequented part of the river. Ladies are not expected to turn out before eight, but after that time they are entitled to be free from any annoyance. Young men who lounge in a nude state on boats while ladies are passing (and I have known Norwich youths to do this) may be saluted with dust shot, or the end of a quant.

Adhere strictly to the rule of the road when boating, according to the instructions contained in a subsequent chapter, and when angling, moor out of the way of sailing craft, as afterwards explained.

Do not throw straw or paper overboard to float to leeward and become offensive; but burn, or take care to sink all rubbish.

Do not light fires, place stoves, or throw refuse on the banks in the path of others, whose yachts may be moored to the same bank.

Steam launches must not run at full speed past yachts moored to the bank, particularly when the occupants of the latter have things spread out for a meal.

Don’t take guns on board unless you have leave to shoot on somebody’s land.

Remember that sound travels a long way on the water, and do not criticise the people you may encounter with too loud a voice.

Don’t go on a friend’s yacht with nailed shoes (the commodore of a Thames sailing club once came on board mine in cricket shoes armed with spikes). Don’t knock the ashes out of your pipe into his boat, and don’t catch small fish and litter his decks with them, leaving them for him to clean up after you.

Don’t moor outside another yacht without the permission of its owner.

Ladies, please don’t gather armfuls of flowers, berries, and grasses which, when faded, you leave in the boat or yacht for the unfortunate skipper to clear up. Don’t play the piano in season and out of season (the reedbird’s song is sweeter on the Broads); and don’t turn out before eight o’clock in the morning when other yachts are near.

Observing all these simple maxims, any number of visitors will find plenty of room for their own enjoyment, without offence to anyone.

CHAPTER I.
the “broad” district.

In a journey through it by rail, you see nothing but its flatness; walk along its roads, you see the dullest side of it; but take to its water-highways, and the glamour of it steals over you, if you have aught of the love of nature, the angler, or the artist in you.

One reason may be that the rivers are highways. From them you view things as from a different standpoint; along them flows a current of life differing from that on either rail or road: the wind is your servant, sometimes your master; there is an uncertainty in the issue of the day’s proceedings, which to an idle holidaymaker is most delightful, and the slowly-moving water is more like a living companion than any other inanimate thing can be. Houses are few and far between. Oftentimes within the circle of your sight there is neither house nor man visible. A grey church tower, a windmill, or the dark-brown sail of a wherry in the distance breaks the sense of utter loneliness, but the scene is wild enough to enchain the imagination of many. Long miles of sinuous gleaming river, marshes gay with innumerable flowering plants, wide sheets of water bordered with swaying reeds, yachts or wherries, boats, fish, fowl, and rare birds and plants, and exquisite little bits to paint and sketch—these are the elements out of which a pleasant holiday may be made.

I wrote these lines whilst at anchor on Salhouse Little Broad. The evening was most still and placid, and the boat lay motionless among the lily leaves which covered the water around. The white lilies had so closed their petals that but the faintest morsels of white peeped out; but the yellow, which were most numerous, did not close so completely, and the dark interspaces of water were thickly starred with the golden globes. Beyond the lily leaves was a belt of tall reeds, swayed only by the birds which have their home among them. The yellow iris flowers made the narrow neck of marsh ablaze with colour. Bounding the view was a cordon of trees; on the one side a wooded bank; on the other, but out of sight, the river. A rustic boathouse nestled amid the trees, white swans lighted up the dark shades, moorhens led their broods across the pool; the western clouds were edged with sunset glories, and the reflections in the water were as perfect as the things they copy. But though there was absolute calm, the lily leaves were not still, but moved tremulously, and sent ripples on either side. Looking closely, you saw that the leaves were covered with small insects, and the small roach were busily plucking them off the under side. You could hear the little snap or suck the fishes made, and once you caught the sound you found the air was full of these snaps, and a most weird effect the sound gave. The roach crowded eagerly round to eat the crumbs that I threw them. So fearless were they, that when I put my hand into the water and held it quite still for a while, they came and snapped at my fingers, and funny little tickling scrapes they gave. I actually succeeded in grasping one or two of the boldest. A piece of paper, which had been crumpled up and thrown on the water, was being urged to and fro by the hungry little fish, who tried to find it eatable, and tugged at it bravely.

The clouds darkened. I went into my cabin as a squall of wind and rain came on. The thunder grew louder and louder, and there, alone, with the tempest raging, I could yet write that the end of the evening was as pleasant as the beginning, so great to me is the charm of the water.

I slung my hammock, hoping that on the following day the sun would shine, the wind would blow, and the hours would pass as quickly as the boat sailed, and slept as sound as man may.

It has happened that I have written a good deal about these waters—too much, some people say. One result has been that I have been pretty well overpowered with correspondence arising from persons making enquiries about the district, with a view to visiting it; therefore, when the publishers requested me to write a kind of handbook or guide to the Broads and Rivers, I thought it a good idea, in that enquirers might, by buying such a book, save themselves the trouble of writing to me, and getting necessarily short and inadequate replies. I am afraid, however, the guide-book style is rather beyond me, and I shall be most at home if I try to convey the requisite information by describing one of the numerous cruises in which I have sailed as guide to those friends who have trusted their holidays to my care, and I will select one lasting but a fortnight, during which time we covered most of the available ground.

Before doing so, a few words, descriptive of the situation of these rivers and lakes, will not be amiss.

From Yarmouth, looking inland, three main water-highways radiate. The chief is the Yare, flowing from the westward; then comes the Bure, flowing from the north-westward, and having her large tributaries, the Ant and the Thurne, flowing from the northward. From the south-west come the clear waters of the Waveney. All these rivers are navigable for considerable distances, and on the Bure and its tributaries the greater number of the Broads are situate. These Broads are large shallow lakes, connected with the rivers, and are many of them navigable. Flat marshes follow the lines of the rivers, and while higher and well-wooded ground rises near the upper portions of the rivers, near the sea the country is perfectly flat, and vessels sailing on all three rivers are visible at the same time.

The level of the marsh is frequently below that of the rivers, and at the outlet of each main drain is a drainage pump, or turbine wheel, sometimes worked by a windmill, and sometimes by steam, which pumps the water out of the drains into the rivers.

The fall of the river is about four inches to the mile. The ebb and flow of the tide are felt for thirty miles inland, but its rise and fall are very little indeed. There are no impediments to navigation of any consequence, so it may be imagined what a “happy hunting ground” this is to the boat-sailor, the naturalist, and the angler.

CHAPTER II.
down the yare. norwich to reedham.

“If you will give up a fortnight, I promise you that you will find it too short. You went to the Friesland Meres years ago, and enjoyed it. You will like these quite as well.”

So he promised to come for a fortnight, rather reluctantly, and when, on his arrival in Norwich, he took a preliminary canter by rail to Yarmouth, he refused to say anything about what he thought of the country, which looked ominous. We had hired a ten-ton cutter, and she was lying at Thorpe, a mile and a half below the city. The man we had engaged rowed the jolly-boat up for us, and as Wynne was enthusiastic about old buildings, we rowed him up the river to the New Mills, a very old mill, which spans the river Wensum near its entrance into the city. From thence we came back along the narrow sinuous river, overhung with buildings, many of them ancient and picturesque, under numerous bridges, wharves where wherries were loading or unloading, using the half-lowered mast as cranes, past the Boom Tower, still keeping watch and ward over the river; quaint Bishops’ Bridge; Pull’s Ferry, where there is a ruined water gate, often sketched and photographed; past the railway station, into the reach parallel with King Street, where gables, and archways, and courts delight the painter. Here, on the left bank, is another Boom Tower, built of flint, the universal building-stone of Norfolk, faced by another tower on the opposite bank, whence runs a fine piece of the old city wall up the hill to another and larger tower, in better preservation, on the summit. Then we next passed the very extensive works of Messrs. J. and J. Colman, and below them innumerable stacks of choice wood, out of which the boxes to contain the mustard, etc., are made.

“You speak of this as the Wensum,” said Wynne; “I thought it was the Yare.”

“This river is the Wensum, but this smaller stream coming in on the right is the true Yare, and from this point the united river takes the name of the Yare. This spot is called Trowse Hythe, and half a mile up it, where there is a mill, was once a famous spot for smelts, where they were caught by large casting nets, used at night by torch-light, but the town sewage has effectually spoiled the smelting. The pool below the New Mills was also a place where the smelts were caught in large numbers, but it is not so good now.”

Presently we came to Thorpe, where a bend of the river has been cut off by two railway bridges, and a straight new cut made for the navigation. We took the old river, and Wynne was charmed with the view which then unfolded itself. The long curve of the river was lined on the outer bank by picturesque houses, with gardens leading to the water’s edge, while behind them rose a well-wooded bank. In the autumn of 1879 this reach was found to be swarming with pike, and it speedily swarmed with anglers, who had generally good sport until, apparently, all the pike were caught. At intervals since, there have been similar immigrations of pike to this reach when tides unusually high or salt drive the fish up from the lower reaches. At the lower end of the reach is a favourite resort on summer evenings, a waterside inn, known as Thorpe Gardens, where we pulled up. Here there are also boat-letting stations, where cruising yachts can be hired.

Just through the bridge, [29] we joined the main river again, and noticed several yachts moored against the bank, amongst which was ours.

Wynne stepped on board, curious to inspect a Norfolk yacht, and he freely commented on her enormous counter, short keel, great open well, and tall pole-mast. In a short time we stowed all our belongings, and set sail—mainsail, jib, and topsail—the spread of canvas rather startling Wynne, who had only been used to sea yachts. There was a light north-westerly wind, and we glided swiftly away before it. But ere we had sailed a couple of hundred yards, Wynne insisted on our stopping to sketch the White House, at Whitlingham, which, with the trees on the hill, the wood-shaded reach of river, and the huge brown sails of the wherries, formed a picture we might well wish to carry away. Wynne often stopped in this way, to the intense disgust of our man, who liked to make his passages quickly, and had no sympathy with artistic amusements.

The dyke leading out of the river by the White House is a regular harbour for pike, which is continually restocked from the river. It is private property, but just at the mouth of the dyke, in the navigable river, is a good spot. At least three hundred pike were taken here last winter by Norwich artisans.

“What graceful craft these wherries, as you call them, are!” remarked Wynne, as he rapidly sketched the high-peaked sail of one which was slowly beating to windward or “turning,” as the vernacular hath it, up the narrow river.

Very many of these wherries have been converted into sailing house boats or pleasure barges, and so constitute most admirable floating homes for those who like cruising with greater comfort than small yachts can give.

It was an hour before we got under way again, and when, after sailing down the long straight reach by Whitlingham, we came in sight of the eminence known as Postwick Grove, Wynne wished to land in order that he might see the view from the top. The man burst into open grumbling, so we asked him if the trip were undertaken for his pleasure or ours, and on his reluctantly admitting that it was for ours, we told him it was our pleasure to do as we liked, and he resigned himself to his fate. The watermen on these rivers are very civil, but they look with disfavour upon anything which interferes with actual sailing.

Well, the view from Postwick was worth seeing. The curving reaches of the river, animated with yachts, wherries, and boats, lay beneath us, and the green marshes were bounded by the woods of Thorpe, Whitlingham, and Bramerton, while the ruined church of Whitlingham stood boldly on the brow of the opposite hill.

Under way again, we presently reached Bramerton, where the “Wood’s End” public-house offers good cheer to the wherryman and boating-man.

The pleasure-steamers which run between Norwich and Yarmouth afford a quick but less pleasant way of seeing the river, and stop at Bramerton nearly every day in the week.

Now the higher ground falls away from the river on each side of us, and the belt of marshes widens, the river is higher than the surface of the land, and the water is lifted out of the many drains and dykes by means of turbine wheels, worked by the windmills which form such conspicuous objects in the landscape, and by more pretentious steam drainage mills.

Surlingham Ferry, 6 miles by river from Norwich, next came into view. The house, with its picturesque gables, lies in the shadow of a group of fine trees. A horse and cart was being ferried across on the huge raft as we approached, and the chain was only just dropped in time for us to pass.

There is a good inn at the Ferry, with limited but comfortable staying accommodation; and excellent roach fishing is often obtainable. The shore above the Ferry on the same side is suitable for mooring yachts to, as there is a fair depth of water close to the bank.

“What numbers of boats there are with people fishing?” said Wynne. “Do they all catch anything?”

“Oh, yes, any quantity, as far as number goes, of roach, and bream, and some good fish too, but the larger fish are caught in the deeper water, lower down.”

Coldham Hall is the next fishing station of importance. There is a good inn there, and plenty of boats for hire at a cheap rate. Fishing and other boats can also be obtained at Messrs. H. Flowers and Co.’s new boating station, where yachts can be moored and laid up. As the railway station (Brundall) is close to it, it is very convenient for anglers. The mooring places at Brundall and Coldham Hall are not many, as the banks are very shoal. In the reach between Brundall and Coldham Hall only the middle third of the river is navigable for yachts; and the same may be said of the long reach below Coldham Hall. We could see half-a-dozen fishing boats under the lee of the point above the station. It seems a favourite place, for I never passed it without seeing fishermen there. But as the man had to sail the yacht round the great curve of the river, we took a short cut across Surlingham Broad in the jolly.

This Broad lies within a horse-shoe bend of the river, and has a navigable channel across it. It is not deep enough, however, for yachts or laden wherries. The Broad is largely affected by the tide, which sometimes leaves its shallows exposed. The river, as I should have said, is tidal up to Norwich, and the force of the tide increases with every deepening of Yarmouth Haven. We rowed up the dyke which leads on to the Broad, a small sheet of water, overgrown with weeds and very shallow, but a capital nursery for fish and fowl. The fishing upon it is preserved. Rowing across it, we entered another dyke, and emerged into the river again, and caught up the yacht.

Snipe abound on the marshes here, and their drumming can always be heard in the early summer. The flat, far-reaching marshes glowed with a thousand tints of flower and grass, and the iris gleamed brightly in the lush margins of the river. We sailed quietly on, down the curving reaches of the widening river, watching the slow-seeming flight of the heron, the splash of fish, the bending reeds, and the occasional boat-loads of anglers, until we came to the mouth of a dyke, about a mile long, up which we again rowed in the jolly, to explore Rockland Broad, where the open water is much more extensive than at Surlingham. Here there are several eel-fishers’ floating abodes, Noah’s-ark-like structures, with nets and “liggers” dangling about them. The fishing and shooting on the Broad are, at present, open to all.

This Broad is also much affected by the tide, as, notwithstanding its distance from the river, there are numerous connecting dykes permitting easy flow and re-flow of water.

Back in the yacht again, we reached Buckenham Ferry (ten and a half miles), a favourite angling rendezvous, with a railway station of the same name close by. A long row of trees on the left bank is the cause of daily trouble to wherrymen and sailormen, as it shuts off the wind. The man who plants trees by the side of a navigable river, where the navigation depends upon the wind, is the very reverse of a benefactor to mankind, and only selfishness or thoughtlessness can permit such an act.

There is fair mooring for yachts just below the Inn, on the same side, but they must be kept well off the shore by poles, or as the tide ebbs they will strand and perhaps fall over. The Ferry Inn is noted for its comfort; and its limited staying accommodation is good. The fishing is very good both up and down the river, and there are good boats for hire for fishing purposes.

The river now becomes very wide and deep, and the shoals near the banks, which abound in the higher reaches, are not so frequent. I would call the especial attention of the river authorities to the disgraceful state of the river as far as Buckenham Ferry. Each year the shoals and weeds increase, and the channel narrows, until in some places not more than a third of the river-width is available for the navigation. The natural consequence will be that the navigation must gradually cease to be made use of, as it becomes a matter of difficulty, and the railway will take the trade, which might be kept to the river if a more energetic care of the navigable stream were taken. This is a most serious matter, and ought to be attended to.

Next is Langley Dyke, near which are the reaches of the river where the principal regattas are held, and by the river side is Cantley Red House (fourteen miles). Cantley railway station is very close to the river, and as the water is deep close to the bank, and there is some fairly firm ground, this is a favourite yachting station, with good mooring to the banks. Comfortable quarters may be had at the Red House, and the fishing is good all about. A little lower down, on the same side of the river, is another house, “Peart’s,” where one may obtain comfortable accommodation, and a “dock” where small boats may be safely left.

We delayed so long on our way that the wind was falling, as it usually does towards five o’clock on summer days: the tide had also turned, and we had it against us, so our progress was slow. We passed the mouth of the Chet on our right, navigable some four miles up to Loddon. Its mouth is marked by Hardley Cross, which forms the boundary between the Norwich and Yarmouth jurisdictions over the river. We barely made headway as a public-house on the left, called Reedham Ferry, was reached, and a little lower down we lay to against the “rond,” or bank, and made all snug for the night. A little further is Reedham village (eighteen miles), which is picturesquely situated on high ground on the north bank of the river. The railway station is close by, and is the junction between the Yarmouth, Lowestoft, and Norwich lines. There is staying accommodation to be had at Reedham. Yachts can be moored against the south bank above the bridge, but should not be left unguarded, as the tide runs strong, and wherries tacking through the bridge often jam up against the bank.

CHAPTER III.
REEDHAM TO YARMOUTH.

At Reedham there is a swing bridge, over which the railway passes, and if the wind is foul it is always a difficult matter to sail through, particularly if the tide be against you. On the present occasion we had the tide with us; therefore, on reaching the opening of the bridge, we could shoot the yacht up into the wind, and carry her way on until through, when her head was paid off on the proper tack.

“I tell you what, these Norfolk waters are capital places to learn to steer in. An inch either way, and we should have torn our sail against the bridge.”

“Yes, and what with getting the utmost on every tack, without going ashore, shaving wherries by a yard or two, and watching for every puff as it comes over the grasses on the marsh, so as to make the most of it, there is more fun in sailing here than on more open waters.”

Just below the bridge is the New Cut, a perfectly straight canal, three miles long, connecting the Yare with the Waveney, and so saving a round of some eighteen miles, which would otherwise be necessary to get from the one river to the other, as a reference to the map will show.

Now came a steady beat for several miles, until we reached the Berney Arms (on the right is the mouth of the river Waveney), when Breydon water opened out before us, with Yarmouth in the distance. When the tide is in, this is a remarkable sheet of water, four and a-half miles long by a mile broad. There are mud flats on either side of the wide channel, where herons and sea-fowl greatly congregate. The strong wind against the tide raises a respectable sea, and the tacks being longer we made rapid progress, and the motion was exhilarating. A sail across Breydon in a strong wind, is a thing I always consider a great treat. The channel is marked out by stout posts at intervals of two hundred yards or thereabouts, but it is not safe to sail too close to all these posts unless the tide be high, as the shoals stretch out beyond them, and, in default of local knowledge, it is best to give them a wide berth.

The spires of Yarmouth grow more distinct, and at last we arrived at its quays, just as the tide was on the turn. We made fast alongside a wherry moored to the quay, and while our man, with the assistance of one of the loiterers on the quay, lowered the mast, and quanted the yacht up the narrow mouth of the Bure and under two bridges, we took a stroll about the quays, the quaint “rows” and streets of the old part of the town, and had a peep at the splendid church.

The ebb tide runs very strongly, and, to avoid being carried against the bridge which spans the contracted harbour, it is prudent for the stranger to have an anchor in readiness. The public quays are on the north side next the town, and a berth alongside a wherry or other yacht can be chosen. There are private moorings laid down alongside the south shore off “Cobholm Island,” and it is customary, in case of need, to bring up to one of these, if vacant; but a yacht must not be moored there, or alongside another yacht there, without permission. If the visitor is nervous or inexperienced, he can avail himself of the services of one of the watermen loafing about the quays, to help him through the fixed bridges which block the entrance to the river Bure, which here enters the harbour.

As Yarmouth has guide-books all to itself, it is not necessary here to expatiate upon its attractions.

CHAPTER IV.
yarmouth to acle.

Of course the wind was fair, as our course up the Bure lies north for a mile or two, and then due west as far as Acle; and it is well when it is fair, for the next twelve miles are very uninteresting. There is nothing whatever to see, except eel sets and boats. These Noah’s-ark-like craft are generally made out of old sea boats, with a hut built on them. They are shoved a little way up a dyke, out of the way of wherries, and the eel net is stretched across the stream, waiting for the eels, in their annual migrations seawards, to swim into it. Those two wooden buoys, one on each side of the river, mark its position.

Almost at our first starting, we got aground; hard and fast too, for the shoals are frequent hereabout. We waited for the tide to float us off, and to help it we sent a rope ashore to a man on the bank. The rope was not quite long enough, and Wynne undertook to bend another to it. The man set all his weight on it, the knot parted, and the man disappeared on the other side of the embankment, where there was, we knew, a deep ditch. Presently he reappeared, dripping wet, and in a towering passion. He refused to assist us any more, so we waited a little longer, and as the tide rose, we were again afloat.

Once round the bend by the Two-mile House we sped away at top speed to the westward, with frequent jibes as the river bends. The great boom came over with tremendous force, and made the yacht quiver again, although we eased it all we could by rallying in the sheet. The low, dull banks passed rapidly by, the only land-marks being solitary houses, known as the three-mile, four-mile, five-mile, six-mile, and seven-mile houses. Then we came to Stokesby Ferry, where there is a group of houses, which would make a picture, and an inn, where there is tolerable accommodation, called the Ferry House. Then, on the right, are some sluices, marking the entrance to the “Muck Fleet,” a shallow, muddy dyke, only navigable for small boats, which leads to the fine group of Broads known as Ormesby and Filby Broads. Of these we shall have something to say afterwards. A separate excursion has to be made to them, as they do not come within the round of a yachting trip, unless you drag your jolly over the sluices, and row the four-miles-long Muck Fleet. Having once tried this experiment, I cannot recommend others to do it.

A mile and a half further on, and we came to Acle bridge, twelve miles from Yarmouth. Here is a fixed bridge, where the mast has to be lowered. When we got through this we stopped for dinner, and then, although we might have sailed up to Wroxham with the wind before dark, we were fated to spend the night here, in consequence of a freak of Wynne’s. In the exuberance of his spirits, he attempted to jump a wide dyke, using the quant as a leaping-pole. As a matter of course, the pole sank deep into the mud, and when it attained an upright position, it refused to depart from it, and so checked Wynne in mid-air.

“Whatever is going to happen now?” he exclaimed, and after a frantic gymnastic exercise on the top of the quant, it slowly bent, and finally broke, depositing Wynne on his back in the middle of the dyke.

We fairly shrieked with laughter, and, as Wynne said, it served him right, for laughing as he did at the man rolling into the ditch, when the rope gave way.

As we had to get a new quant from Yarmouth, we had to wait here until the morning, and amuse ourselves with fishing for bream, of which large quantities may be caught here, and of good weight. Acle is a capital fishing station, and is now accessible from Norwich by the new line to Yarmouth, branching off at Brundall. Acle is a charming village, and offers many residential facilities to those who are fond of country life and aquatic amusements. It is within easy reach of all the best Broads, lying on the rivers Bure and Thurne, and not far by water to Yarmouth. There are three good inns—the “King’s Head,” the “Queen’s Head,” and the “Angel.” The most convenient is the one by Acle bridge (the “Angel”), kept by Mr. Rose, who well understands and can supply the needs of yachting men and anglers. There is staying accommodation at the inn, a wagonnette to meet the trains, fishing boats to let, and every attention from the host. As there is good mooring to both banks, especially above the bridge, and the river is wide and deep, Acle is rapidly becoming a favourite yachting and angling station.

Owing to the wide breadth of marsh there is a true wind for sailing, and the reaches above Acle to Thurnemouth are wider and finer than any other parts of the Bure.

CHAPTER V.
acle to wroxham.

The first noteworthy spot that we came to was St. Benet’s Abbey, situated on the north bank of the river. Once upon a time it must have been a mighty building, covering much ground, as its scattered ruins testify. Now nought reminds us of its founder, sensible King Canute, but a fine archway, with some contiguous walls, upon which a windmill has been erected, but which is now itself in ruins, and two massive parallel walls, standing about two hundred yards to the eastward; also, there are arched doorways, and strong walls in the house by the riverside, whose cool recesses speak of ancient days. This house was once a public-house; we landed to get a drink of buttermilk, and lay in a store of eggs and butter. We also climbed to the top of the ruined arch, whence a wide prospect is visible, and one may count a goodly number of churches.

Opposite the ruins is a dyke, down which a wherry turned.

“Where does that lead to?” asked Wynne.

“To South Walsham Broad, which is a mile and a half down it; and, although wherries can sail down, this boat, which draws about five feet six inches, cannot. Still, we can go down in the jolly, or, if you like, stay here, and fish for perch. This is a noted spot, because there is a hard gravelly bottom, and, by the way, we might have stopped at Thurne mouth, which is a good place for pike.”

“I like exploring these dykes, so I vote we go down to the Broad.”

So we started, and overtook the wherry, which had been aground, and she gave us a tow down. The Broad, which was formerly one sheet of water, has, by the growth of reeds and plants, been divided into two portions. There was nothing particular to be seen in the first one; but on rowing into the further Broad, we saw a cottage on the right bank, which, with its long, low thatch, deep eaves, its honeysuckles and roses, its trees and its landing-place, formed a most tempting object for a sketch, and one the artist would do well to seek. The Broad is private, save for the navigation across one part of it to South Walsham, and the fishing is preserved. The old course of the river formerly made a horse-shoe bend down towards South Walsham, and the present straight channel by the Abbey ruins is an artificial cut. The site of the Abbey is an island of solid ground in the midst of a great extent of marsh. When we got back to the boat we saw the man fast asleep on the counter, with his rod in the river, in tow of a large perch, weighing one pound and a half, which we secured.

About a mile further, on the right hand, as we ascend the river, is the mouth of the river Ant, leading to Barton Broad and Statham, of which more anon.

“The river is getting uncommonly pretty,” said Wynne, “and this slow tacking enables me to see it to advantage, eh! How close we steer to the fishing boats! and, pray tell me, why do fishermen in Norfolk wear such extraordinary hats! Here is another dyke. Can we sail down it?”

“If we only drew four feet of water, we could go on to Ranworth Broad.”

“Then, on my next cruise here, I will get a yacht that does not draw more than a wherry does. It is absurd to have such deep draught yachts where there are so many shallows. Let us row down.”

Ranworth Broad is a very pretty Broad, but grown up so that it is divided into two. The eastern half is navigable to the village of Ranworth, but otherwise private, as is the other portion of the Broad. This is very strictly preserved, on account of the wild fowl which frequent it. It is a favourite fishing place, although permission has first to be obtained from the owner, who, however, cannot be expected to give leave indiscriminately. It is not worth while seeking to fish in private waters in this district, for other fish than pike, seeing that the free fishing in the rivers is as good as any one could wish for. From the eastern part of the Broad, a very pretty picture, with the church in the background, on a wooded height, is visible.

Then to Horning Ferry, where, as we approached, a horse and cart were being ferried across, and we had to lie to for a few minutes, until the huge raft was safely across, and the chain lowered. The public-house at the ferry is a very comfortable one, with a nice sitting-room and garden in front, and is a capital place to make one’s head-quarters. It is about nine miles drive from Norwich, and four from Wroxham railway station. A little further on is Horning village, a picturesque group of houses, straggling along the river bank, with a large windmill on the hill behind, making a good picture. Here our ears were greeted with the song which, for generations past, the small children of the village have chanted to passing yachts—

“Ho! John Barleycorn: Ho! John Barleycorn,
All day long I raise my song
To old John Barleycorn.”

That is all. It is simple and effective, and extracts coins from too easily pleased holiday-makers.

The river turns to the left, at right angles to its former course, as it passes the village, and on the north bank is a reedy sheet of water, called Hoveton Little Broad, where there is a small colony of the black-headed gulls. On the south side is a small, but pretty Broad, called the Decoy Broad. Then the river turns still more sharply to the left, and we sailed due south, after having come due north by Horning.

“What a number of anglers there are!” said Wynne, “and the singular thing is, that they always seem to be catching fish.—How many have you caught?” he called out to two fishermen in a boat.

“About six stone, sir,” was the reply; “but we have been at it since daylight, and they bite very slow.”

“I must say I think Norfolk a very favoured county, with all these splendid rivers and free fishing; and one place seems as good as another.”

“Yes, as long as you pick deepish water, and get under a lee.”

“Do they groundbait the place where they fish?”

“Not before they come, but while fishing they throw in a good deal of meal, mixed with water and clay. If they were to groundbait one or two suitable places on both sides of the river, so as to be sure of getting a lee, for a day or two before they fish, they ought to get even more than they do now. Here is a boat-load trailing for jack. Ask how many they have caught.”

Wynne did so, and the reply was, “Fifteen, but all small: they run from two pounds up to seven.”

“People here either fish for pike with a live bait or trail with a spoon. You rarely see anybody spinning by casting, or even using a dead bait on a spinning flight. Now, I know that in the hands of one or two people, a paternoster has proved very deadly. With three large minnows on your tackle, and roving about close to the bank, you may get many pike and perch.”

“I’ll try it in the morning before breakfast,” said Wynne.

In another mile the river again turns westward. On the north is a very large Broad, called Hoveton Great Broad, whence comes the clangour of a large colony of black-headed gulls. The Broad is not navigable for anything of greater draught than a small sailing boat; and now all access to it has been barred by chains across the dykes, and it is strictly preserved, chiefly in consequence, it is said, of the disturbance of the gulls by visitors. The gulls flew, screaming, overhead, in a white cloud, so that the air seemed filled with them, and the half-grown young ones floated on the water, as lightly as thistle-down. Although this colony is nothing like so large as the famous one at Scoulton Mere, near Hingham, in Norfolk, yet it is extremely interesting, and particularly when the eggs are being hatched off, and the little fluffy brown balls, which represent the young birds, are running and creeping about the reeds and grasses, and swimming in and out of the water-divided tussocks. Air and water and grasses seem thrilling with abundant life, and the ear is deafened with abundant noise; a noise, however, which, discordant as it is, has for a naturalist the music of the nightingale. The water is very shallow at the east end, where the gulls are, but the soft mud is of an exceeding great depth.

Some years ago the American weed, Anacharis alsinastrum, that pest of our inland waters, so completely filled this Broad, that a duck could walk upon the surface. It then suddenly decayed, at the same time poisoning the fish so that they died by thousands. Since this time the Broad has been comparatively free from it.

During Wynne’s visit the Broad was still open, and we visited it in the jolly. After rowing about for some time, we turned to go back to the yacht, and Wynne said, “I don’t see the sails of the yacht anywhere. Where can she have disappeared to? I know that the river is over there, because there is the sail of a wherry over the reeds, but there is no channel through the reeds, and it is no use your rowing that way. You have lost your way, my boy.”

We only laughed at him and rowed on.

“I tell you that there is no way into the river here. Oh, yes, there is; I beg your pardon, but I should have rowed about until doomsday before I found the way off.”

“And you couldn’t have landed, for I don’t think there is a bit of solid ground all round the Broad. But where is the yacht?” For there was no sign of her.

The wide opening on the opposite side of the river suggested that perhaps the man had taken her on to Salhouse Broad. So we rowed on, disturbing a kingfisher, which was perched on a bullrush, and there was a picture. Wynne cried, “Oh!” with delight, and, although I have seen the like so many times, the scene is always fresh in its beauty. On the placid bosom of the small lake the yacht lay motionless, while a pair of swans, with their brood of cygnets, swam near her. Outside the ever-present boundary of green reeds, was a darker circle of trees, and crowds of yellow lilies made a bright bit of colour in the foreground. On the further shore was a thatched boat-house, and behind it a wooded bank. The thud of the jolly against the yacht’s side aroused a wild duck; a shoal of rudd broke the still surface, as they sprang from a pursuing pike, and the red-and-white cows, which had pushed through the reeds to drink, stood looking at us contemplatively.

We dropped the anchor, and got tea ready, and Wynne worked hard at a water-colour sketch, brush in one hand, bread and butter in the other, palate, plate, and sketch-block mixed up, and the brush going as often into his teacup as into the mug of water.

After tea, we landed, and walked into the long and straggling village of Salhouse, in search of bread and fresh meat, and on our return, climbed to the top of the bank, whence a fair prospect met our eyes. At our feet were Salhouse Broad, and the smaller Broad next to it, which I call Salhouse Little Broad, a lakelet covered with water lilies; outside these, the sinuous river, doubling upon itself, as though loth to leave so pleasant a land; Hoveton Broad to the right, and Wroxham Broad to the left; many white sails flitting about on the latter, and more yachts coming slowly up the river.

There is a navigation across Salhouse Broad to Salhouse Staithe, but the present owner of the Broad discourages sailing upon it, and the reader is advised not to anchor or moor there. The old times when one could come and go upon the Broads as a matter of apparent right are now past.

We went to Girling’s farm, close by, to get milk, and eggs, and butter, and I may mention that Mr. Girling has comfortable rooms to let, suitable for a family, whilst the situation is unsurpassed for prettiness.

We quanted off the Broad, and found just sufficient air moving on the river to take us gently on. We had a little surprise in store for Wynne. As we came up to Wroxham Broad, I asked him to reach me something out of the cabin. When he was safe inside, I put the helm up, and we slipped through the ‘gatway’ into the Broad. When Wynne came out of the cabin, instead of the river banks, he saw the wide-stretching Broad, the Queen of the Broads, for her beauty, size, and depth of water combined.

“This is lovely. I had no idea that we had left the river. What a string of fishing boats! Are they having a match?”

“Yes. Angling matches are very favourite amusements here, and the prizes are sometimes valuable, and sometimes very miscellaneous in their nature. They are very sociable, well-conducted gatherings, and I think the Norfolk anglers would meet with old Izaak’s approbation, as being honest and peaceable men.”

“They all look very happy. But, tell me, are there always so many yachts here as there are to-day?”

“Not quite. The fact is, there is a regatta of the Norfolk and Suffolk Yacht Club here to-morrow, and it is always a genuine water frolic. This is a favourite place at all times; Wroxham is only seven miles by rail from Norwich, and the Broad is only a mile and a half from Wroxham by water.”

We drifted across to the other side of the Broad, and there dropped our anchor, and made all snug.

It was a lovely evening, and yacht after yacht came upon the Broad, and anchored; anchoring, by the way, meaning, in the majority of cases, dropping some pigs of ballast overboard, at the end of a rope, for the mud is so soft that an ordinary anchor would drag through it. We visited our friends on various yachts, and then the moon shone so brightly out of a cloudless sky, that, late as it was, we did not turn in for a long time, but floated about in the boat, and yarned about old times, until it was very late indeed.

CHAPTER VI.
wroxham broad.

“What are you up to?” I cried.

“I am going to paternoster for perch, and I’ll take the casting-net to get some small fry.”

“Oh, dear! why can’t you wait until the morning?”

“It is morning. It is four o’clock and broad daylight.”

“Then go, and don’t come back until breakfast time.” And I drew the curtains over the windows, and tried to think it was quite dark, and to get to sleep again.

On awaking I heard the sound of a piano. My first thought was, “Where am I?” I found that I was on the boat, sure enough, and it was seven o’clock. There was no more sleep for me, for a wherry, fitted up as a yacht, was lying near, and her crew had not only got a piano on board, but played upon it at seven o’clock in the morning. It is an excellent plan to rig up a wherry in this way for a cruise, as good accommodation for a large party is secured, and the interior can be well divided into several sleeping-rooms. The presence of ladies aboard the wherry, and up so early, was rather a nuisance, as one had to row away for one’s dip. Up to eight o’clock, the Broad is generally sacred to the men, who can take their plunge overboard with safety.

Presently Wynne came back.

“Well, what have you caught?”

“Two jack, about five pounds each, and three perch, about a pound each. If I could have got some minnows I should have done better, but the roach I got were too large for paternostering, and not lively enough. I got into a row, too. I found a bow net set among the weeds, and there were three large tench in it. As I took it up to look at it, its owner appeared, and slanged me considerably at first; but when he cooled down, he got talkative, and told me that the reaches of the river by Salhouse and Hoveton Broads are the best for pike, but that all the way down to Horning Ferry is good. By the way, I saw a lot of boats fishing on the Broad when I set out, and they went on to the river when they saw me. The Broad is not preserved, is it?”

“No; but one of the owners, Mr. Chamberlin, levies a tax of 2s. 6d. on fishermen, and as it goes to the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital, one ought to pay it willingly. Poor men can’t pay it, so they fish on the Broad in the early morning, and then leave for the river. They walk here from Norwich, overnight, and begin to fish before daylight, and as they can get a boat at Wroxham for a shilling a day, it is not an expensive pastime for them.”

“I saw some notice boards at Salhouse, but there was so much on them, and the letters were so small, that I could not read them, but I suppose they were meant to warn people off.”

“Yes, there is unfortunately too great a disposition amongst owners to try and close the Broads against the fishing public, and even to interfere with the old navigation rights, but there are praiseworthy exceptions, and here comes one, the owner of this end of Wroxham Broad.” [70]

As the sun rose higher, so it grew hotter in too great a ratio, and the breeze was too light to afford much excitement in the way of racing. Still, it was a wonderfully pretty sight, such as could be seen on no other English inland water, save Windermere: the yachts, too, are very much like the Windermere yachts, but carry even more canvas than the latter do. The following are the dimensions of a 10-tonner of that time: length on keel, 25 feet; over all, 34 feet; beam, 10 feet. Ordinary canvas would be, mainsail luff, 23 feet; head, 28 feet 6 inches; foot, 35 feet, and leech, 42 feet; jib, leech, 23 feet; foot, 36 feet; and luff, 48 feet, with a topsail yard of 23 feet. For racing, these dimensions are largely increased. For fast sailing and quick turning to windward, these boats are justly celebrated, but the Broads are so rapidly growing shallower, that their draught, about five feet, closes many of the Broads to them. A much more sensible type of a large boat for pure comfort in cruising (though not for sport in sailing) is one founded on the wherry plan, with a large mainsail, and drawing not more than three feet of water. For such boats under 10 tons, the “Una” type is the best. Its shallow draught would enable it, with the centre-board up, to go anywhere, and penetrate into the most charming recesses of this wild country, which the deeper yacht can never see. Its beam gives safety, and also minimises the inconvenience of the centre-board case in the cabin, and a high booby hatch would give head-room. The one sail is very handy, and if her owner has but ordinary skill and energy, he could sail her alone, and so dispense with the expense of keeping a man. Without this expense, yachting in these waters is a reasonable and very cheap amusement. These remarks are for the benefit of the great number of people who have written to me at one time or another, to know what facilities for economical boat-sailing and living exist in these waters. For fast sailing and ease of handling by a skilled person, the present improved type of sloop or cutter cannot be surpassed on any waters.

Well, 10-tonners and 4-tonners, open cutter-rigged sailing-boats of a very fast type, canoes with battened sails, luggers and boats, and wherries sailed to and fro, and steam launches puffed noisily about, and marred the beauty of the scene, as well as upset the glasses and dishes of breakfast or luncheon by the swell which they caused. The people paid very little attention to the racing, but set themselves heartily to enjoy this great water picnic.

Wynne went ashore, and discovered some pretty woodland vistas, with glimpses of the Broad, and the glancing sails between leafy boughs of oaks, and under lofty arms of Scotch firs. Also, he discovered that at the farm at the lower end of the Broad, Mrs. Newman’s, there were rooms to let, and that an artist friend of his had taken them, so there he stayed for a long time, and kept the jolly, in spite of vigorous hails for it.

Of the adventurous journeys of yachts up to divers Wroxham Regattas, of the exploits of elated yachtsmen, and the mishaps of careless ones, of the fun and merriment attendant on these annual gatherings, the writer has written in another place. At present, we must hurry on.

In the evening we sailed, or rather quanted, up to the Bridge. These reaches of the river were lovely in the extreme. The clear and brimming river reflected the marginal flowers and groups of trees, while acres of marsh shone with the yellow iris flowers. But, alas! the woods and the sloping fields kept off the wind, and made one wish that the upper entrance to the Broad were widened and made navigable.

We came to the Bridge at last, and moored to the bank, watching the homeward-bound holiday makers arrive in yachts, and boats, and wherries; a goodly number of the latter having numerous passengers.

Wroxham has two decent inns, where good boats and bait may be obtained—Jimpson’s (the “King’s Head”), and Whittaker’s, the former the largest, but both comfortable.

CHAPTER VII.
wroxham to coltishall.

“There, I must have a new Welsh girl,” said the wherryman.

“Why is such an emblem chosen in Norfolk, of all places?” asked Wynne.

“Some thirty years ago there was a wherry named after the famous Jenny Morgan of the song, and she had such a vane. It took the fancy of the wherrymen to such an extent that they all adopted it in the course of time.”

The river here is very narrow, and Wynne, who was steering, put the yacht “on the putty” twice, before he could be induced to give up the helm to the man, who professed to know the exact depth of every part of the river. The river makes a very long loop to the south, just above Wroxham. In this loop is Belaugh Broad, said to hold some very large carp, but it is preserved. On the neck of the loop, on a high bank, stands Belaugh Church, a prominent object for some miles, as you follow the river. It is very picturesquely situated, and the view from it is characteristic. Close by the church is a draw-well, with a pent-house over it, well worth sketching. There is a pretty backwater, or old channel of the river, near here, called “Little Switzerland,” which is worth rowing up, but unfortunately the owner objects even to artists visiting it, and hence it must be considered as sacred ground.

It came on to blow very hard, as we finished the three-mile loop of river, half a mile from where we entered it, and as the wind was fair, the corners sharp, and the river narrow, we lowered the mainsail, and ran up under the jib alone, to Coltishall, where we at once made a rush for the butcher’s, just in time to secure a piece of meat for our dinner to-morrow, which, being Sunday, we intended to spend at Coltishall. The village is superior to most Norfolk villages, and contains some old houses with rounded gables, and a fine church.

The great business of the place is malting, and many men labour as maltsters in winter and boat-builders in summer, so that summer is the time to get a boat built at Coltishall, when either Allen or Collins will build you one at a reasonable rate.

The fishing is very good in this portion of the river, and there are great numbers of jack here, although they run rather small. In the spawning season, the bream head up here in large numbers, and as there is no close season in Norfolk, many anglers follow them up.

The first lock on this river is just above the village, and on the bye-stream stands Horstead mill, a very fine specimen of the Norfolk water-mill. It stands upon arches, and the stream runs under it, the wheels, of course, being undershot. It makes a very effective picture, seen from below, and, in fact, if you row your jolly up the left-hand stream, as you go up, you will see very many lovely bits worth the painter’s attention. I have photographed some of them, as I can’t sketch, but photographs cannot depict the colour. It is in the soft living light of these Norfolk scenes that their chief beauty lies, but they cannot be depicted without the aid of colour, and only imperfectly then.

The river is navigable for wherries and yachts drawing but little water, right up to Aylsham, some eleven miles further; but there are two more locks before reaching Aylsham.

Coltishall is accessible by rail from Norwich, being the next station to Wroxham, and lodgings are obtainable there. The jack fishing is very good all the way.

CHAPTER VIII.
up the ant, to barton and stalham.

“The fact is,” he said, “I thought there would be a better chance of buying things, as we went along, than there appears to be, for with the exception of butter and eggs, we might as well be on the prairies. What shall we do?”

Now, provisioning is a very perplexing thing, particularly when it is for several days, and as I knew that at Norwich made-up hampers of provisions for fishing-parties could be obtained, we telegraphed for one to be sent to us at Wroxham station, and departed in hope, with a light but fair wind. We trailed a pike-bait behind, and caught several jack, and two or three good perch. We were three hours getting to Wroxham, and while the mast was being lowered, Wynne went to the station to meet a train then coming in. He returned in glee with a hamper of good things, and our difficulty was at end. Once we spent a Sunday at Wroxham, with nothing procurable to eat but biscuits, and once, at Barton, we were obliged to fish for our meals. Meat so soon goes bad on board a boat, and one does not always care for tinned things. A good wrinkle is to have a bottle containing a strong solution of permanganate of potash on board, and then a few drops placed in a pint of water will make a most efficient deodorising liquid, with which you may safely sprinkle the meat, and wash out the lockers.

As the day advanced, the breeze got up, and by two o’clock we were at the mouth of the river Ant, ten miles from Wroxham.

As we turned up its narrow and shallow waters, our man said,

“We shan’t get very far up this river, sir, with a craft drawing so much water as this.”

“No, but we can get to Ludham Bridge, and there I have arranged for an old lateener to be waiting for us.”

The wind was fair for a large portion of the way, and we bowled along very fast. Where it was ahead, owing to a bend in the river, there was no room to tack, and one of us would jump ashore with a line, and tow. The Ant is just like a canal, except that it has no tow-path. The fishing in it is remarkably good, particularly at Irstead shoals, where there is a stretch of water about half a mile long, with an even depth of four to five feet, and a firm, level, pebbly bottom, a curiosity in this land of boggy streams. This is an excellent spot for perch and pike. It is marked by the presence of a church on the western bank, and is one of the few places on these waters where a person who cannot swim can bathe with safety or comfort. The muddy bottom, of course, prohibits wading. As you approach the entrance to Barton Broad, the bottom becomes muddy again, and the Broad itself is full of mud; there being large “hills” where the water is not more than two feet deep. The navigable channels wind between these hills, and are marked out by posts. The Broad is a mile long, and very pretty, and the entrance to it is four and a half miles from the mouth of the Ant. In our light-draught lateener, we ignored the channels, and sped about all over, often, however, finding our speed diminished, as the keel cut through the soft mud, and turned up yellow volumes of mud behind. It is a curious fact that in some Broads and portions of Broads, the mud is of a light yellow colour, and in other portions black. As all this mud is the result of decayed vegetation, this difference is singular.

There is an artificial island in the Broad, where a picnic party were then enjoying themselves. We sailed away into the long bight which leads towards Neatishead, where the bowery woods, fringing the water, spoke of welcome shade, but we were brought to a stop by the mud, and had some difficulty in getting back. On this very lovely Broad, we found we had much better stick to the channels, which were wide enough, and explore the shallows in the jolly. The fishing here is remarkably good. I do not think any objection is made to angling for coarse fish, but permission must be obtained for pike fishing. The Broad, though the water is fresh, is affected by the rise and fall of the tide. Going on one night in the dark, I missed the channel, and ran so hard on to a “hill,” that in the morning when the tide was at its height, we had to lay the yacht on her side by means of lines and tackles to the nearest channel posts ere we could float her off. The Broad is easy of access, by going to Stalham railway station, and hiring boats at Stalham, whence a row of about two miles will bring you on to the Broad.

At the north end of the Broad, a wide dyke leads northwards. This divides into two about a mile from the Broad; the left-hand one leads to Dilham and North Walsham, becoming a canal, with locks and water-mills. We took the right-hand one, and on coming to another sub-division, took the left-hand one, the right leading to a grown-up piece of water, known as Sutton Broad. The course we chose led us over Stalham Broad, which, though marked on maps as a piece of open water, now only consists of a tract of marsh, with a dyke kept open through it. Stalham is at the end of this dyke. Here there are two good inns, the “Swan,” and the “Maid’s Head,” and there are plenty of good boats for hire at the waterside. Stalham has a station on the Yarmouth and North Norfolk Railway, and as a fishing station is considered very good.

We caught a pike in the dyke, at luncheon time (ours as well as his), and a big fellow of about fourteen pounds in weight was said to haunt the spot. We saw a large fish strike at some roach, but he would not look at our spinning-bait. Within sight of the dyke end is a tumble-down house, with a thatched roof, broken-backed, and altogether so jumbled and ancient-looking, that it makes a capital subject for a sketch.

In the afternoon we sailed quietly back to the cutter, and took both boats back to the Bure, and down it to St. Benet’s Abbey, which we reached by moonlight.

CHAPTER IX.
womack broad.

“I say, Wynne, I wanted you to stop at that dyke, half way up, but I could not make you hear me. There is a charming little Broad there, called Womack Broad, and a picture ready composed, so bring your paint-box, and we will beat back in the lateen.”

We reached the dyke in half an hour, tacking in that narrow channel with great celerity.

“This boat turns more quickly than the cutter, I think; at all events, there is less trouble in managing her,” said Wynne. “Do you know that I think a fine-bowed lugger, with main and mizen rig, would be a handy boat for these waters.”

“Some of the old lateeners have been turned into luggers, and sail very well. Here is the dyke, nearly a mile long, and fringed with ferns and flowers, reeds and bulrushes, iris and forget-me-nots.”

“Here comes a wherry. What shall we do? There is no room to pass.”

“We must go to windward of her, or her sail will take the mast out of us. Here is a place made wide to admit of wherries passing, and we can hold on here until she gets by. There, that was a tight fit.”

The boat sailor must be very careful to keep to windward of the wherries in narrow waters, as their huge gaffs and sails take up a great deal of room, and if they catch your mast, they may carry it away, or capsize you. It is still more important not to get across the bows of a wherry, as she would get the best of the encounter, and a small yacht very much the worst of it. It is not often that accidents happen through any collision, but occasionally the crew of a row-boat get bewildered and row across the bows of a wherry, sailing fast, and a day of pleasure is turned into mourning. A special Providence seems to watch over amateur boat-sailors, and it is marvellous to see how they come unharmed out of predicaments which seem most serious. The wherries are sailed remarkably well, and you can generally rely on their carefulness, so that you may sail your yacht rigidly according to the rule of the road. One thing should be remembered, the wherry’s sailing is a matter of business, and the yachtsman’s is a matter of pleasure only; therefore, it is well to give way to a wherry, if there is any doubt on the point, and not hamper her unnecessarily.

The dyke we were then sailing down is about a mile long, leading westward to Womack Broad, which was once a nice sheet of water, but is very rapidly growing up, each year seeing an accretion to the growth of spongy marsh, and an additional layer of mud on the bottom. At present, the channel is navigable for wherries, which ply to Ludham village, at the further end of it.

On the right-hand side, as we entered the Broad, is a bit of an old-world picture: a boat-builder’s shed, large and old, and of picturesque construction, stands on the margin, amid low bushes and under the shade of mighty trees. Beneath it is a large boat, of an age and type unknown, and a wherry sleepily awaiting repair. Behind the boat-house is a barn, whose high-thatched roof is shaded by the branches of a cherry tree. By the side of the boat-shed is a dyke, where sundry small craft are ensconced. Behind all, and peeping out of a garden run wild, are low, thatched cottages, and scattered about, among the tall grasses, are trunks of trees, curved “knees” of oak, suitable for boat-building, and broken-up boats and punts. On the still water in front is moored a floating eel-fisher’s hut, and all around is the sense of the repose of the past. The former busy life has left its emblems resting in acquiescence with the fate which contracts the sphere of their usefulness, day by day, and year by year, as the vegetation slowly, but surely, drives out the water. That dense growth of reeds lies upon a skim of soil which would not bear the weight of a dog, and now undulates with the movement of the water, but in three years’ time it may bear the weight of a man.

It was a lotos lake to us that afternoon. Wynne painted, and I fished, and we sailed back to Heigham Bridges by moonlight.

Womack Broad is not shown upon some maps and charts, but those who are susceptible to a lovely scene should not pass it by.

CHAPTER X.
hickling broad.

“This gate hang high
But hinder none,
Refresh and pay
And travel on,”

The omission of the s in the third person singular of the verb is truly Norfolk, and common even among the middle classes. At the bridge is the “Waterman’s Arms,” where one or two bedrooms, and a small parlour, all scrupulously clean, are obtainable. Just by the bridge, in a sort of wooden “Peggoty’s Hut,” lives Applegate, who has good boats, sailing and rowing, for hire, stowed away in a remarkably neat boat-house. The fishing all round is as good as it can be, and I never fail to get a jack near the bridge, while, within four miles lie Hickling and Somerton Broads, Heigham Sounds, and Horsey Mere. For myself, I should prefer this as a fishing and boating station, to any other, because of the wildness of the district.

The tide ebbs and flows strongly; and I caught Wynne standing on the bridge, and looking in a perplexed way at the rate the perfectly fresh water of the river was running up stream. The exit of these waters—at Yarmouth—was twenty miles away, by water; Heigham Bridge is only between four and five miles from the sea, in a direct line, and the water was now running eastward, towards the sea, and the lakes, which daily rise and fall, though only a few inches, actuated by the salt tide, “so near, and yet so far.”

“Verily, this is a strange country,” said Wynne, “and not, I should think, beyond the possibility of a sudden visit from the sea.”

“No, those light-coloured mounds in the distance are the sea-banks, of sand, only held together by scanty marram grasses. We will pay them a closer visit.”

We got the lateener through the bridges, taking sufficient things for a night’s absence, and sailed away up the Thurne, which seems now to lose its name as a river, and take that of the “Hundred Stream.” About half a mile above the railway bridge is the mouth of Kendal, or Candler’s, Dyke, a narrow winding stream, up which we turned, soon to find ourselves bordered by tall reeds on either hand, and then sailing through a wilderness of water and reeds so tall that they bounded our view. This is Heigham Sounds, now greatly overgrown, and a capital place for wild fowl; also for rudd, which here attain a very large size, and go in immense shoals. Out of the channel the water is extremely shallow. In the channel, particularly in Kendal Dyke, I have caught a good number of pike.

The fishing on all these Broads—Hickling, Horsey, and the Sounds—is nominally preserved, but fair anglers do not seem to be interfered with. At all events, in the channel and the dykes one may pretty well do as one likes, and no attempt has ever been made to set up an exclusive right to the rivers. I note that a Fishery Preservation Society has been formed to abolish illegal netting, and to overlook this district, and under the auspices of this it is probable that riparian owners will not object to anglers taking a share of the superabundant fish out of the Broads. I call the fish superabundant advisedly, and will adhere to the term until anglers can assure me that they know what to do (usefully) with the number of fish they catch, and cease from throwing them away on the bank, after ascertaining their weight and number.

Well, we sailed as close to the wind as we could—and nothing goes closer than a lateener—and could just lie the channel through another reedy lake, called Whiteslea, on to the vast expanse of Hickling Broad, a lake 400 acres in extent, and looking three times as large, owing to the extreme lowness of its shores, the absence of any landmarks, and the great concave sky, which seems to fit close down all around it. A channel across it is marked by posts, which we left to starboard, as we sailed over it. The width of the channel you will have to determine by experiment, as there is no guide. At a guess, it is twenty yards wide, and all the rest of the Broad is so shallow that you might wade over it, and find a hard, yellow, gravel bottom almost everywhere. Trusting in our two-feet draught, we sailed hither and thither, and felt our way checked, as the keel cut through masses of weed, and then the bound forward, as the boat entered a part clear of weeds. These bunches of weed have lately increased greatly in Hickling Broad, which used to be comparatively free from them, and the promontories of reeds are pushing themselves further and further into the lake, and the bays between are getting shallower. Still, the lake is large enough, as yet, to be able to stand a little filching from.

We sailed down to Catfield staithe, on the western side of the Broad, and not far from Catfield railway station, on the line already alluded to. Then we went to Hickling staithe, at the north end, where there is an inn, the “Pleasure Boat,” and walked into the village to post letters, and to receive some.

Boats of a rough kind can be obtained here for fishing purposes. They are long, narrow, and flat-bottomed, and the usual method of propulsion is by “setting.” The setter sits in the extreme stern, and pushes the boat along with a light pole, at a great rate. There are often setting races at local regattas, and great fun they are.

The number of broken-up lateeners on the shores of the Broad attest the decay of large pleasure-boat sailing on these remote waters, but the smaller class of centre-board boats are coming into favour, and are, perhaps, more suitable.

After lunch we had to reef the great foresail, which was not an easy operation, as the reef was taken in along the yard, and we had to go into the jolly boat to get to the end of it. The jolly boat committed a joke its species is very fond of, under similar circumstances; that is, it slipped away from under one of us, and left him clinging to the yard, with his legs in the water.

I shall never forget three days I spent, on Whiteslea and Heigham Sound, for the fishing and fowling, one December with a friend. I stayed in the little cottage on the small island in Whiteslea. We had two boats and two men to attend to us during the day, but at night we were left to ourselves in the lonely house, where the water oozed through the floor, and the beds were so damp that I slept completely clothed in my oilies. There was a bitter north-easter sweeping over the dry reeds under a leaden sky, and the sport was of the slowest. I never felt the cold so much, accustomed though I am to winter pike-fishing.

CHAPTER XI.
horsey mere and somerton broad.

The white sand-hills on the coast were plainly visible, and the thunder of the surf was audible, as the sea was but a mile and a half away. We did what nearly every one else does who visits Horsey in a yacht; landed at the east end of it, and walked to the coast, but it was too rough to bathe. These sand-hills form a very curious barrier between the salt and fresh water. They are steep and high, and make one wonder by what force of wind and waves they attained their present shape and dimensions, in so flat a country, and why the like forces do not dissipate them over the plain. Breaches have been made in them by the sea, from time to time, notably in the winter of 1791, when a very high tide made several gaps, and threatened to overwhelm the marshes inland.

“I like this Mere as well as any of the Broads,” said Wynne, when we returned to the yacht. “It is so very still and lonely, and its quiet is in such contrast to the roar and unrest of the sea close by. Is the fishing free here?”

“No, it is supposed to be preserved, though I don’t suppose anyone will object to our catching a pike for supper, if you wish. There are no pike like those in Horsey, the proverb says.”

But the wind had fallen as suddenly as it arose, and the glamour of a fiery sunset shone over the silent mere. An occasional cry of coot, or duck, or splash of fish, and the distant sound of the sea, but emphasized the stillness around us. We sat on the cabin roof, and talked lazily, as the dusk came slowly on, and our voices were low, in unison with the evening hush.

“I do not wonder,” said Wynne, “that you are so fond of these waters. An evening like this, in such watery solitude, makes a strong impression upon one.”

Horsey Mere is only accessible by water. There is a railway station—Martham—about four miles off, but if you walked from there you could get no sight of the Broad without a boat, and boats are not procurable.

“What are these cushions stuffed with?” asked Wynne, as we lay down for the night.

“Horse-hair, I expect; but then age has made them hard and crabbed.”

“Well, I think that the sleeping accommodation might be vastly improved in your Norfolk boats generally. Canvas cots or hammocks, air beds and pillows, would all be better than the thin cushions there are in the cutter. I sha’n’t sleep to-night, for I have pins and needles all over me already.”

And in five minutes he was snoring! One could sleep on a deal plank, or even on an oak one, after a few days and nights on the Broads.

We woke very early in the morning, and found that a brisk breeze had sprung up, and that the lateener had dragged her moorings and drifted into the reeds. She had taken no harm, for, short of being run down by a wherry, there are no dangers of shipwreck on the Broads, and you might drift about unmoored, for all the hurt there is likely to accrue.

After a hurried breakfast we hoisted the foresail, and tore down the dyke into Heigham Sounds, across which we sped fast, throwing the shallow water into waves, which shook the reeds mightily. When we emerged from Kendal dyke into the main stream, we turned to the left, and in less than a mile reached Martham Ferry, which was stretched across the river while some wagons were passing across. This ferry is a large raft, which is kept in a recess on either side of the river, and floated across, reaching from bank to bank when required. There is no one to tend it, and if it happens to be on the other side, a wayfarer must wait until some one appears on the other side to get it across. It is a wonderfully clumsy thing to look at, and is not regarded with friendly eyes by the wherrymen, who run their wherries full tilt against it too often at night, or when, with the wind astern, they are unable to stop. One wherryman, exasperated beyond endurance, let his wherry go at it with all her force when running before half a gale, but only smashed the bows of his vessel, not moving the ferry a bit or injuring it, for it is heavily bound with iron to withstand such experiments.

We sailed to and fro until the wagons had passed, but a wherry coming up had to lower her sail in a hurry, and then struck the raft with great force before it could be drawn away. This jammed it diagonally across the river, and it was half an hour before it could be moved.

At the other side of the ferry, and at the mouth of a dyke, is a capital place for pike and large eels, and I can conceive of no better-looking pike place than the mile of stream between here and Somerton or Martham Broad. The water is deep and clear, with a stratum of lily leaves, about four feet below the surface, and here and there lilies on the surface. As we sailed over its glassy surface, not ruffled by the crossing wind, on account of the high reeds and grasses, we could see thousands of fish of all sizes darting away beneath us; and at the end of the main dyke, where it divides into two, is a deep, clear pool, with a hard, gravelly bottom, where there are any quantity of perch and large roach. It is the beau-ideal of a spot for bottom-fishing, but “fine and far off” must you fish, for the water, though deep, is passing clear. It is easily accessible from Martham railway station, and preferably from Potter Heigham, where, too, you could procure a boat.

The right-hand dyke leads to Somerton Broad, another reed-surrounded lake, possessing no particular merit. From Martham ferry we walked up a steep road to the village, lying around a broad green, and had we time we would have ascended the tower of the church, which is a conspicuous object for miles, and from which a splendid view of sea and lake is attainable.

In the church we noted a tablet to one Burraway, whose history is told there, but is too unpleasant to be more than referred to here.