Chapter IV: Yarmouth to Acle

[Picture: Decorative drop capital] On going back to the yacht, we found that she was moored in the North River, or Bure, having been quanted under the two fixed bridges, and the mast was being slowly raised. The big pole masts of these river yachts are very heavy and unwieldy, and I am always glad when the operation of lowering and raising them again is safely over. Sometimes they have lead weights permanently fixed to the heel of the mast (which latter swings in a tabernacle), but generally, lumps of ballast have to be shifted and hooked on, a troublesome "pinch-finger" business which I avoid in my own yacht by using a tackle and blocks.

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.

[Picture: St. Benet's Abbey]

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.

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