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.