“The klop, klop of water under the bows of a small boat will cure most troubles in this world,” wrote Arthur Ransome in his 1934 novel “Coot Club” – and, after my recent solo sailing trip in the Norfolk Broads, I have to agree with him, said James Stewart in the Financial Times.
Ransome’s book is set in this network of tidal rivers and shallow lakes, which “cumulatively snake” for 125 miles through the east of Norfolk. The lakes are medieval peat diggings that were flooded by rising seas in the 14th century, and long plied by cargo boats known as wherries.
The Victorians “reimagined” the area as a holiday destination, and operators began renting small yachts to visitors. Motorboats are now far more numerous, but sailing boats are still available to charter. Founded in 1932, Hunter’s Yard in Ludham has a fleet of yachts from “the golden age of Broads cruising”, some with cabins sleeping two to four. Renters must know how to sail, but novices can sign up for a “Learn to Sail” week.
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The 90-year-old yacht I chartered, Hustler, was like “an Edwardian gentlemen’s club shrunk to a Wendy house”, with “lustrous” mahogany panelling and a Royal Doulton sink. And it had a “secret weapon”. Most motorboats won’t fit beneath the medieval bridge at Potter Heigham, and so are restricted to the southern Broads. But yachts can lower their masts to squeeze through, into a world where “the throb of boat engines” is replaced “by birdsong in sibilant reeds”.
I found the Broads “surprisingly social”. Dog walkers and fishermen waved, and a canoeist kept pace for a chat. The birds were wonderful, too, from kingfishers to marsh harriers and cranes “like dowager flamingos”. But mostly there was just me, the sound of creaking ropes, and the “low bosky horizons” stretching “beneath heroic skies”.
This was “landscape as serenity”, particularly in the dusk at Horsey Mere, reminding me “how sailing could still be” – “an interlude in which everything else can fall away, a momentary back eddy in the restless tide of the world”.
