i7o WILD LIFE ON A NORFOLK ESTUARY 



amid which a leaden weight is tied. This is carefully placed 

 in the boat, with a rod some eight or nine feet long, and the 

 eel-babber goes forth to try his luck. 



He rows to a likely spot in some drain, or to the side of 

 the channel, or maybe he rows across Breydon and well up 

 the river beyond. The boat having been fastened to two 

 long stakes thrust in the mud, the silent man begins his 

 silent occupation " bob-bob-bobbing " the bait upon the 

 bottom, keeping it in continual motion. An old Breydoner 

 bobs with just such precision as a clock swings its pendulum. 

 The vibrating " chuck " of the tiniest eel, no larger than a 

 pencil, is felt immediately, and the fish is carefully but 

 instantly hauled to the surface and held over the well of the 

 punt, into which it almost directly falls, its teeth having 

 become disengaged from the threads. Occasionally the eels 

 may be prowling in three feet of water. Sometimes they 

 must be " worked for," as some strange impulse may have 

 made them keep to a six-foot depth. Temperature may 

 have something to do with this phenomenon, for the eel, of 

 all fishes, is most sensitive to external influences. Some- 

 times eels will bite furiously, and are hauled out two and 

 three at a time, then all at once biting ceases. At another 

 time they will bite freely enough but won't " hang " long 

 enough to be captured. The biggest catch I ever made 

 was near the harbour mouth one fine May night. I believe 

 all the eel-catchers had a record time of it. Six, ten, and 

 fifteen pounds of eels may be secured in a night, and from 

 forty to fifty shillings is sometimes earned in a week. But 

 eels are as uncertain as the winds, and the eel-catchers, 

 although they have learned much of their habits, are at times 

 at their wits' ends to make a living. 



Eel-babbing is a strange, weird pursuit. Moored at the 

 side, or midway in the silent black waters, in which fathoms 

 deep twinkle the stars, the eel-man plies his lonely craft. 

 There may not be a soul within shouting distance ; maybe 

 a brother fisherman, as silent as he, is pursuing the same 

 strange occupation. You see a glow in the gloom as of 

 a distant light, and you know some one has lighted his 

 pipe : he is as silent as the stars. There are uncanny sounds 

 heard at the hour of midnight the plunge of fish, the " suck" 

 of eel, the scream of some night-bird, the murmur of un- 



