Day 53 - Pentland Hills to Linlithgow

  The first two hours of last night were spent with me either frozen or having a heart attack when I thought someone might be approaching. It would be one thing to be found on a bunk in an official bothy and quite another to be lying in the center of the room on the table. At one point there were loud bangs outside the door and shuffling desperately out of my bag I inched towards it arranging my best welcoming but guarded expression. Subconsciously or not I'd also made a note of exactly where I'd put my knife. When no one entered I finally tensed and opened the door scaring a whole lot of poor sheep seeking shelter under the bothies porch.

Pentland Hills

  These were not my only visitors I had that night and between very little bouts of sleep I spent a

Bothy in the Pentland Hills

good deal of time throwing my sandals, pieces of clothing and small objects at the rats who were eating my food and climbing onto the table beside me. As I'd grown up having rats as pets I couldn't bring myself to throw things directly at them and was simply aiming to scare away. They would shuffle off but within half an hour they would be back and I would be woken my the scuffling and movement of my food bags as they broke through the packaging. Then I was too hot, then the table underneath the crappy foam mat was painfully hard. I have a lot of built in padding but I couldn't lie on my side without my leg going numb, or bones digging into me. Never has my small tent looked more comfortable. Next bothy I see I'm walking straight on by.
  Unsurprising I left earlier than usual, finding my half eaten wraps with bite marks along the rim as proof of last night's visitors. Once I left the place I felt myself instantly relax, and the weight on my shoulders ease- ironic as I'd just donned my sack. I climbed back to the path and felt suddenly euphoric, possibly because of the lack of sleep. I'd also not quite realized that last night I was actually scared and it wasn't till I was far enough away that I admitted just how much.
  The Cross Boarder Drove Road (CBDR) carried on down the hills to Harperrig Reservoir, an easy path with some pretty views. Phone signal reached me which was a lovely surprise and I took the chance to ring home and catch up on events. At Harperrig I found an outside tap and refilled my now empty water bag, I felt a little guilty at stealing the water but I wasn't going to knock on peoples doors at 8am and risk waking them up. This diversion, mainly caused by the large number of cows on my original route, meant I left the CBDR earlier than intended. From here I followed a series of roads, and worked hard not to be run over by the ridiculously fast cars passing. One upside is that Stephan Fry was on Desert Island disks and utterly charming, keeping me entertained for the next 45 minutes. Made friends with a few horses although the biggest wouldn't come and meet me.
  Next I joined the Leyden Road for several miles before taking a break in yet another garden center for a sausage and bacon bun and a rather good milkshake. Then a short but pretty stint high up along the Union Canal and a horrible struggle through the Industrial Estate on the edges of Broxburn. It was a rough area too, and I spent a while stumbling around a dump/bike park trying to re-find the path. When the route went into an over grown field I groaned thinking back to my struggles through the farm land on the edge of Bridgewater a month ago. I saw the land raised two or so meters on the edge of the field and I decided to scramble up through the brambles to have a look. The canal came into view before I reached the top and a lovely flat path running alongside it.
  I struggled on but found the next 8 or so miles long, painful on my souls and
boring. This is very unfair as the canal is actually very pretty and the land around it charming. It was, however, a relief when I reached Linlithgow. A big Tescos provided me with a range of reduced foods for dinner, a bean salad, a slice of quiche and a potato salad. After a rather long walk through town and up to the campsite I dropped my stuff and knocked. No answer but after consulting with a caravan person I pitched my tent and showering collapsed down for dinner and an episode of two of Buffy.  The M9 is along the campsite and loud, even with the empty caravan sits blocking a little of the traffics roar. Just a few more days the West Highland Way!

Day 46- Haltwhistle to Belligham 23 Miles

 My fears over waking those near me proved unfounded as the couple beside me woke beforehand and were also packing up. By eight I was set to go and made the brief climb back up to the lane heading into Haltwhistle. A farmer was herding the sheep in the nearby field as I passed, one dog running alongside while the other stood balanced on the boot of the quad.

Bellister Castle in Haltwhistle

  Walking along the roads I had my usual healthy breakfast of bourbon biscuits and listened to loud
music in the hope that the sugar and the beat would energize me to tackle what would be a hard days walk. Bellingham is 23 miles from the campsite, mainly through logging forests but also across boggy moors and a few miles along Hadrian's Wall. I remember, last time I walked this stretch I reached camp quite exhausted just after dark around 10pm.

Leaving Haltwhistle behind

Hadrian's Wall

  Once through Haltwhistle, and passed all the kids heading to school, I made my way into the hills to cover the few miles to Hadrian's wall. The path is a little deceptive and I wondered in zigzags staring at my GPS location. I was listening to a new author called Nevada Barr, first person narrative crime fiction, centered around an outdoor ranger in the American Rockies. Narrative voice far too girly for me, lots of rhetorical questions and thought processes.
  Once I reached Twice Brewed I popped into the tourist information center for a cup of tea and a change to quickly boost my Ipod battery. They were showing a documentary on boat building in the region and I enjoyed a brief break watching it and writing postcards.
  I forgot just how pretty Hadrian's Wall was, hard work and crowded but really pretty.  Having joined it only at Twice Brewed it was also a very short visit and within an hour I was already descending down to Ridley Common, past Broomless Lough and into the woods. Since the rain had been falling over the last week the path slabs were under a few inches of water. I accidentally stepped off one and found my food sinking to the thy into water bog. The foot didn't even hit the bottom. With my balance already committed I fell fully on my left knee and the backpack did the rest of the work landing me straight on my face.

  I lay face down for a few seconds in several inches of water as my body checked itself over. Once my inventory was completed I found the rucksack weighed considerably more now that it was mostly
against my neck, and as my foot had been underwater for several seconds I could feel water entering my boot. A lovely situation. I prioritized getting my foot out the water and crawling to my feet shrugged the rucksack back into place and glanced behind me towards Hadrian's Wall to see if anyone witnessed my performance.
  Using my poles as guides I made painfully slow progress across the path, constantly checking to see the exact position of the slabs and avoid another fall. My trusty Keen boots seemed to have kept the majority of the water out and while my trousers were muddy all the way to the upper thy nothing was hurt. For a second, when I fell, I saw images of smashed knees so I considered myself lucky.
  The rest of the day was uneventful and a little dull. I diverted from the Pennine Way a little and instead of struggling across Haughton Common I stuck to the logging paths. I was still left with a rather deep and long puddle to cross before Shepherdshield but on the whole the track was dry and clear. Once I left the shades of the forest I took the shortest and easiest route over the farm land into Bellingham.

Last stretch towards Bellingham

  Nearer the town I talked to a gentleman for a while, 50 year old cyclist here for a weekend race. I felt a little uneasy about him but we parted ways soon enough and I made my way to the Co-Op and then camp. A noticed another hikers tent but saw no sign of the occupants. Made myself a rather good chorizo noodle soup thing and read a little of the book, although it I were being honest this was mainly to impress the very attractive camper who past me. He also sat outside him tent and read, not that I watching. No car but the chair suggested he'd not be walking along with me tomorrow. Quite a pity.

Day 44- Dufton to Garrigill 16 miles

From the very first day of my walking Land's End to John o'Groats I'd dreaded today's challenge. Having had such great weather over the course of the last week my trepidation had lifted. In good weather you're meant to see a long way from the top of Cross Fell.It is the highest point of both the Pennine Way and the End to End and you'd have earned it having climbed from 160 meters to just under 900 within 9 miles on open moor land.

  I woke to rain and as I climbed out of Dufton along Hurning Lane was forced to concede that the weather forecast was correct and I'd be forced to tackle rain, mist and winds- just like last time. The climb wasn't so bad, I trudged very slowly but with no breaks and was shocked at how much easier I found it. As I began to get higher the wind picked up and visibility dropped to five or so meters. With my boots on my back dry and protected my feet remained exposed in my sandals. For a large part of today my feet were deep in water and bogs and it was inevitable that I slipped and fell flat on my face at least once. When it did happen it was dramatic but quick and relatively painless. My mood was more affected than anything else, and my left half was now covered in mud. At some point the wind had also ripped away my sack rain cover and my once protected boots were steadily been soaked.

   By the time I skidded down Cross Fell I was shacking with cold, soaking wet and desperate to escape the winds. I reached Greg's Hut and struggled to write in the blog book because my hands were too cold. In this shelter I cooked myself some soup and dipped my last two wraps into it. Food helped a lot and I left feeling considerably warmed. I can imaging Greg's Hut having saved a few lives, it's still high at 700 meters but sheltered from the wind has a wonderfully welcoming feel. Other hikers have left a mountain of things, soups, lighters and snacks. The path down is easy enough. The first time I did it, two years ago, it shredded what was left of my feet but they've toughened over the last few weeks. In the Hut I changed into my boots.

  At reaching Garrigill my earlier weariness had lifted and I was tempted to walk on but with no certain destination and a free camp behind the hall I dropped my stuff and pitched my tent. By this point I was out of food except for a packet of instant mash, the pub wasn't open and the post office was also shut when I reached town at 4:30. The only upside to a far too Spartan night was a basket of moisturizers in the ladies toilets- although I'm unsure if they had any affect when layered over several millimeters of grime.

Day 30- Uttoxeter to Swinscoe 14 miles

Leaving Uttoxeter Racecourse

Today was horrible. To begin with the paths out of Uttoxeter are covered with cows or simply over grown. Then I mislaid the path crossing the A56 and ended up struggling through nettle covered paths and getting stuck. My legs and feet, exposed in sandles and three courter lenghts, were covered in stings. Once crossed the 'path' disappeared under more brambles.

The near constant state of my feet

I stopped for a drink at twelve before following, as best as I could, the Ordley Brook. This path, after a dry summer, would have been a charming walk through a wooded valley but after the rain it was hell. Branches and trees had fallen across the path making progress slow and hard. The backpack make the simplest bit of squatting or climbing much much harder.
  Eventually after scaling several wooded banks I scrambled into a field, twisted my ankle and sat, exhausted and horrified at the idea of carrying on all the way to Biggin, another ten or so miles away. So I didn't, settling for the considerably closer target of Swinscoe and Common End Farm campsite.
  Set up and ready I had a shower, waiting for the campsite owner to appear so I could pay before going back down the road to the pub. The owner was lovely and the campsite is the type I like, nothing fancy but comfortable and well taken care of.

Common End Farm Campsite

The pub was called 'The Dog and Patridge', a handsom building but full of unhappy workers who didn't seem to like each other or me much. Perhaps they were upset at how quiet it was. Alton towers had been shut a days before after an awful crash on one of the roller coasters and the funfair was a major source of their custom. I saw no sign off any regulars. Possibly you'd not notice unless you yourself work in a restaurant. Either way I spent three hours there trying to catch up with the blog before gratefully leaving.

Day 28- Monk's Woods to Brocton 20 miles

I woke today at five and was packed and gone by six. It looked like a long day and the weather forcast said that by five there would not only be rain but forty to fifty mile winds. I wanted to get to camp before hand and since it was yet another day without a campsite I felt anxious. Leaving the field lessened a lot of these anxieties but with no food for breakfast or lunch I felt myself tune into my primal hunter gather instincts. With luck more than skill I tracked down 24 hour petrol station which willingly supplied me with sugary substances.

Belvide Reservoirs

  From here I crossed the A464, went through Tongs Village and towards Belvide Reservoir. I'd planned to camp here but it would not have worked since it's surrounded by houses and green house. It was well I'd settled for the field and not forged on.
   You're still following Staffordshire way, sometimes diverting onto the Monarchs way so the paths are relatively easy to follow and stiles maintained. It was passing through Bishops woods that I got a call from Judith, my aunt, who joined me in Penkridge for lunch. These meetings with people help so much and Judith was wonderful. Not only was I treated to good company and a lunch but she'd bought fresh socks and a packed lunch with snacks.

Lunch with Judith in Penkridge

  Once over the M6 you follow the Staffordshire to Worcestershire canal for a few flat miles before turning East up into Brocton. I met a lady cycling the canal path and we talked a while, she was a veteran traveller and wrote for walking magazines as well as being an artist.

  Although I reached Brocton well before five I decided to be naughty and camp early. The weather would crash in soon and I didn't want to end up wet. I found a lovely patch just off the path but hopefully hidden enough by trees. I did question the wisdom of camping among a bunch of trees just before the winds came crashing in but

Brocton Moors

without a handy campsite there was little choice. In the end I chose better than I thought, I must have been on the right side of the hill and I passed a lovely and peaceful night sheltered from the worst of the weather. The rain wasn't even that hard and warm in my tent I enjoyed the certainty it gave that few would be afield in such conditions.

Day 14- Exmoor to Bridgewater 25 miles

   I woke early to rain, packed and left before half seven. Today I'd be heading to Bridgewater, but first up into the    Quantock Hills. I've been told these are

Climbing up to the hills in the rain

beautiful but since I could only see a meter or so in front I can not attest to this. It poured it down continually and it's not an easy climb up those hills. You don't stay there too long either and once back on the planes your finally on the promised Somerset flats.

Quantock Hills

  I think today was ruined by a mixture of things. Partly my fault for bad planning: I'd not bought enough food for today and went without dinner last night, breakfast and lunch. There were no towns for the first six hours. When your body is used to receiving food every hour or so of walking you really feel it. Same problem with water. Secondly the weather was truly horrible. But another large part was that farmers made no effort at all to guard the paths or styles, perhaps it's not their duty but whomever it was today was rubbish. Then there was also Bridgewater which made me feel afraid in daylight. Lastly my 20 odd long mile walk turned until 25 by the time I reached camp.

  The last hour was the worst since I was chased out of one field of cows into a dead end with cow fields all around me and all the fences were so broken to be unclimbable. The final path around someones house was about a foot wide and overgrown with nettles and brambles, the fences in the other side collapsed in sections over the path. I disliked the place quite intently.

Bridge just after Bridgewater

  Fairways campsite was a smart affair, mainly for caravans but had a lovely flat patch for campers right by the toilets block. The gentleman who saw to me was also incredible friendly and warm, giving me tokens for the shower as well as a free pitch. I collapsed and tried to regroup my spirits, I sorely needed a day off.

Day 13- Westermill farm to Elworthy 22.5 miles

  It took me a while to get going today, and walking to the toilets was painful. That said packing up went smoothly, I even got to hold onto a horse for a little while as the farmer needed a spare set of hands. Once packed I struggled a little finding the road.
  As yesterday the day began on minor roads and slipped through Exford village quite early on. The village is lovely, everyone there seeming to know each other and a grass green in the centre has a very communal feel. I bought a pasty, and some cinnamon slices.

  After finishing breakfast on the park bench its was back on the road and up the hill out of town. Little traffic and I passed mainly locals walking their dogs. Soon, however, I was treated with easy field walking. A path through pastures and along hills allows a good rhythm and I enjoyed it, although eager to get to a camp early. Today was the first day I might be forced to wild camp and I still felt nervous.
  While the paths are well kept the gradient today changed frequently as I climbed in and out of valleys. The sky was clear though and the views quite lovely.
  My feet were suffering, brambles having slashed at my heel and neetles eventually forcing me to abandon my sandals and don my wet boots.

Fields over Roadwater

  I finally reached Roadwater at sixish, way too early to camp so I continued, climbing back up and been rewarded with some dazzling landscapes. The red soil in the fields contested beautifully with the backdrop and sea in the distance. While I kept an eye out for quiet corners I might hide away in I didn't fancy waiting till dusk sat in a field. So I carried on through Nettlecombe and onto Monksilver. Both are very petty towns, Nettlecombe housing a wonderful looking manor house and grounds. In Monksilver I stopped in a pub for a drink. It was a lovely place which I was half tempted to stay the night in, especially as the

owner gave me the drink on the house one he realised what I was doing.

  From there I walked, ready now to stop at the first opportunity. The hills I walked through, however, remained a little to populated. Finally I battled my way along an over grown path to find an open field at the end. No walking path through it, away from the road and freshly cut. Seemed as good as I could hope for and dropping my stuff set up camp, crawling into bed fully clothed, not even bothering to cook dinner.

Day 12- Barnstaple to westermill farm, Exmoor 22.5 miles

   Today's route to me along the roads for a mile before dipping into a wooded valley. The path, although muddy in place, is easy and it's not too long before you reach Bratton Fleming. I dropped into a shop and bought myself some snacks and a swirl for breakfast, sat on a grass verge I hate both happily. A lady approached and we began to talk. I asked advice on wild camping on Exmoor. She said she knew there was a campsite somewhere along the way and while we couldn't find it on the map she knew it's name which was enough. Next time I had signal I found it and adjusted my route.

A captive audience

  From the town you wonder up along the road before you begin the real climb through the field and up into the moors. Apart from another field of cows taking a more than healthy interest in me I enjoyed the walk. I think since the cows a week or so ago I've lost my confidence.
  The higher up I got the wetter the soil became and more uni-formal the landscape. My mum and a few friends have described how cleansing they find the sea, I've never understood it. It feels too big and too foreign to me. The moors however seem to give me strength. I love their vastness and inhospitable.


Although by this point I'd climbed a good deal and walked nearly 18 miles my legs remained fresh. My boots however remained rubbish and by this point had absorbed as much as they possibly could of the water around them. It must be nearly a week now since they were dry.
  Past Pinkery Pond the ground gets very wet and treacherous but since my feet were wet anyway there was little need to hop across muddy areas. I did however fall a few times but softly and with no ill affects. Then I had a great time walking along a collapsed wall, the stones serving to create a really firm and flat path. Faced with another field of cows I decided that I couldn't let my fear get the best of me and puffing out my chest literally pushed the cows away from the fence and marched through them. Like the parting of the seas they separated but since my godly powers aren't the greatest they soon regrouped and took up the chase. I managed a calm pase for about a minute and then my nerve failed and I rushed to the nearest fence. I was never this cowardly before but its precisely the wrong season to be trying my luck out.













 After crossing a few more fields I began a decent towards Westermill Farm, a mile along a rather busy road and there was only a field crossing left. This was until I realised I was on the wrong side of the river. It took half an hour to find a way across. The farm seems to be more of a paddock: horse boxes everywhere. I stayed in the nearest of the fields, pitched my tent and dragged myself to the showers. My feet having been wet the entire day were in a poor state but not painful. In all, although the longest day so far, I'd thoroughly enjoyed it. Part of this could be the moors and being away from the coastal path, but I also felt I was beginning to hit my stride.

Day 6- Treyarnon to Port Gaverne

Today was supposed to be a half day. A nice ten mile stroll to Padstow, along the Camel trail up the estuary to Wadebridge. Most of it should be flat with pretty views and a nice town at the end. However my planning let me down. While planning I'd been undecided whether I would catch a ferry across the estuary or walk around to the bridge. I'd therefore settled on a campsite five miles off trail and away from Wadebridge. Since then I'd forgotten my indecision and simply shoved the campsite details under Wadebridge and assumed they were in the town.

Camel River

  The first part of the day was simple enough, except for forgetting my hiking poles in the camp and having to walk ten minutes back to grab them.  I crossed another golf course and wondered down a few paths before Padstow. I'd started so early my plans for breakfast in Padstow were soon abandoned, reaching its center at about nine with few places open on a Sunday. I headed straight down the Camel trail encircling the estuary towards Wadebridge. Its a cycling route, perfectly flat and easy if dull walking. I day dreamed to Beethoven and smiled as passing joggers and cyclists. It was only half way through that I realized I'd cycled this path myself on a family holiday six or seven years ago. I'd ridden the entire route in a state of tension, waiting for my brother to ring up with my A level results.

Looking down towards Port Gaverne

  I reached Wadebridge at 9:50 and looked around for somewhere to eat before meandering to my campsite. Still no signal on my phone so I didn't have  anyway to know where precisely the campsite was. Once fed I found Internet and had a look. This is when I discovered my error. I could either walk five to ten miles the wrong direction or charge ahead and hope to find somewhere on the way. Tintagel seemed to be the only next stop with camping 17 miles away. If I reached it I would have walked a 27 mile day, the idea was daunting and as I left Wadebridge I hope the fates would show mercy and give me someone to pitch before hand.
  Starting to walk again once you've told your body your done for the day is hard, everything aches and feels heavy. It takes another hour to warm it up. That said the walking was simple enough if long winded. I kept to the roads more and more. The paths in this place seem to go through farms which make it their business to confuse and injure walkers.
  As I climbed over the final hill and saw the sea again it was a relief. I was tired and getting more and more worried over walking yet another eight miles to Tintagel. On the path down to the coast I slipped and pulled my arm badly as I tried to support my weight on the hiking poles. I sat for quite some time trying to work out how bad it was. Shuffling to my feet I realised I could take very little weight on my arm or raise it but it didn't affect my walking.  As far as I could tell it was a pulled muscle not a broken bone. Blinking away tears I shuffled onwards, and saw a caravan site tucked into Port Gaverne below. I decided to go and beg admittance. A sign at the entrance proclaimed 'campers welcome' ending my fears and I dropped my things in relief. Its a wonderful small hippy place I liked instantly, not on google maps, with good showers and facilities. The fields overgrown and steep but the family was away and . For £5 it was a  God send.
  Once set up, showered, and numbed by painkillers my arm seemed okay if delicate. I popped down to the rather wonderful Port Gaverne Hotel and had dinner chips and a shandy. Four walkers came in, having just started walking, and fanned my ego with shock at my millage. They were a nice bunch but more social walkers after a few days hanging out more than attacking a challenge. Looked fun but I still took myself to bed my nine so if be up and ready for the next day.

Day 1 - Land End to Pendeen 10 Miles

Crossing the river Tamar to Cornwall on the train

   I got to Plymouth at 5:15 and rushed across town to catch my 5:45 train to Penzance. Light was starting to seep across the city centre. The people I past were a mixture of those drifting along who'd woken up early for work and those who'd yet to go to sleep. I walked the first ten minutes with my shoelaces undone from the coach, sure I'd miss the train. I'd reserved advanced tickets, and I still needed to pick them up at the station before boarding. After nearly missing my megabus from London I was waiting for something else to go wrong. The idea that I was actually starting was staggering, I really couldn't get my head around it. I'd not trained enough, I'd gone on one over night walk and was in general unfit. This was ridiculous.
  Everything, however, went fine and I found myself on a charmingly retro train with wide arm chair style seats and sleeper compartments. While it seemed to travel incredibly slowly it was also wonderfully smooth and I dozed happily. Compared with the cramped knee crushing chairs in megabus these coaches were heaven.

View from Penzance Train station back to St Michael's Mount

  Once at Penzance I searched for a cafe to have breakfast in while waiting for the bus. Straight outside the station is a wonderfully cheap and friendly greasy spoon called Sullivan's Dinner. Fried egg sandwiches £1.20 and tea for £1. It's not a stylish buildings, rather a rundown box but the foods good and quick.
  I could feel my heart beating a little faster on the bus. I couldn't help fidget and check the straps on the backpack as if they'd suddenly break. Its a state of the art Deuter backpack, the straps are not going to break anytime soon. Although only a dozen or so miles away the bus was slow and wound around the town in zigzags taking nearly 50 minutes to complete the journey.
  Lands end was crowded with tourists, a large group of cyclists near the entrance balanced on their perches listening to their leaders instructions. Most of the people milling around were foreigner. I wondered past them feeling fooling with my backpack. I found a smaller sign than I'd expected and got a nice gentleman to take some pics of me grinning. I tried to hold up the banner but the wind wouldn't let me. A weather warning had been issued for today's winds and they were spot on.
  Once I'd registered for the walk, had a toilet break, I finally set off. Walkers were everywhere, but none wearing the backpack and I stood out horribly. This became less conspicuous as I left Cowle and dropped down to Whitesand Bay.
  The walking isn't too steep but once off the beach the path is hard under foot, a few scrambles slowing me down and breaking my rhythm. Longer distance walkers wondered past here and there, more than I've ever seen. I seemed to have finally planned a walk during the hiking season.

Registration book at the start of Land's End to John o'Groats

Freswick Beech

  It took quite a while to reach Cape Cornwall. Chimneys begin to speckle the landscape like silent wardens. Tin mining is evident but not in an ugly way, time making their ruins romantic. The idea of the labyrinth beneath my feet adds mystery to their shapes.
    My new hat proved a major success, fitting perfectly and keeping the hair out of my face. I also figured I should get used to wearing it before the summer really begins.
   Cutting across farm land I reached Pendeen and found North Inn where I camped. The wind was so strong I was seriously worried for my tent and spent nearly half an hour fastening it down. Even now sat in the pub I'm a little worried I'll go back to find it gone. That would not be a good start. 

  Showered I made myself dinner, couscous and tinned diced and beef in gravy. Dull food and a mistake. Also the tin cost £3 which is a tad pricy. If I get to St Ives early enough I'll find a proper shop and do better. I've also promised myself a pasty before leaving Cornwall so that is also on the menu.
 Only 13 miles tomorrow so another relatively easy day, and a chance to allow my body to adapt to the trail. First day done I feel slightly less scared, still don't believe I'm actually doing though.

North Inn Campsite, Pendeen