Oh no! Here's somewhere else in North Devon at the end of a terrifying and interminable descent in the rain of a combe and we're looking at you Ilfra- and Martin.
Yes, there's a wooded valley to worry about but not for the wolves that named that combe, they've all been shot. As will your brakes be although things are helped slightly by the downpours deciding to desist.
It's a wet weekend in the South West, so far, so a chance to see what people do in these parts when it's not pouring.
We wish!
Impressions are firstly what you might expect on the South West Coast, the usual seaside-provider suspects and dwellings dotted up a hill.
Look a little closer, though, at the modern curves last seen down the road in Westward Ho! Evidence, perhaps, of this place being more popular than previously thought?
An 'Adventure Park' suggests a fun-for-all-the-family day out and they've gone with the inexplicable and universal association of pirates and crazy golf.
That never quite delivers as advertised but why always the buccaneers? Pieces of eight-over-par? Har-hAr-nold Palmer me hearties?
At least three big holiday parks in the immediate area explain the expected attractions for when the view through a wet caravan window on a Wednesday won't wash.
A connecting bus used to link the leisurely locations but nobody does that sort of thing anymore and it's bad enough trying to get one to Barnstaple to do a bit of shopping, right deregulators?
When the considerable car park fills, that means two words in summer - gridlock!
They're not all here to fund the familiar fleshpots, however, and look beyond the knick-knacks and the fish & chips for a new form of frequenter, these days.
The original influx of visitors were late Victorians who came with the railway then a horse and cart down the hill. They might well have stayed at the Woolacombe Bay, which still pitches itself in the 'luxury' bracket, spa facilities now added.
Unlike the top-hatted toffs and their modesty-preserving bathing machines, guests are much more gung-ho in a hot tub nowadays, eh?
Cornwall claims to be the UK's surf capital but this part of Devon is no stranger to sun-bleached bohos and inky hipsters. The beaches run north-south, you see, with the Atlantic to the west making for swell stuff autumn onwards.
A handful of hire shops nestle next to the amusements although it can be quite a walk carrying a board depending on the mood of the moon.
Outside of Canada, the Bristol Channel, from where we're not that far, boasts one of the largest tidal ranges in the world, no less, see also Weston-Super-Mud when the tide's oot.
The three-mile stretch is up there as one of Britain's best beaches and headlands at both ends create quite a beautiful bay, naturally.
Not only is it suitable for surfers, its resemblance to something similar in Northern France, codenamed Omaha, meant this is where the U.S. Army rehearsed Operation Overlord, or the D-Day landings if you haven't seen the film.
A stone memorial nearby remembers the event and, unlike in 1944, everywhere is free to access despite the privately owned sand, lots around the country is if you didn't know already.
If Parkin Estates Ltd decide to put up the No Trespassing signs, improbable, that shouldn't be a problem...
Simply make like a gull to reclaim what's rightfully yours, right comrades?
Being in the South West and bang on the coast then it's no surprise to find the South West Coast Path passes right through here.
Woolacombe is a stopover at the end of day four and if you're walking England's longest National Trail anticlockwise from Minehead, this is only 48 miles in so just the 571-or-so to go to Dorset.
If you're coming from Dorset, it's still about 48 miles to Minehead and you've been going the wrong way, anyways.