Snufkin’s Camp
The sound of a harmonica carries to your ears and the smell of coffee made in a pot wafts through the air as you approach Snufkin’s Camp. Snufkin’s guitar, harmonica, and campfire – come and hear Snufkin’s stories every day.
“I’ll come when it suits me. Perhaps I shan’t come at all. I just may set off in another direction entirely.”
– Snufkin