Un puits à Kerlard, à la tête du grand ravin qui se jette au Port Saint-Nicolas. L'eau de cet endroit était réputée être une des meilleures de l'île. Ce qui n'empêcha pas ce hameau, dans les années 1900, d'être connu d'abord pour ses bistrots.
A well at Kerlard, at the head of the large ravine which leads to Port Saint Nicolas. The local waters were renowned for their quality, among the best of the island. This did not prevent the hamlet, in the years 1900, to be famous first by its cafés.

Le Trou du Tonnerre, Thunderhole. It is said that, in past times, the couples of promised in marriage came here at night and jumped above the abyss, in order to judge the solidity of their love. But I find that the opposite edge is a bit too remote.

The lawns near Quentrec'h. This is the western end of the island; so windy, so cold and unpleasant, so backward finally, that local people were said to have an odd accent: they spoke "gravelleg" (gritty x smutty; in other words, rotten). Eastern islanders, who were, in comparison with these barbarians of the Far West, at the top of the civilization, were accustomed to speaking a more lawful Brezhoneg, and even, could you imagine that, some French words.

The foghorn, 35m above the sea level. Because it was decided that no nuisance would be saved people of this end of country; they got the fog, and the mooings of the horn. Fortunately, the moor is full of bees, busy in the heathers.