Exmoor – Southwest Coast Path Iconic Spots

Wild moors meet dramatic cliffs and secret coves (Minehead to Combe Martin)

Suggested Walk: 2-3 Days

Minehead → Porlock Weir; Porlock Weir → Lynmouth → Combe Martin

Iconic Venues: Minehead The Old Ship Aground, Porlock Weir The Bottom Ship.

The morning light spills over Minehead’s harbour at low tide, gilding the wet sand and bobbing boats as I lace up my boots. There’s a salty tang in the breeze and a buzz of anticipation – I’m at the official start of the South West Coast Path in Minehead, where a sculpture of giant hands holding a map marks the beginning of this 630-mile adventure. Before setting off, I soak in the harbour views and the comforting sight of The Old Ship Aground pub right on the quay. Built in 1911 and formerly known as The Pier Hotel, The Old Ship Aground is a historic Edwardian inn overlooking the harbour, and it gives Minehead a timeless, welcoming feel. I wave goodbye to its whitewashed walls and friendly vibe, knowing a celebratory pint there will be a fitting reward when I eventually circle back someday.

From Minehead into Exmoor’s Wild Coast

Leaving Minehead’s promenade, the path immediately begins to climb, trading town streets for a winding trail up through gorse and bracken. In no time, I’m surrounded by Exmoor’s wild beauty – rugged hills cloaked in heather to my right and the Bristol Channel’s endless blue to my left. The sense of space is exhilarating. Exmoor boasts the highest sea cliffs in England, rising up to 250 metres (820 ft), so the views just get better with each step upward. Up on North Hill and Selworthy Beacon, I pause to catch my breath and gasp at the panorama: the coastline ahead arcs towards mysterious wooded combes (valleys) and the sea horizon is so broad I can spy the outline of Wales across the water on a clear day.

Every so often the trail dips into shadowy woodland only to emerge atop another cliff with sweeping views. I follow the rugged coast path option when I can, edging close to bracken-fringed bluffs for that thrill of height and the sound of waves far below. There’s a profound silence up here apart from wind and distant surf – and the occasional startled pheasant or red deer bounding away into the trees. This blend of moorland and sea is pure Exmoor: one minute you’re crunching over open heather moor, the next you’re in a tunnel of ancient oaks and ferns with the crash of waves echoing up the gullies.

Porlock Weir: A Harbor from Another Time

Eventually, I descend towards Porlock Bay. The trail leads past fields turning brackish – a reminder that in 1996 a storm breached the natural shingle ridge here, turning farmland into saltmarsh and creating a haven for seabirds. Soon the quaint hamlet of Porlock Weir comes into view, heralded by the masts of sailboats and a tumble of centuries-old cottages. Porlock Weir feels like stepping back in time: it’s a tiny 15th-century harbour village overlooking the Bristol Channel, with a stone quay and a pebble beach where fishermen’s boats now rest quietly.

I wander past weathered boats and an old wooden toll gate to find The Bottom Ship – the local pub also known as The Ship Inn (Bottom Ship) that sits right by the harbour. This cosy pub is an ideal stopover for walkers, with hearty homemade food and local cider on tap. Inside I’m greeted by a crackling log fire and friendly chatter; on warm days, many walkers sit outside with pints, admiring the tranquil scene of Porlock Weir’s boats gently bobbing. Over a bowl of hot soup and fresh bread, I chat with a fellow hiker about the path so far. We swap tips and marvel at how Porlock Weir’s ancient charm makes it easy to linger. Before I leave, I take a short stroll around the harbour’s edge – there’s a tiny museum and a few craft shops, but the real star is the peaceful, lost-in-time atmosphere.

Reluctantly, I shoulder my pack and carry on. Beyond Porlock Weir the trail climbs steeply into Yearnor Woods, a dense hillside forest where sunlight flickers through oak and ash trees. The path here is soft with moss and leaf litter, crossing little streams that trickle down to the sea. A side path leads to Culbone Church, hidden among the trees – reputedly the smallest parish church in England, with just a few benches inside! I poke my head in to feel its serenity; it’s a humble, centuries-old sanctuary only reachable on foot. Back on the coast path, I soon face a choice: follow the high cliff route or the lower woods. I choose the clifftop, lured by promises of spectacular views over the channel. The reward is immediate: the woodland opens up to heather and gorse, and suddenly I’m standing on a high ledge gazing down at the turquoise coves far below. It’s said that poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge found inspiration for his Ancient Mariner along this very stretch, and I can see why – the scene is dramatic and a little wild, with the endless ocean and wheeling gulls fueling the imagination.

Lynton and Lynmouth: Twin Villages in the Gorge

Eventually, the path begins to descend towards Lynmouth, guided by the distant sound of rushing water. The East Lyn River appears, frothing alongside the path as it races to the sea. Soon I’m in Lynmouth, a postcard-perfect coastal village nestled at the mouth of a deep wooded gorge. Stone bridges span the river and quaint cafes line the streets. Towering above Lynmouth is its twin village, Lynton, perched on the clifftop. Connecting them is the famous Lynton & Lynmouth Cliff Railway – a vintage water-powered funicular that cheerfully clatters up and down the steep incline. I watch in delight as the Victorian-era tramcars pass each other, carrying passengers who wave down at us walkers.

Lynmouth is an enticing place to rest (and yes, there’s ice cream to be had by the harbour), but I’m energised to continue – one of Exmoor’s most legendary landscapes lies just beyond. A paved path zigzags up from Lynmouth, and as I climb, the vista behind me of Lynmouth’s little harbor and the green valley grows ever more breathtaking. At the top, the trail levels out to a gentle stroll, and within half a mile I find myself entering the renowned Valley of Rocks.

The Valley of Rocks – Wild Goats and Epic Views

Walking into the Valley of Rocks feels like entering a fantasy novel. On one side, sheer cliffs plunge into the sea; on the other, bizarre craggy rock spires and buttresses loom over a lush green valley floor. This U-shaped valley runs parallel to the coast and is completely dry – no river flows through it, an odd quirk of geology explained by Ice Age glaciers diverting the waters long ago. The result is a truly fascinating landscape. It’s famous for its wild feral goats that roam freely and nimbly across the rocks. Sure enough, I spot a few of these shaggy cliff-dwellers perched impossibly on a ledge, munching away at scrub. I chuckle as a particularly bold goat eyes me from a rocky outcrop – we both seem equally curious about each other.

Legend and literature swirl around this valley. Locals have dubbed some of the rock formations with names like “Castle Rock” and “Devil’s Cheesewring,” and you can’t help but imagine mythical giants or dragons turned to stone. In fact, the Valley of Rocks is so otherworldly that R.D. Blackmore set parts of Lorna Doone in this very area, and there’s a local tale claiming the Devil himself created the landscape in a fit of anger. Standing there, with the sharp scent of gorse on the breeze and the sound of distant waves echoing against the cliffs, I feel a deep awe. It’s a place to linger. A narrow path winds along the cliff’s edge through the valley, offering one jaw-dropping vista after another. I follow it slowly, taking far too many photos. Far below, the ocean extends to the horizon in a silver-blue sheet, and the silhouettes of the rocky peaks against the sky make every frame dramatic.

At the western end of the Valley of Rocks, I find an unexpected sight: a quaint little cricket ground on the valley floor, claimed to be one of the most picturesque cricket pitches in the world. Sure enough, it’s ringed by towering rocks and sea views. Today it’s empty and quiet – just me and a few grazing goats on the sidelines – but I can imagine the crack of a cricket ball echoing off the cliffs on a summer afternoon. It’s one more charming surprise this trail has offered me.

Secret Coves and Soaring Cliffs to Combe Martin

Beyond the Valley of Rocks, the South West Coast Path becomes wonderfully remote. I trek through gorse-topped slopes and dip into wooded glens, tracing the outline of the coast. Here the moor truly meets the sea in dramatic fashion – the cliffs rise and fall like waves themselves. Sometimes the path hugs the edge so closely that I can peer straight down to rocky beaches that feel completely inaccessible. One such spot is Heddon’s Mouth, where the trail briefly leaves the cliff to follow the River Heddon down to a hidden pebble beach. It’s a short detour I can’t resist. The river spills out in a series of small waterfalls right onto the beach, and the cove is enclosed by towering green-clad cliffs.

Places like this feel like secret discoveries. I hop across boulders to touch the cool waterfall cascading down the rocks, surrounded by lush ferns and dripping moss. Not another soul is here; only the gulls circling overhead witness my little victory dance at finding such a secluded natural haven. The retreating tide reveals glistening pebbles and patches of bright green seaweed on the stones, giving the cove an almost otherworldly color palette. It’s a tranquil interlude – a chance to just sit on an algae-coated rock, munch a snack, and feel the spray on my face.

The final stretch toward Great Hangman is both the toughest and the most rewarding. Climbing out of the cove, the trail ascends steeply onto Exmoor’s highest cliffs. This is the approach to Great Hangman, ominously named but breathtaking to behold. At 1,043 feet (318 m) above sea level, Great Hangman is the highest point on the entire South West Coast Path, and reaching its summit feels like a true achievement. My legs burn on the final steps to the cairn marking the top. When I turn around, the panorama nearly knocks me over: the coastline I’ve traversed stretches back as far as I can see, a tapestry of headlands and bays. To the east, I can trace the route back past Woody Bay and Foreland Point toward Lynmouth; to the west, the next headland hides my destination, but beyond that I know the landscape will eventually soften into the gentler hills of North Devon.

Coming down from Great Hangman, I pass its little sibling, Little Hangman, and soon the view opens up to show Combe Martin – a welcome sight with its sheltered bay and the colorful facades of a village marking the end of this Exmoor adventure. I descend into Combe Martin with boots dusty and spirit soaring. The tiny town beach, with its clear water and paddle boats, looks incredibly inviting for a quick dip to cool off my feet.

Journey’s End – Until Next Time

Stepping off the trail in Combe Martin, I take a moment to reflect on the journey from Minehead. In just 35 miles or so, this stretch of the South West Coast Path has revealed an extraordinary diversity of landscapes: from the gentle harbour at Minehead, through the wooded combes and high moors of Exmoor, past historical villages like Porlock Weir and Lynmouth, and across truly dramatic clifftops where wild goats roam. I’ve felt sun, wind, and maybe even a few drops of misty rain off the sea – all part of the coast’s ever-changing mood. My legs ache a bit, but my heart is full.

Before I catch a bus back (or arrange a lift), I scribble a few notes so I won’t forget any of these iconic spots. This Exmoor section of the path is challenging in parts, yes, but every steep climb yielded a view that made me gasp, every descent brought me into a new, secret place of beauty. If you love walking, nature, and a dash of folklore and cosy pubs along the way, you simply must experience this slice of the South West Coast Path. I know I’ll be dreaming about those wild moors meeting the sea – and planning a return to perhaps walk it all over again, pint at The Old Ship Aground included!

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