Jurassic Coast – Southwest Coast Path Iconic Spots

Clifftop walks, ancient fossils, and the land of dinosaurs (Exmouth to South Haven Point)

Suggested Walk: 3-5 Days

Route: Exmouth → Lyme Regis → Weymouth → Lulworth Cove → Swanage → South Haven Point

Iconic Venues: Lyme Regis The Cobb Arms, Lyme Regis Rock Point, Lulworth Cove inn, Lulworth Cove, Weymouth, The Smugglers Inn, Swanage The Square & Compass.

My Jurassic Coast journey kicked off at Exmouth

My Jurassic Coast journey kicked off at Exmouth, where red sea cliffs meet the sea. A short stroll from the town center brought me to Orcombe Point, marked by the distinctive Geoneedle sculpture – built from different rocks found along the World Heritage coastline. This spot marks the western end of the Jurassic Coast and sits atop 250-million-year-old Triassic sandstone cliffs. It’s humbling to stand here knowing I was about to trace 95 miles of cliffs recording 185 million years of Earth’s history. The path out of Exmouth was easy-going and well-signed, skirting sandy beaches and the grassy dunes of the Maer nature reserve. With a spring in my step, I followed the South West Coast Path eastward as it entered the East Devon Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty The morning was gentle and bright. An easy promenade walk led me out of Exmouth, then the trail narrowed and climbed over low cliffs toward Sandy Bay. By late morning I reached the clifftops above Budleigh Salterton, a quaint seaside town. The Coast Path briefly detoured inland here to avoid Straight Point (a military firing range), then descended to the mouth of the River Otter. A footbridge crossed the Otter Estuary, a peaceful nature reserve where I paused to watch wading birds in the marshes. The mix of habitats along this stretch – sandy shore, estuary mudflats, and scrubby fields – made for pleasant, varied walking. I kept an eye out for wildlife; indeed I spotted redshank and sandpipers probing the mud.

Beyond the river, a steep little climb led onto Brean Down and through open pasture. In the distance rose the fiery-red cliffs of Ladram Bay and Sidmouth ahead. The Ladram Bay section was a highlight of Day 1 – the trail winds along cliff tops with views of spectacular red sandstone sea stacks jutting from the bay. These dramatic formations, carved by the waves, are part of the Triassic geology unique to East Devon. (A sign warned of a recent landslip diverting the official path here, but the detour was clearly marked.) I took a moment to absorb the scene: vivid rust-colored cliffs contrasted by the green hilltops and blue sea – it was textbook “Jurassic Coast” scenery.

Durdle Door’s famous limestone arch on the way to Lulworth Cove (Day 4). The Jurassic Coast is lined with such geological wonders. This natural arch stands ~200 feet tall and rewards walkers with an incredible view.

After Ladram Bay, the path undulated through a wooded section at High Peak, an Iron Age hillfort site hidden among the trees. A short, sharp descent brought me to the outskirts of Sidmouth by late afternoon. The trail spat me out right above the town’s long pebble beach and elegant Regency-era esplanade. Sidmouth is a traditional seaside town with white villas and neatly trimmed lawns – a perfect first-day destination. I walked down to the Sidmouth seafront, toes finally on level ground, and felt the day’s efforts wash away with the tide. The sun lit up Sidmouth’s signature cliffs in hues of red and gold. Every summer this town hosts an international folk festival, and even in the off-season there was a gentle buzz about the promenade. I rewarded myself with an ice cream and took a short stroll along the front. For those planning the walk, Sidmouth offers plenty of accommodation and dining options – I found a cozy B&B just a few minutes from the beach. In the evening I wandered the town, enjoying the Regency architecture and a hearty pub meal. Day 1 had been about 12.5 miles (20 km), with a mix of easy flats and a few steep cliff climbs (nothing too strenuous). It was a nice warm-up for the harder days ahead. I fell asleep excited for what tomorrow’s trek would bring, already dreaming of cliffs and coves.

Sidmouth to Lyme Regis (≈16 miles)

I set off from Sidmouth after a good breakfast, knowing Day 2 would be more challenging. The morning greeted me with a steep climb out of Sidmouth up Salcombe Hill – quite the way to wake up the legs! But the payoff was immediate: from the top, I turned to see the view back west towards Sidmouth and Exmouth, the red cliffs glowing in the low sun. I could even make out the curve of Sidmouth’s bay and, faintly in the distance, the hills around Torbay to the west. Ahead of me stretched more rust-red cliffs marching toward the Dorset border.

The path led through gorse and heather, where I flushed a couple of stonechats flitting among the yellow blooms. After cresting Salcombe Hill Cliff, it plunged into a wooded combe and emerged at the secluded pebble beach of Weston Mouth. Here, not a building was in sight – just the crash of waves and high cliffs looming overhead. I scrambled across the shingle and back up onto the cliff path. The terrain was up-and-down (“undulating” in guidebook euphemism) as I crossed a series of little combes. In one, the remains of an Iron Age hillfort (Berry Cliff Camp) were hidden by scrub. In another valley, I passed through the fragrant Weston wildflower meadows, alive with butterflies. This diversity keeps the walk engaging: one moment you’re in shady woods, the next on an exposed cliff with the sea wind in your face.

By mid-morning I descended to Branscombe Mouth, another idyllic beach access. A short detour inland here leads to the village of Branscombe, but I stayed on the coast and rested by the thatched café at Branscombe Mouth. This beach has a bit of smuggling lore: in centuries past, Branscombe’s isolated cove was a smugglers’ haunt (and indeed a stricken cargo ship, the MSC Napoli, famously grounded here in 2007 scattering its goods). Sipping a coffee, I imagined smugglers unloading contraband under cover of darkness. Branscombe marks the start of the chalk geology that continues into Dorset. Beyond here, the cliffs turn from red sandstone to white chalk. Sure enough, as I hiked up Branscombe Cliff, the rock underfoot lightened. I soon reached Beer Head, a dramatic white chalk headland. The views were inspiring – looking east, I could see the coastline sweeping toward Seaton Bay, and looking back, the red cliffs of Sidmouth were still visible, highlighting the meeting of two geologic eras.

Beer Head itself is spectacular. The fishing village of Beer lies sheltered just beyond the headland. This village was historically a hotbed of smuggling as well – it was the birthplace of notorious smuggler Jack Rattenbury, nicknamed the “Rob Roy of the West”. Beer’s tall white cliffs have been quarried for centuries; the famous Beer stone extracted here has been used in Exeter Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, and St. Paul’s in London. I took a brief pause at Beer, wandering down to the pebble beach lined with fishing boats and cabins. It’s a tempting place to linger (there are pubs in Beer, of course), but I had many miles still to cover. Climbing out of Beer, I followed a short diversion around an eroded section of path

and descended into the town of Seaton by early afternoon.

Seaton is a traditional seaside town, and I grabbed a quick lunch and topped up my water. If needed, one could break the journey here (Sidmouth to Seaton is ~10 miles). But I was pressing on to Lyme Regis the same day – which meant tackling the infamous Undercliffs in the afternoon. I crossed the River Axe at Axmouth Bridge (notably the oldest concrete bridge in England, a bit of niche trivia for bridge enthusiasts). Then I entered the Axmouth–Lyme Regis Undercliffs National Nature Reserve, a wild 7-mile stretch of undeveloped coast. A sign at the entrance duly warned that this section is strenuous with no exits – once you’re in, you must commit to finishing all the way to Lyme Regis.

The Undercliff felt like stepping into another world. The trail became a narrow winding footpath through dense vegetation – often described as a “jungly” atmosphere, and I can see why. The canopy of ash, oak, and field maple overhead, plus a thick tangle of ferns, vines, and wild clematis, created a humid microclimate reminiscent of a rainforest. In places I was surrounded by eerie silence except for bird calls (I startled a couple of wood pigeons and even heard the croak of what might have been a raven). This Undercliff exists because the whole cliffside here slid toward the sea in a massive landslip in 1839 – creating collapsed chasms and ridges now overgrown with green wilderness. One landslip block, known as Goat Island, famously dropped on Christmas Eve 1839 carrying whole fields with it; Queen Victoria herself came to see this geologic marvel. As I passed through, I noticed the sudden plateau of Goat Island above a deep cleft – nature’s handiwork frozen in time.

The trail was indeed challenging – a rollercoaster of steep little ascents and descents over fallen earth. I scrambled over tree roots and occasionally over or under fallen trunks. Recent rains had left some stretches muddy and slick, slowing my pace. It took me a solid 3+ hours to cover the ~7 miles of Undercliff. (Don’t underestimate it – I averaged barely 2 miles an hour here, as many do.) Yet it was one of the most memorable parts of the whole Jurassic Coast walk. At times, the foliage would break and I’d catch a glimpse of the blue sea far below, reminding me I was still on the coast. But mostly, I felt enclosed in greenery. About halfway, I stumbled upon the ruins of an old pumping station, now eerily quiet and moss-covered – a remnant of Victorian attempts to inhabit this unstable land.

Eventually, the dense woods began to thin. I knew I was nearing Lyme when I saw cliffs of blue-grey clay ahead – the geologic formation famous for fossils. Emerging from the Undercliff felt like stepping back into daylight. The path climbed over a grassy slope and suddenly I was crossing into Dorset (there’s a marker where Devon ends and Dorset begins). I had a grand view of Lyme Regis from a hill called Timber Hill just before descent. The picturesque town was sprawled out below with its harbor arms (the Cobb) reaching into the sea. To my right I could see Charmouth Beach, and beyond it, a tall hill – that would be Golden Cap, a challenge for tomorrow. But for now, I was delighted to descend into Lyme Regis, completing Day 2.

Lyme Regis is often called the “Pearl of Dorset,” and arriving on foot via the Coast Path is magical. The trail dropped me near Monmouth Beach on the west side of town, right by heaps of limestone ledges strewn with ammonites – a tease of the fossil fame of this area. I made a beeline for the historic Cobb harbor. This curved stone harbor wall is iconic – famously featured in Jane Austen’s Persuasion and the film The French Lieutenant’s Woman. Walking along the Cobb at sunset, with waves crashing against its outer side, felt like walking into a period drama. Fishermen were packing up for the day and seabirds wheeled overhead. Just beyond the Cobb, I found my lodging and two very welcome pubs.

To immerse myself in Lyme’s atmosphere, I popped into The Cobb Arms, a pub right on the harbor, for a pint with a view of the boats – pure bliss. Later I wandered to Rock Point Inn on the seafront, enjoying fish and chips as the sky turned pink over Lyme Bay. Both venues were friendly and full of walkers swapping stories. Lyme Regis is also a hub of fossil history – home of Mary Anning and countless finds of ammonites, ichthyosaurs, and other Jurassic creatures. (If you have time, the Lyme Regis Museum and fossil shops are worth a visit.) I reflected on the day’s journey: roughly 16 miles of tough but rewarding terrain. I’d experienced everything from airy chalk cliffs to tangled lost-world forest. My legs were tired, but my excitement was high – the Jurassic Coast had truly shown its character today.

Lyme Regis to Weymouth (≈27 miles, optional split)

Day 3 was an ambitious marathon – in retrospect, it’s sensible to split this into two days (Lyme Regis to West Bay or Abbotsbury, then to Weymouth). However, eager to press on, I attempted to cover the distance to Weymouth in one long push. This meant an early start under a pink dawn sky in Lyme. I climbed out of town on the Coast Path, which rose steeply over Charmouth. (At low tide, one can walk the beach from Lyme to Charmouth, hunting for ammonites in the cliffs. But the official path now stays inland due to cliff instability.) By the time I descended into Charmouth, the village was just waking up. I took a short detour to the Charmouth Heritage Centre on the beach, which has fascinating fossil displays – and indeed Charmouth Beach is renowned as one of the UK’s best fossil-hunting spots, with thousands of Jurassic fossils eroding out each year. Tempting as it was to linger and poke around for ammonites, I had bigger heights to tackle ahead.

Leaving Charmouth, I faced the highest cliff on England’s south coast – Golden Cap. The path steepened through woods at Stonebarrow Hill then out onto open grass. A final thigh-burning ascent brought me to the summit of Golden Cap (191 m). What a view! The panorama was worth every bead of sweat. I could see far west to Dartmoor on the horizon and eastward all the way to Portland – the giant isle-like peninsula beyond Weymouth. To the northeast, the patchwork fields of rural Dorset rolled away. Standing by the trig point, with the wind whipping, I felt on top of the world (or at least on top of this coastline). Golden Cap’s flat, golden-green top gave it its name, and looking back I could spot the yellow sandstone cliffs of Golden Cap towering above the blue sea. After a breather and some trail mix, I descended carefully – it’s a steep drop toward Seatown.

Seatown is literally a seat (cove) with a few houses, a beach, and a pub. I resisted the pub for now (not even 11 am!) and continued. The trail climbed yet again to Thornecombe Beacon, another prominent hill. At the top I was greeted with breathtaking 360° views – particularly looking back at Golden Cap’s impressive bulk which I had conquered an hour before. Thornecombe Beacon was historically a beacon site (one of many along the coast). Dropping down from there, I passed Eype’s Mouth and soon the distinctive towering cliffs of West Bay (Bridport) came into sight. These immense stratified sandstone cliffs line West Bay and are famous from TV (the series Broadchurch was filmed here). Walking into West Bay felt like entering a different era – the cliffs here are a striking golden-yellow, formed of compacted sand that glows in sunlight. I took lunch at a beach café in West Bay, enjoying a Dorset pasty while sitting under these sheer walls of rock. The harbor at West Bay was busy with fishing boats and tourists – a stark change from the solitude of the morning hills.

Refueled, I embarked on the Chesil Beach section. The Coast Path from West Bay to Abbotsbury largely follows the inland side of Chesil Beach and the Fleet Lagoon. Chesil Beach is a marvel: an 18-mile natural pebble barrier stretching from West Bay all the way to Portland. It’s essentially a gigantic ridge of shingle that traps a brackish lagoon (the Fleet) behind it. Initially the path climbed up Burton Cliff, where I enjoyed lovely views and even spotted a kestrel hovering. Wildflowers dotted the slopes, attracting butterflies; this area is known for its diverse flora and even occasional dolphins offshore. The village of Burton Bradstock was another potential stop (and has a notable hive beach café), but I pressed on, crossing field edges and cliff tops.

Past Burton Bradstock, the terrain leveled out. I walked above Cogden Beach and through the nature reserve at West Bexington, where reed beds host warblers and other birdlife. By mid-afternoon I was approaching Abbotsbury, visible by its hillside chapel (St Catherine’s) and the vast swannery in the flats below. I took a short detour up to St Catherine’s Chapel, a 14th-century stone chapel perched on a hill. From here, the view was astounding: the Fleet Lagoon lay before me, a ribbon of blue separated from the sea by the grey stripe of Chesil Beach. Hundreds of swans could be seen in Abbotsbury’s swannery ponds – a unique sight. Abbotsbury itself is a lovely historic village (if you have time, it’s worth exploring its abbey ruins, tithe barn, and maybe indulging in a cream tea). I, however, knew daylight was precious, so after a brief rest I continued along the Coast Path which now hugged the inner shore of the Fleet.

This final stretch to Weymouth was flat but long – roughly 8 miles of level walking along the Fleet Lagoon. The Fleet is the largest tidal lagoon in Britain. As I walked the grassy track, I found it peaceful. The lagoon water shimmered to my left, and Chesil’s pebbles formed a long, unbroken ridge to my right. The area is a nature reserve teeming with life: I spotted herons stalking the shallows and flocks of wildfowl bobbing on the water. In spring and autumn, migratory birds love this rich lagoon habitat – birdwatchers would have a field day here. Interpretive signs told of eelgrass meadows beneath the lagoon surface and the myriad of marine algae and creatures that make it so biologically rich. It struck me how the Jurassic Coast isn’t just rocks, but living ecosystems too.

The afternoon light turned golden as I neared the end of Chesil Beach. In the distance, the bulk of Portland island loomed. Nearing Ferrybridge (the bridge that links to Portland), I passed the site of the original ferry crossing – before modern bridges, travelers here crossed the gap by a rope-pulled ferry or daring foot traverse over Chesil’s pebbles. At Ferrybridge, a modern causeway now connects the mainland to Portland, and there’s a visitor center and cafes. I allowed myself a triumphant pause – I had essentially walked the entirety of Chesil’s length. Looking back along Chesil Beach from here is jaw-dropping: the shingle bank stretches arrow-straight as far as the eye can see, truly one of England’s great natural wonders. It was early evening as I continued the final 2 miles into Weymouth. The Coast Path here followed roads and cycle paths around Portland Harbour and into Weymouth town. Rather than detour around Weymouth’s lengthy harbor, I opted for the little rowboat ferry that in summer shuttles walkers across the harbor mouth – a fun, short ride that saved my weary feet a mile of walking. Weymouth greeted me with its graceful Georgian seafront, all pastel townhouses and a long sandy beach. This seaside resort was a stark change from the wild cliffs earlier in the day, but a welcome one. I had covered roughly 27 miles – likely my longest day ever on foot. The sense of accomplishment (and fatigue) was immense. I checked into a seafront guesthouse, then made my way to a nearby pub for a hearty dinner. Not far from my lodgings was Weymouth’s historic harbor quarter, full of tall ships and pubs. I reflected on the day’s highlights: climbing Golden Cap (literally a high point), the vastness of Chesil Beach and the Fleet, and the sheer variety of landscapes. The sunset that evening was spectacular – the sky glowed orange, reflecting off both the sea and the Fleet lagoon behind me. It felt like nature’s reward for a long day’s effort.

Weymouth to Lulworth Cove (≈14.5 miles)

I woke to gulls crying and the sun rising over Weymouth Bay. Day 4’s route would take me back into dramatic geology – from Weymouth’s beach up into the heart of the Jurassic Coast cliffs of Dorset. Fortified by a full English breakfast, I set out along Weymouth’s elegant promenade and followed the Coast Path signs east. An easy first mile led around Weymouth Bay to the suburb of Preston. Soon the urban environs fell away as the trail climbed the chalk cliffs toward Bowleaze Cove and Osmington Mills. After the previous day’s flats, the change was immediate: the walking grew progressively harder as I left Weymouth, with the path rising onto high chalk bluffs. But the scenery also amped up – rugged chalk cliffs and turquoise coves. This section is part of the Jurassic Coast World Heritage Site again, and the views of white cliffs marching ahead signaled the start of the famous Purbeck hills.

By late morning I reached Osmington Mills, a tiny hamlet by the sea known for one thing in particular: the Smugglers Inn. This 13th-century inn sits right on the coast path and was historically the headquarters of a notorious French smuggler, Pierre Latour. In the 1700s it was known as The Crown and served as a landing spot for smuggled brandy, salt, and lace – basically a smuggler’s paradise. Today it’s a delightful pub with a beer garden overlooking the sea. I couldn’t resist stopping for an early lunch. Sitting in the sun with a locally brewed ale and a plate of fish pie, I imagined the smugglers of old huddled here, dodging the King’s customs men. The pub’s low-beamed interior and historical photos on the wall add to the atmosphere. This iconic venue is a must-stop – not only for its character, but also as a strategic rest before the hardest part of the day’s hike.

Leaving Osmington Mills, I felt the trail truly start to test me. The path ascended steeply onto the chalk downs of Ringstead Bay and beyond. The cliffs here are part of the White Nothe headland – gleaming white and very steep. A series of particularly steep ascents and descents unfolded, each one revealing a new sweeping vista. I hiked up to the top of White Nothe, where an old coastguard cottage stands isolated. From this lofty perch, I could look back and see Weymouth Bay and even the Isle of Portland receding in the distance– a reminder of how far I’d come.

Past White Nothe, the coast path skirted the cliff edge (here I took my time, as it’s a long way down!). I soon caught my first glimpse of the day’s star attractions: the limestone arch of Durdle Door and the perfectly rounded Lulworth Cove ahead. The approach to Durdle Door is dramatic – first, the trail dips into a dry valley and then climbs the last ridge. As I crested the hill, there it was: Durdle Door, an enormous natural rock arch standing in the blue water, with a sweep of shingle beach curving away from it. Even though I’d seen countless photos, the real thing took my breath away. I descended the well-trodden path to Durdle Door beach to get a closer look. Many day-trippers had walked down from a nearby car park, so it was a bit busy (a stark contrast to the solitude of earlier sections). Still, the arch was magnificent – a huge portal created as the sea eroded through the hard limestone headland. The beach offered a refreshing dip for some hikers, but I just took off my boots and let the cool sea wash over my feet. Standing under Durdle Door felt like a pilgrimage – the classic Jurassic Coast view.

From Durdle Door it was only a mile further to Lulworth Cove, my destination for the day. The path wound over a final hill, then descended on a chalky track into the cute village of West Lulworth. Lulworth Cove soon appeared – an almost perfectly circular cove with narrow entrance, a textbook example of coastal geomorphology. The cove’s tranquil turquoise waters and pebbled shore were inviting after a hard day. I wandered along the shore, noticing the bands of different rock types exposed in the cliffs (this cove exists because softer rocks behind the hard limestone eroded to form a bowl). Geology aside, Lulworth Cove is simply beautiful – and popular. I saw kayakers paddling across the bay and families beachcombing.

A stone’s throw from the beach was my lodgings: the Lulworth Cove Inn, an atmospheric pub/hotel right on the South West Coast Path. I checked in and soon found myself on their patio with a cold drink, basking in the late afternoon sun. The Lulworth Cove Inn is indeed “set just a stone’s throw from Lulworth Cove” and has a welcoming, rustic charm. It proved a great place to eat, drink, and recount the day’s adventures with fellow walkers. Over a hearty dinner, I savored the day: about 14–15 miles of challenging cliff walking, through the Jurassic Coast’s most famous landmarks. Perhaps the biggest reward (besides the views) was knowing I’d tackled the toughest ups and downs. Tomorrow, the final leg awaited – a long haul through the Purbeck hills to the journey’s end.

Before turning in, I made sure to check the local information for Lulworth Ranges. These military firing ranges lie immediately east of Lulworth Cove and are sometimes closed on weekdays. Fortunately, my Day 5 would be a weekend, meaning the coastal route through the ranges would be open. (Important tip for walkers: always confirm range opening times; if closed, an inland detour via roads must be taken.) With that reassurance, I went to sleep in a snug room at the inn, lulled by the distant sound of waves in Lulworth Cove.

Lulworth Cove to South Haven Point (≈20 miles)

The final day – and what a finale it would be. Day 5 promised a tour-de-force of coastal scenery: wild headlands, hidden coves, a legendary pub stop, and the grand climax at Old Harry Rocks before reaching South Haven Point. I set off from Lulworth Cove early, climbing straight up onto Bindon Hill, a ridge that guards the cove. The morning was cool and clear, ideal for a long trek. Atop Bindon Hill I had a backward glance at Lulworth Cove’s perfect circle below, then pressed on eastward into the Lulworth Range area. Red flags were down (indicating no firing), so the coast path was open. This segment felt remote and special – normally inaccessible on weekdays, it’s a privilege to walk here on open days. The path led me above Mupe Bay, an untouched cove with greenish waters, and then to Worbarrow Bay. Both are stunning, undeveloped bays framed by steep cliffs. I descended to Worbarrow Bay’s broad shingle beach for a quick breather, sharing it only with a few other hikers. The sense of isolation was profound – no buildings, no roads, just the sound of the surf and cries of seabirds.

Just inland from Worbarrow Bay lies Tyneham, a famous ghost village evacuated in 1943 for military training and never reoccupied. I took a 10-minute side trip to wander through Tyneham’s roofless stone cottages and its church (which still stands with wartime notices pinned up). It’s frozen in time and quite poignant – a reminder of World War II’s impact even here. Back on the trail, I faced a hefty climb up to Flowers Barrow, an Iron Age hillfort atop the towering cliffs east of Worbarrow. Huffing up the zig-zag path, I reached the fort’s earth ramparts and was rewarded with magnificent views back west: I could see Lulworth Cove and even the Isle of Portland faint on the horizon. Forward loomed the rollercoaster chalk cliffs of Purbeck.

From here, the Coast Path rose and fell dramatically. The next headland was St. Aldhelm’s Head (also known as St. Alban’s Head), but to get there I had to cross the depths of Encombe and Chapman's Pool area. First, a descent into a valley, then up again to Ridgway Hill, then another drop. This segment is sometimes called the “Purbeck rollercoaster” – a series of climbs that really test tired legs. The path skirted the lovely inlet of Chapman’s Pool, a horseshoe bay where a few old fishing huts still stand. Then came a very steep ascent up to St. Aldhelm’s Head, marked by a tiny 12th-century chapel on the headland. I sat by St. Aldhelm’s Chapel catching my breath. The views were sensational – the high, level cliffs from here toward Swanage gave a bit of a respite. Looking east, I could now see the final stretches of the Jurassic Coast unfolding: in the far distance, a bright white sea stack that could only be Old Harry Rocks. It was motivating to see the finish line (albeit many miles away).

Moving on, the path leveled for a while across the clifftops of the Purbeck plateau. This was easier walking, with open grassy downs and the sea to my left. Wildflowers sprinkled the clifftop – scabious, thrift, and wild carrot – attracting butterflies in abundance. I even spotted a pair of bottlenose dolphins playing in the waters far below, a delightful surprise. By midday I reached a junction near the village of Worth Matravers, which sits just inland. Here I made an important detour: I left the coast path briefly to walk 10 minutes into Worth Matravers for a pilgrimage to the legendary Square & Compass pub.

The Square & Compass is a Dorset institution and an absolute treat for walkers. Housed in an 18th-century stone cottage, this pub has been run by the same family for over a century. It’s one of only five pubs to feature in every edition of CAMRA’s Good Beer Guide since 1974! What makes it extra special is its quirky charm – there’s no bar counter, just two small serving hatches; the cider is local and served rough; and there’s a tiny fossil museum inside with amazing finds from the area (think ichthyosaur bones and ammonites). Sipping a cider in the Square & Compass garden, overlooking fields that roll to the sea, I felt a wave of contentment. This was the perfect place to toast the journey. A few locals and hikers were about, tucking into the pub’s famous pasties. I examined the little fossil display – fitting, as we were in limestone country where fossils abound. This atmospheric stop infused me with new energy (and calories) for the final leg.

I rejoined the coast path and continued towards Swanage. The trail descended gradually towards sea level near Dancing Ledge, a flat rock shelf that was once used for quarrying (and even dynamited into a swimming pool for a school long ago). From there, it climbed again toward Anvil Point, where a squat lighthouse guards the approach to Swanage. I entered Durlston Country Park, a lovely nature reserve on the cliffs. A quick look at the giant stone globe (an interesting landmark engraved with an 1880s world map) and I was on the home stretch into Swanage. The path dropped down beside Durlston Bay and delivered me to Swanage’s Victorian seafront by mid-afternoon.

Swanage is a charming resort town – a sandy bay, a classic pier, and a little steam railway terminus. I allowed myself a short break on the Swanage beach, boots off, enjoying an ice cream. It felt slightly surreal to be amid beachgoers and holiday bustle after the isolated cliffs earlier. But I still had ~4 miles to go – the final stretch to South Haven Point. With renewed determination, I set off along the Swanage promenade, then climbed up onto Ballard Down, the chalk headland north of town. The path zig-zagged up to Ballard Point, and suddenly the famous Old Harry Rocks came into full view. I grinned ear to ear – I’d made it to the eastern extremity of the Jurassic Coast!

Old Harry Rocks are three striking chalk pinnacles jutting out at the end of the headland. The bright white stacks stood in stark contrast to the deep blue sea and the green grass of the clifftop. Legend says Old Harry (the large stack) is named after a pirate, or perhaps the Devil turned to stone – either way, they mark the end of this epic coastline. From the clifftop path, I got a spectacular view of these formations and could even see across Poole Bay to the Isle of Wight on the horizon. The trail led me right by Old Harry, offering one last perfect photo opportunity of the chalk cliffs that mirror those on the Isle of Wight (geologically, they were once connected). I took a moment to soak in the accomplishment. This was it – the final headland.

The last mile or two were a gentle stroll through heathy grassland and down onto Studland Beach. Studland’s sands stretched ahead, backed by dunes and heath. The Coast Path followed the edge of the beach for the final section. Interestingly, the very last half-mile of beach (Shell Bay) is a designated naturist area – indeed I passed a sign, and a couple of brave souls, but it was easy to ignore and focus on the sea views (or you can take an inland parallel path if you prefer). I didn’t mind – my thoughts were fixed on the finish line. Up ahead, I could see the small chain ferry shuttling cars and people across the mouth of Poole Harbour. That ferry connects to Sandbanks in Poole – and right next to its boarding point on this side is South Haven Point, the official end (or start) of the 630-mile South West Coast Path.

I walked the final few hundred yards to the South Haven Point marker, a steel sculpture set in the sand that quietly announces the end of the South West Coast Path. Touching that marker was a proud and emotional moment – I had walked the entire Jurassic Coast section (and more). The sculpture, shaped with map engravings, felt warm from the sun. Just beyond, the chain-link ferry was loading up; I could see holidaymakers on the other side at Sandbanks enjoying Poole Harbour. I paused here, letting the significance sink in: 95 miles from Orcombe Point to this point, through three geologic periods and countless ups and downs.

Walking the narrow cliff path toward Old Harry Rocks, the eastern gateway of the Jurassic Coast. These bright white chalk stacks mark the final highlight before journey’s end. A couple of fellow walkers arrived shortly after, and we congratulated each other. We snapped photos by the marker and shared our experiences (they had done it over six days, with a stop in Abbotsbury – a wise choice!). Standing at South Haven Point, I looked back along Studland Beach and the distant Isle of Purbeck cliffs I’d traversed. To the west, beyond eyesight, lay all the terrain I had covered – Old Harry, Lulworth, Portland, Golden Cap, Lyme Regis, Sidmouth, Exmouth – it felt both far away and like yesterday.

Finally, I hopped on the Sandbanks Ferry for the short ride across to Poole – a symbolic crossing that links the end of the Jurassic Coast to civilization. The ferry ride was brief, but as a finale it was lovely to feel the wind and watch the chalk cliffs of Studland recede. Stepping off at Sandbanks, I realized the journey was truly complete. In five days, I had walked through 185 million years of history and some of England’s most spectacular coastal landscapes.

Practical Notes: This itinerary of 5 days is fast-paced; many walkers might prefer 6–7 days to fully enjoy each section. Key logistics to remember include checking the Lulworth Ranges access (open most weekends and holidays) and using the little Weymouth harbor ferry (operates summer) to save a mile. Distances ranged from ~12 to 20+ miles per day, with considerable elevation gain on days 2, 4, and 5 due to repeated cliff climbs. Good footwear and hydration are essential, as some segments (Undercliff, Purbeck) have no services for several hours. Accommodation and food are available at convenient points: Sidmouth, Lyme Regis, West Bay/Bridport (if splitting Day 3), Weymouth, Lulworth Cove, and Swanage. And don’t forget to relish the journey – each day offers unique rewards, from fossil hunting on a beach to enjoying a pie and pint in a centuries-old pub.

My walk along the Jurassic Coast was challenging at times, but the rewards were incredible – expansive clifftop vistas, intimate encounters with wildlife, the palpable sense of Earth’s history under my boots, and the camaraderie of fellow walkers met along the way. I finished inspired and in awe of our natural heritage. If you’re planning to walk this route, be prepared for sore legs, but know that every climb is worth it: the Jurassic Coast will imprint memories (and spectacular photos) that last a lifetime. Happy trails!

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