South Devon – Southwest Coast Path Iconic Spots

Rolling hills, pastel towns, and beach-hopping trails (Cremyll to Starcross)

Suggested Walk: 3-4 Days

Route: Cremyll → Plymouth → Shaldon → Teignmouth → Exmouth → Sidmouth → Starcross

Iconic Venues: Shaldon The Ferryboat Inn, Teignmouth The Ship Inn, Shaldon The Ness, Starcross The Anchor Inn, Exmouth The Grapevine, Sidmouth The Anchor Inn.

South Devon’s coastline is a rambler’s dream – a tapestry of rolling green headlands, quaint fishing villages, and broad estuaries teeming with birdlife. This 104-mile stretch of the South West Coast Path (from Cremyll to Starcross) offers incredible variety: dramatic clifftops, peaceful wooded trails, and lively resort towns. Over four days, I trekked from the Cornish border at Cremyll eastward along the shores of South Devon, ferry-hopping across rivers and savoring the region’s relaxed charm. Each day brought its own delights – iconic landmarks, cozy pubs, sandy beaches, and rich history – all against the backdrop of the English Channel. Lace up your boots and join me on this evocative day-by-day journey through South Devon.

Cremyll to Newton Ferrers (Plymouth, Wembury & Yealm Estuary)

Smeaton’s Tower lighthouse on Plymouth Hoe, an iconic landmark in Britain’s “Ocean City” I begin Day 1 by catching the little Cremyll Ferry across the River Tamar at dawn. In ten minutes, we chug from Stonehouse Quay in Plymouth to Cremyll, landing on Cornish soil only to immediately set off east – officially entering Devon via this historic water crossing. The morning light reveals the grandeur of Mount Edgcumbe House behind me and the expanse of Plymouth Sound ahead. Stepping off the ferry, I’m greeted by views of Plymouth’s waterfront and the red-and-white stripes of Smeaton’s Tower on the Hoe across the water. Moments later, another quick ferry ride carries me back over the Tamar into Plymouth, and I set foot in Britain’s “Ocean City.”

Walking through Plymouth is a journey through maritime history. I stroll past the Mayflower Steps (where the Pilgrims set sail in 1620) and the statue of Sir Francis Drake gazing out to sea. Up on Plymouth Hoe, Smeaton’s Tower stands proudly – the 18th-century lighthouse relocated from the Eddystone Rocks. Locals are taking a morning jog and children play on the grass as gulls wheel overhead. It’s hard to resist a pause here; from the Hoe’s grassy clifftop I admire panoramic views of Plymouth Sound and Drake’s Island, imagining the naval vessels that have set out from this natural harbor over the centuries. The city buzz quickly fades as the Coast Path leads me out of the center, skirting the Citadel’s stone ramparts and the yacht-filled Sutton Harbour. Soon I’m following a waterfront promenade toward quieter shores, the urban landscape giving way to salt-sprayed bluffs.

By late morning I leave Plymouth’s suburbs behind. The trail hugs low cliffs past Jennycliff Bay and the remains of an old Victorian fort, then dips into sandy coves. The scenery transforms dramatically – I’m now in open coastal countryside with only the sound of waves and the cries of oystercatchers for company. South Devon’s coast here is surprisingly peaceful so close to the city, offering “quiet, peaceful stretches of trail with stunning scenery”. The path winds through gorse and heather, unveiling the Wembury Bay ahead. I reach Wembury Beach by midday, just as the tide is receding. This picturesque cove is known for its rock pools and the 15th-century St. Werburgh’s Church perched above – its stone tower a beacon to sailors. Offshore, the triangular silhouette of the Great Mewstone island punctuates the horizon. I take a breather on the beach, watching surfers and beachcombers, and chat with a volunteer from the Wembury Marine Centre about the abundant wildlife in the rock pools.

Pressing on, I keep an eye on my watch – timing is crucial for the next section. The River Yealm lies ahead, and there’s a small seasonal ferry that shuttles walkers across this narrow estuary. I descend through woodland into Warren Point and arrive just in time for the afternoon ferry. It’s a charmingly basic affair: a dinghy puttering over from the opposite bank. The boatman (who I’d phoned earlier as instructed on a notice) ferries me over to Newton Ferrers for a small fee, saving a long detour inland. On the short ride, we pass bobbing sailboats moored in the Yealm – a scene of utter tranquility. Once across, I’m in the twin villages of Newton Ferrers and Noss Mayo, nestled on opposite sides of a creek. White cottages cascade down wooded hillsides toward the tidal water, and the masts of yachts clink in the breeze.

Evening finds me walking the quiet lanes of Noss Mayo, pleasantly tired from ~15 miles of hiking. I’ve covered a lot: from Plymouth’s historic harbors to the wild cliffs of Wembury and across the Yealm. A local directs me to a centuries-old inn by the creek, where I reward myself with a hearty fisherman’s pie and a pint of ale. As the sun sets, the tide fills the estuary below the pub terrace. The scene is idyllic – silvery water reflecting oak woods, and the only sounds are locals’ laughter and the clink of glasses. After dinner, I wander to the water’s edge to watch herons stalking the shallows. Day 1 ends in peaceful Newton Ferrers, with the promise of more adventure ahead. (Before turning in, I double-check tomorrow’s tide times – the River Erme, notorious for having no footbridge or ferry, must be crossed at low tide!)

Practical Notes: Day 1’s terrain is moderate. Plymouth offers shops for last-minute supplies. The Cremyll Ferry (Plymouth to Cremyll) runs year-round (every 30 mins in summer). The Yealm Ferry (Wembury to Newton Ferrers) is seasonal – typically April to September – and only at high tide hours; plan ahead or face a lengthy inland detour. Accommodation is available in Newton Ferrers/Noss Mayo (B&Bs, pub inns). Total distance ~12–15 miles.

Newton Ferrers to Dartmouth (Remote Coast, Tidal Crossings & Seaside Villages)

Dawn on the Yealm finds me slipping on still-damp boots (courtesy of last night’s mud along the creek) and setting off early. Today’s trek is the most demanding: a long haul east with multiple river crossings. The first few miles are wonderfully remote – a rollercoaster of cliffs and valleys with barely a roof or road in sight. The South West Coast Path here truly shines in its natural glory. The air is fresh and carries the scent of salt and gorse. I hike up to Beacon Hill for a sweeping view back towards Plymouth Sound, then descend into a series of hidden coves. At Meadowsfoot Beach I surprise a couple of wild swimmers braving the morning chill; we exchange waves as I clamber over sea-slick rocks to rejoin the clifftop. In this quiet stretch between the Yealm and Erme estuaries, I encounter more pheasants and songbirds than people. South Devon’s coast is alive with wildlife – I spot kestrels hovering and, at one point, startle a small herd of deer grazing on the cliffside scrub.

A few hours in, I arrive at the River Erme estuary near Mothecombe. There’s no ferry here – only a broad sandy riverbed that becomes passable at low tide. I’ve timed it well. The tide is out, revealing wet sand and pebbles. Boots in hand, I wade barefoot through the shallow stream, the cold water a bracing relief to my feet. It feels adventurous to literally ford a river on a national trail! The water rises to my knees at mid-channel, but soon I’m scrambling up the opposite bank none the worse for wear (save for a bit of sand between my toes). Looking back, the Erme’s glassy waters snake into green hills dotted with cows. This is truly off-the-beaten-path hiking – no bridges, no roads, just you and the elements. I pause to snack on an energy bar and take in the solitude. According to trail guides, walkers must plan around the Erme’s tides or face an 8-mile detour inland, so I’m grateful my early start paid off.

Continuing east, the coastline gradually becomes more populated. By late morning I catch sight of the iconic Burgh Island ahead, its distinctive hump rising just off the shore. As I crest a ridge, I suddenly overlook the Avon Estuary and the village of Bigbury-on-Sea. The timing couldn’t be better – the ferry across the Avon is just about to run. I flag down the ferryman (who uses a tractor-towed boat when the tide is out). In summer, this tiny ferry boat shuttles hikers between Bigbury and Bantham on the opposite bank hourly. I hop aboard for the short ride across the sparkling water, chatting with a couple walking the trail in the opposite direction. From the ferry, we have a fantastic view of Burgh Island just off Bigbury’s beach, famous for its art deco hotel and the ancient Pilchard Inn. The hotel’s white facade gleams in the sun – a 1930s time capsule that once hosted Agatha Christie. We also learn from the ferryman about the “sea tractor,” a quirky amphibious vehicle that ferries hotel guests at high tide when the sandbar to the island is submerged. South Devon never ceases to charm with its eccentric solutions!

On Bantham side, I clamber up dunes to look back. The views are postcard-worthy: golden Bantham Beach curving toward the Avon, surfers dotting the waves, and Burgh Island now behind me to the west. Pushing onward, the trail crosses grassy headlands and passes the village of Thurlestone (named for a rock arch visible in the sea). By early afternoon I reach Hope Cove, a tiny former fishing village sheltered by Bolt Tail headland. Its two sandy beaches and whitewashed cottages are an inviting spot to rest. I sit on the sea wall with a pasty and watch children splashing in the shallows. Local lore says this cove was once a favorite haunt of smugglers. It’s easy to imagine contraband brandy being landed on these quiet sands under cover of darkness.

The next section is a workout: a steep climb up Bolt Tail followed by an undulating path along high cliffs of the Bolberry Down. But the exertion comes with huge reward – as I round Bolt Head, the panorama of the Salcombe Estuary opens up, taking my breath away. Far below, the Kingsbridge Estuary (of which Salcombe is a part) winds inland, its turquoise waters dotted with bobbing yachts. Lush green hills enfold the estuary, and ahead I can see the town of Salcombe spilling down the opposite shore. The guidebook was right: the scenery between Hope Cove and Salcombe is “awe-inspiring,” arguably one of the most beautiful stretches of the entire Coast Path. I descend toward Salcombe through woods at Bolt Head, where dappled sunlight and birdsong accompany me. Reaching the outskirts of town, the trail leads to the water’s edge at South Sands, where a little passenger ferry is shuttling beachgoers. Instead of continuing into Salcombe proper, I decide to take a quick ride on this ferry, which drops me at Salcombe’s bustling Whitestrand Quay.

Salcombe is alive with activity on this warm afternoon. It’s a chic sailing town – waterfront restaurants are full of people enjoying crab sandwiches and ice cream, and the harbor is crammed with dinghies and yachts. I roam the narrow streets lined with boutiques and nautical gift shops, then treat myself to a locally made ice cream. Although my legs are tired, I’m invigorated by the holiday atmosphere. Salcombe would be an ideal place to linger (and indeed many do, to kayak or sample the famous Salcombe gin), but I have more ground to cover. After rehydrating and grabbing some fudge for later, I head to Salcombe’s Ferry Inn and catch the small pedestrian ferry across the estuary to East Portlemouth. This ten-minute boat ride saves a huge inland detour. As we cross, I gaze back at Salcombe’s pastel houses and the forested hills behind – a last farewell to South Devon’s westernmost harbor.

Now on the east side of the estuary, the trail climbs again into the rugged terrain of the South Hams. This late afternoon stage is a bit of a blur – a mix of fatigue and natural grandeur. I traverse the craggy heights of Prawle Point (the southernmost tip of Devon) where seabirds wheel below and the wind has a sudden sharpness. Rounding Start Point, I pass its elegant lighthouse guarding the treacherous rocks (I pause briefly to read a plaque about shipwrecks here). Beyond stretches Start Bay, a long arc of coastline leading to Dartmouth. My original plan was to walk all the way, but it’s early evening and I’m still miles from Dartmouth. Fortunately, South Devon’s local transport comes to the rescue. At the village of Torcross, I stumble upon a bus stop – and lo and behold, an hourly bus is due! I wave it down and settle gratefully into a seat. As the bus carries me the remaining few miles along Slapton Sands, I reflect on the landscape I’m skirting. Slapton’s a flat shingle beach with a lagoon (Slapton Ley) on one side and the sea on the other – striking in its own right, but also somber ground: in 1944, it was the site of the tragic Exercise Tiger D-Day practice, where hundreds of U.S. servicemen lost their lives. A tank memorial here honors their memory. I glimpse it from the window, thinking how even this peaceful coast bears scars of history.

We arrive in Dartmouth just as dusk falls. Stepping off the bus in the heart of this historic port town feels almost like stepping back in time. Tudor and Georgian buildings line the embankment, their facades illuminated by warm light. The River Dart is glassy in the twilight, reflecting the masts of sailing boats and the twinkle of town lights. I wander down Bayard’s Cove, where an old fort guards the harbor entrance and cobbled quays recall Dartmouth’s seafaring golden age. It’s magical. Hungry from the day’s exertions, I find a fish and chip shop on Lower Street and devour my dinner on a bench by the embankment, legs dangling above the gently lapping water. Across the river in Kingswear, I can make out the dark bulk of the Britannia Royal Naval College on the hill. Dartmouth has a rich maritime heritage, and tonight it envelops me: I imagine explorers and naval heroes who embarked from this very port.

Before turning in at a local guesthouse, I stroll a bit more. The Dartmouth waterfront is alive with a soft evening buzz – pub laughter, clinking glasses, the aroma of ale and fried seafood. A pink sunset is fading over the river. Two women at a nearby table chat about their walk earlier “over from Brixham,” which reminds me to check tomorrow’s ferry times to cross the Dart. Satisfied, exhausted, and content, I conclude Day 2 in Dartmouth – a day that stretched me to my limits but offered a grand tour of South Devon’s coastal extremes, from lonely tidal crossings to vibrant Salcombe and Dartmouth.

Practical Notes: Day 2 is long (20+ miles). River Erme crossing: no ferry – must ford at low tide (check tide tables at Newton Ferrers; the river can be thigh-deep even at low tide, so exercise caution). Avon Ferry (Bigbury–Bantham): operates May–Sept, roughly 10am–4pm. If not running, be prepared to detour via the nearest bridge. Salcombe Ferry: year-round small pedestrian ferry (runs every 20 mins in summer) from Salcombe town to East Portlemouth – very helpful to avoid a 6-mile inland hike. Accommodation: Salcombe and Dartmouth are popular – book ahead in summer (Salcombe’s luxury hotels vs. Dartmouth’s cozy B&Bs or inns). There are also campsites near Start Bay. If needed, the Stagecoach bus from Torcross/Slapton to Dartmouth is the number 3 (check current schedules). Dartmouth has plenty of eateries and pubs to celebrate the halfway point of the journey.

Dartmouth to Shaldon (Torbay’s Riviera Towns & Teign Estuary)

I wake to the sound of seagulls and the sight of mist lifting off the River Dart. After a hearty breakfast of local bacon and eggs, I’m ready to tackle Day 3 – a day of contrasting landscapes, from the wooded Dart to the sun-kissed “English Riviera” of Torbay. First order of business: crossing the Dart. I take the early pedestrian ferry from Dartmouth’s quay to Kingswear on the opposite bank, joining a few commuters and schoolchildren on the short ride. The boat putters past Dartmouth’s waterfront with its candy-colored buildings (in daylight I notice the ornate 17th-century timber-framed Butterwalk and the bright pink Royal Castle Hotel among others). In minutes we dock at Kingswear. Here, I make an impromptu but delightful decision: rather than walking the entire way to Paignton, I’ll ride the heritage Dartmouth Steam Railway for a segment. It’s hard to resist the lure of experiencing a piece of living history – and giving my legs a brief rest!

At Kingswear station, I board a lovingly maintained vintage steam train bound for Paignton. With a whistle and a billow of steam, we chug off along the scenic branch line. The train route itself clings to the coast, offering vistas that rival the footpath. We snake along the edge of the Dart estuary, then through a tunnel, emerging to views of the broad Tor Bay. Out the window to the right, I spy the hillside homes of Brixham across the water – a cheerful jumble of pastel houses around a harbor. Brixham is a working fishing port and one of the “lively towns” that dot this coastline. Even though I won’t visit it on this trip, I recall a previous visit to Brixham’s harbor: the colorful trawlers, the smell of fish and chips on the quay, and a replica of Sir Francis Drake’s Golden Hind ship moored in the marina. Today, the train gives me a charming glimpse of it from afar, the morning sun reflecting off calm waters of the bay.

The steam train ride is pure nostalgia. It clickety-clacks past Churston and along coastal cliffs, offering a spectacular vantage as we curve around Broadsands Beach and cross historic viaducts. By mid-morning we arrive in Paignton, one of Torbay’s trio of resort towns. Paignton’s atmosphere is immediately distinct – traditional and cheerful. The station is just a block from the seafront, so I wander down to the Paignton Pier to resume my walk. The smell of sunscreen and sound of children squealing on carnival rides drifts in the air. It’s July, and Paignton Beach is already dotted with brightly colored beach huts and families staking out spots on the sand. I can’t resist walking the wooden pier, passing stalls selling candyfloss and postcards of 1950s Paignton. After the wildness of the past two days, the sudden burst of classic seaside holiday energy is both jarring and delightful. South Devon’s diversity is on full display – you truly get “everything from secluded coves to bustling seaside towns” on this route.

Leaving Paignton, the Coast Path leads me along the promenade toward Preston Sands and then up and over Roundham Head. The next town, Torquay, is only a few miles away. The path alternates between urban edges and pretty parks (I pass through the manicured gardens above Goodrington Sands, where palms and exotic plants grow – a reminder of the mild Riviera climate here). By noon I reach Torquay, famed as the heart of the English Riviera. This elegant resort town was a playground for Victorian high society, and one can still see why. I walk by stuccoed terraces and palm trees lining the streets, down to Torquay’s busy harbor. Yachts bob in the marina next to vintage sailing boats, and waterfront cafés are filled with people enjoying the sunshine. I detour slightly to see the pavilion and the statue of Torquay’s most famous daughter, Agatha Christie. It was along these very seafront gardens that young Agatha would have strolled. The town is proud of its connection to the queen of mystery – there’s even an “Agatha Christie Mile” of notable sites. I grab a quick coffee and a pastry from a kiosk by Princess Pier, sitting for a moment to watch holidaymakers boarding a sightseeing boat. Across the bay, I can just make out the red cliffs near Teignmouth in the haze – that’s my destination by day’s end.

The next leg is Torquay to Shaldon, crossing the peninsula that forms the southern arm of the Teign Estuary. It proves to be one of the most beautiful afternoons of the trip. Climbing out of Torquay, I pass through the delightful village of Babbacombe. Here the cliff top Babbacombe Downs afford a jaw-dropping panorama: red cliffs plunging to secluded beaches and the sea stretching to the horizon. A Victorian Cliff Railway runs down to Oddicombe Beach, but I stay atop, walking along the Downs and watching gliders ride the updrafts from the cliffs. The path then meanders through wooded slopes and tiny settlements like Maidencombe, where thatched cottages peek out from the trees. Every so often, a break in the foliage reveals the coastline ahead – it’s becoming redder in hue, an indication that I’m entering the realm of the Jurassic Coast soon.

By late afternoon, I approach the mouth of the River Teign. The trail descends toward the village of Shaldon, which lies on the south bank of the estuary, directly opposite the town of Teignmouth on the north bank. From high above on the last hill, I get a stunning view of the Teign: a wide blue river snaking inland towards Dartmoor, sailing boats anchored along its course, and the twin settlements at the mouth. Shaldon’s modest cluster of cottages and the prominent wooded headland called The Ness frame the estuary on my side, while Teignmouth’s promenade and pier lie across the water. It’s a picturesque scene that encapsulates why I love South Devon – vibrant colors, water and hills intermingling, and a sense of living history in the villages.

I stride into Shaldon with a spring in my step. This small fishing village immediately charms me with its narrow lanes, thatched pub, and cottages adorned with flower baskets. I’ve decided to spend the night here, foregoing the larger town of Teignmouth across the river for the quaint atmosphere of Shaldon. I check into The Ness, an inn dramatically perched on the hillside at the edge of the village. This 19th-century inn (originally built by the Clifford family) is full of nautical memorabilia and even has tales of smugglers in its past. My room boasts a balcony view across the Teign estuary – absolutely phenomenal. After dropping my rucksack, I freshen up and head out to explore before dusk.

Down by the shore, I find The Ferryboat Inn – locally nicknamed the “FBI.” As expected on a summer evening, it’s buzzing with life. This historic pub on the beach sits right by the little ferry landing, and its beer garden literally overlooks Shaldon Beach and the Teign estuary, with a perfect view of The Ness headland. In fact, it’s the first pub you’d encounter after stepping off the Teignmouth-Shaldon ferry, as their sign proudly notes. I join locals and a few walkers in the garden for a pint of ale. The sun is low, turning the river to gold, and across the water the lights of Teignmouth start to twinkle. There’s a Thursday night music session kicking off – a local folk duo strumming guitars in the corner (the Ferryboat is known for its live music on weekends). With a cold beer in hand and the sound of acoustic Devonshire melodies in the air, I feel a wave of contentment wash over me. Moments like this – convivial, rooted in community, and set in beautiful surroundings – are what walking journeys are all about.

After my drink, I wander a few yards along the shore at Shaldon’s little beach. Families are crabbing off the quay; I see a boy excitedly lift a small crab from his bucket before letting it scuttle back into the water. The last passenger ferry of the day comes chugging across from Teignmouth, depositing an elderly couple and their spaniel on the Shaldon side. It’s charming to witness this ferry, which has run for over 200 years, keeping the two communities linked. I opt to save my crossing for tomorrow and instead climb back up to The Ness for dinner. The inn’s restaurant has a conservatory with panoramic windows – from my table I watch as dusk deepens, the Teign estuary and even distant Dartmoor fading to silhouettes. Over a plate of fresh Devon scallops, I chat with the bartender about Shaldon’s heritage. He points out some antique smuggling paraphernalia on the wall and shares that The Ness was once a lookout for smugglers’ signals – the pub itself is storied, with a “smuggling past” and a collection of old sea charts and model ships decorating its interior. I end Day 3 with a nightcap of locally brewed cider, taken out onto The Ness’s terrace. Below, the village of Shaldon lies quiet, and I can make out the green and red navigation lights flickering on the Teignmouth side. The scent of the sea is heavy and a soft breeze carries the occasional laughter from a pub across the water (likely The Ship Inn in Teignmouth, which I remember is renowned for its live music and estuary-side beer garden). I make a mental note to stop by Teignmouth’s waterfront tomorrow. For now, I’m grateful for the decision to overnight in Shaldon. The village feels like a hidden gem – peaceful, friendly, and scenic beyond measure. I fall asleep with the balcony door cracked open, the distant sound of lapping water and a faint guitar riff from the Ferryboat Inn carrying me into a deep, satisfied sleep.

Practical Notes: Day 3 can range ~12–15 miles depending on transport shortcuts. The Dartmouth–Kingswear ferry (every 15 minutes) starts early, and the Steam Railway from Kingswear to Paignton is a fantastic option (March–Oct) for those who want to experience it or save some miles. Torbay section: well-serviced by buses and amenities if needed. Between Torquay and Shaldon, the path has some steep climbs (e.g., at Babbacombe) but also frequent benches and viewpoints. Teignmouth–Shaldon Ferry: a very short hop across the Teign (runs daily in summer 10am–5pm, reduced hours off-season). Teignmouth offers more nightlife (like the lively Ship Inn on “Back Beach,” famous for seafood and music festivals), whereas Shaldon is quieter after dark. Both have accommodation options. I chose Shaldon’s The Ness for its character and views (also dog-friendly and has rooms with sea views).

Shaldon to Starcross (Exe Estuary) – and onward to Sidmouth’s Jurassic Coast

The final day dawns bright and blue. I wake in Shaldon to the cry of gulls and the sun glinting off the Teign. After a light breakfast, I make my way down to the beach for the first ferry of the morning. The Teignmouth-Shaldon ferry is just a small open boat, but it carries on a big tradition – it’s one of England’s oldest ferry routes. I’m the sole passenger on the 9am crossing. As we putter across the calm estuary, the boatman points out a grey seal that sometimes lounges on the far bank (no luck seeing it today). In a couple of minutes we land on Teignmouth’s shore, right by the Back Beach area. Teignmouth is already stirring – fishing boats unloading their catch, and shopkeepers opening up. I stroll along Teignmouth’s Victorian Promenade toward the pier. The beach here faces the open sea and is backed by a classic crescent of Georgian buildings. Morning joggers pass by, and I notice the town’s iconic black swans (a symbol of Teignmouth) already paddling in the seafront water fountain.

Before leaving Teignmouth, I seek out The Ship Inn on the “Back Beach” quay. It’s a bit too early for a pint, but I’m curious to see it. The pub sits right on the estuary shore with an outdoor seating area overlooking the water. Even in the morning quiet, I can imagine how lively it gets – it’s known for live music year-round and even hosts two beach music festivals that are “famous for miles around”. A sign boasts of its fresh seafood specials and fine local ales. I snap a photo and make a mental note to return here on a future trip for an evening session. Teignmouth in general has a friendly, unpretentious vibe; it’s a real seaside town with soul, not just a resort.

Now I turn northeast to follow the Coast Path out of Teignmouth, heading for the Exe Estuary. The route leads me alongside the train tracks that famously hug the coast here. This stretch, between Teignmouth and Dawlish, is where the railway runs just above the waves – I’m effectively walking on the seawall. To my left, waves lap at a reddish pebbly beach; to my right, trains occasionally rumble by heading to Cornwall or London. The engineering of this Great Western Railway line (designed by Brunel) impresses me, and the views are splendid. Sheer red cliffs tower on the inland side as I near Dawlish, their stratified layers a visible record of millions of years – the western gateway to the Jurassic Coast. I pass through a short tunnel (smelling of damp salt and algae) and emerge at Dawlish town.

Dawlish is a quaint regency-era town straddling a small river (known as the Dawlish Water) that runs through a central park to the sea. This park, The Lawn, is famous for its black swans (imported from Australia in the early 20th century). I indeed spot a pair gliding under an ornate little bridge – as if on cue for a visitor’s camera. I sit by the brook for a mid-morning break, enjoying the genteel atmosphere. Under the shade of enormous plane trees, locals are feeding ducks and the bakery behind me tempts with the aroma of freshly baked Devon splits (sweet buns). I indulge in a quick cream tea from a café – after all, one cannot leave Devon without a cream tea (yes, I put the clotted cream before the jam, the Devon way).

Leaving Dawlish, the path rises over small headlands and past Langstone Rock, entering the dune systems of Dawlish Warren. This area is a celebrated nature reserve – a long spit of sand and dunes that partly encloses the Exe Estuary. The path snakes through marram grass and sand, with interpretive signs about the rare birds that winter here (apparently the Exe is a haven for avocets and Brent geese in the colder months). Today, in summer, it’s mostly holidaymakers enjoying the beach. I traverse a boardwalk and suddenly find myself at a viewpoint facing the wide Exe Estuary. The vista is completely different from open coast: an expansive calm estuary, mudflats shimmering in the sun, and gentle green shores. Across the water to the east is the town of Exmouth, where the coast path continues into Dorset. On my west side (the near side) lies Starcross, my next waypoint, with its tiny marina and the masts of boats clinking in the breeze. I can also see, not far off, a small village hugging a creek – Cockwood – where lunch awaits.

Skirting the edge of the estuary, I walk the final mile into Starcross. It’s around midday now. Starcross is a small, linear village mainly known for its railway station on the Exeter–Torquay line and as the ferry point to Exmouth. Brunel’s historic Atmospheric Railway pump house still stands here (a curious looking building by the water), a reminder of Victorian engineering experiments. I detour a few hundred yards off the trail to Cockwood Harbour, a postcard-perfect spot where a pocket harbor indents the coastline. Nestled beside this tidal harbor is The Anchor Inn, one of the pubs I’ve been eagerly anticipating.

The Anchor Inn (Starcross) does not disappoint – it exudes centuries of character. In fact, the inn has over 450 years of history and occupies a prime spot overlooking Cockwood’s tiny harbor. I manage to snag a seat on the patio outside, which offers a view of the boats resting on the mud at low tide. Planters overflow with flowers, and a pair of resident geese honk from the village green next door (the pub is famous for the gaggle of geese that live on Cockwood’s green). For lunch, I order their specialty: a heaping bowl of Exe Estuary mussels cooked in local cider. They arrive plump and tender – absolutely delicious, clearly “fresh seafood being our speciality” here. As I eat, I strike up conversation with a group of locals at the next table who are enjoying bowls of chowder and pints of ale. They tell me the Anchor is beloved for its seafood platters and that if you’re lucky, you might see the historic steam train (the Torbay Express) passing by on summer Sundays, visible from the pub’s garden. I top off my meal with a half pint of ale, savoring the relaxed atmosphere. After days on the trail, this feels like a well-earned celebration. Before departing, I step inside the pub to have a look – dark wood beams, a cosy fireplace, and walls crammed with maritime bric-à-brac. It’s easy to see why this place is described as having “one of the most beautiful and interesting locations on the coast”, with its quaint harbour and Brunel’s old railway bridges flanking the view. The Anchor Inn embodies South Devon’s coastal culture – unpretentious, hearty, and warmly welcoming to travelers.

Reluctantly, I bid farewell to Cockwood and return to Starcross pier. It’s time for the final ferry of my journey: the Starcross-Exmouth Ferry across the Exe. The afternoon sun is hot, and a refreshing breeze kicks up as I board the small motor ferry. The boat carries a mix of foot passengers and cyclists (and one very excited dog) making the hop to Exmouth. The crossing is a delight – we cruise past sandbanks where cormorants dry their wings and sailboats tack in the wind. In about 20 minutes, we dock at Exmouth Marina. Stepping off, I realize I’ve technically completed the Cremyll-to-Starcross section of the South West Coast Path! Starcross marked the end of the “South Devon” leg, and Exmouth begins the “East Devon”/Jurassic Coast leg. A sense of accomplishment washes over me as I set foot on Exmouth’s promenade. But my journey isn’t quite over – I’ve decided to extend just a bit further to experience a taste of the Jurassic Coast, ending in Sidmouth by the evening.

Exmouth is lively this afternoon – it’s one of Devon’s oldest seaside towns (a popular resort since Regency times), and the vibe is a mix of beach holiday and outdoorsy gateway (this is where the 95-mile World Heritage Jurassic Coast officially begins). I walk along Exmouth’s Esplanade, a long stretch of eateries, ice-cream stands, and beach gear shops, with a view of the two-mile golden sandy beach that curves east. Kite surfers are out taking advantage of the estuary winds, and families build sandcastles near the landmark Exmouth Clock Tower. To the east, red sandstone cliffs beckon. I make a quick stop in town at The Grapevine – a highly recommended brewpub just a couple of blocks from the seafront. In the mid-afternoon lull it’s quiet, but the friendly staff are happy to fill my water bottle and pour me a taste of their home-brewed craft beer. The Grapevine is a family-owned brew-pub with its own microbrewery, known for its creative craft beers and a “celebration of craft beer, community, and culinary artistry”. I chat with the barman about their current ales on tap (a zesty summer IPA catches my interest). If I hadn’t just lunched, I would’ve tried their famous Ruby burger as well. It’s clear this place has a great community atmosphere – yet another reason to return to Exmouth for a longer visit.

Now I face the final walking stretch: roughly 12 miles from Exmouth to Sidmouth, over the East Devon Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. Though my feet are tiring, I’m motivated by knowing this is the grand finale. I leave Exmouth by ascending to Orcombe Point, marked by the white Geoneedle that signifies the start of the Jurassic Coast World Heritage Site. From here on, the cliffs are a geologist’s wonder – layers of 250-million-year-old Triassic rock glowing terra cotta red. The terrain also becomes more challenging: big ups and downs as the path climbs each headland and drops to each cove. But the scenery is so magnificent that it fuels me onward. I climb through coastal scrub onto the cliff tops and am rewarded with an incredible view back towards Exmouth, the entire Exe estuary, and even the hazy outline of Dartmoor in the distance. Ahead of me, the coastline is a procession of towering reddish cliffs and secluded pebble beaches.

The trail dips into the wooded Otter Valley and I cross a footbridge where the River Otter meets the sea, near Budleigh Salterton. This pretty town has a famously tranquil pebble beach. I’m tempted to linger, but with evening approaching I keep moving – one last big hill calls. The final ascent to Peak Hill (west of Sidmouth) is tough: my calves burn as I climb the steep steps through patchy woods. When I emerge at the top, slightly out of breath, the view nearly knocks the breath out of me again: Sidmouth lies below, bathed in golden late-day light, nestled between towering red cliffs on either end. The town’s dignified Regency-era seafront and long promenade are clearly visible, and beyond Sidmouth, the coastline continues in white cliffs toward Beer and Lyme Regis. It’s a vista that blends natural drama with human elegance. I take it in appreciatively, then make the final descent.

Entering Sidmouth feels like stepping into a Jane Austen novel. This elegant seaside town has a timeless quality. As I walk along York Terrace toward the esplanade, I pass manicured parks (Connaught Gardens) and grand hotels from a bygone era. The Sidmouth Esplanade itself is a long, level walk by the pebble beach, lined with well-kept cream and pastel buildings facing the sea. Even in the dusk light, the cliffs flanking the town – rusty red to the west (Peak Hill which I descended, and Salcombe Hill to the east) – glow with earthy hues. I head straight to The Anchor Inn on Old Fore Street, just steps from the esplanade. This handsome, large pub has been serving Sidmouth for centuries and tonight it seems everyone is there – locals and walkers alike. I’m lucky to find a seat. The Anchor Inn is “large [and] welcoming, with a good ambience and friendly staff,” popular with both tourists and locals. I toast the completion of my journey with a pint of ale from nearby Otter Brewery, reflecting on the miles traveled.

Though footsore, I feel a surge of joy and pride. I’ve walked (and occasionally ferried) from the border of Cornwall all the way to the threshold of Dorset. In four days I’ve experienced South Devon’s entire coastal palette: bustling port cities, peaceful estuaries, dramatic cliffs, busy beach towns, and quiet fishing villages. I’ve hopped on eight different ferries (if I count them all), discovered countless stories from local people, and savored the best of West Country hospitality – especially in its characterful pubs. From enjoying live music with locals at The Ferryboat Inn in Shaldon, to savoring fresh mussels at The Anchor in Cockwood, these venues added flavor to the journey (literally and figuratively). And the landscape itself – what a star of the show! South Devon’s coast truly is an “unrivalled” mix of natural beauty and heritage.

As I step outside the Anchor Inn, Sidmouth’s street lights are flickering on. A warm breeze carries the distant sound of a fiddle – it seems I’ve arrived during the annual Sidmouth Folk Festival, when the town comes alive with music. How fitting to end with celebration in the air. I wander to the shore one last time. The tide is out, revealing the broad expanse of pebbles. I pick up a smooth red stone as a keepsake. Out at sea, the lights of fishing boats wink. I take off my boots and let the cool water of the English Channel lap over my tired feet. There’s a faint salty tang on my lips and I swear I can still taste the hops of that last ale. Above me, the first stars are peeking out over the dark outline of Salcombe Hill Cliff. I breathe in deeply, savoring the moment.

South Devon, with its easy camaraderie and breathtaking vistas, has worked its magic on me. Over these four days, I’ve learned that a great walking adventure is not just about the path and scenery, but also about the cultural experiences along the way – the stories shared over pints, the local food enjoyed, the music heard drifting from pub doors, and the welcoming “Alright me luvver?” greetings from Devonians. This journey had all of that in spades. As I eventually make my way to my Sidmouth B&B (aching in the best possible way), I’m already planning a return. Perhaps next time I’ll slow down even more: spend an extra day in the South Hams, or coincide with one of Teignmouth’s Back Beach music festivals at The Ship Inn, or join the Sidmouth folk dancers in August.

For now, I fall asleep to the sound of distant music and crashing waves, utterly content. The South West Coast Path continues eastward – on tomorrow to Beer and Lyme Regis for some – but for me, this is journey’s end. What a beautiful end it is. South Devon has been unforgettable, and I can’t think of a more evocative, rewarding route to experience England’s coastal charm.

Practical Notes: Day 4 covered about 12 miles (Shaldon to Sidmouth) plus the Starcross-Exmouth ferry. If ending at Starcross only, the distance is ~6 miles. Starcross-Exmouth Ferry: operates Apr–Oct, roughly 10am–5pm (check times; it leaves from Starcross pier by the station). Off-season or late hours, one can take a train from Starcross to Exeter then to Exmouth as an alternative. Exmouth to Sidmouth path: 12 miles of up-and-down terrain – allocate plenty of time (5–6 hours). It’s officially part of the Jurassic Coast World Heritage Site, so expect stunning geology and steep climbs. No settlements with services until Sidmouth (except Budleigh Salterton at mile 4), so carry water. Sidmouth has frequent bus connections back to Exeter (for onward rail travel). Finally, take the opportunity to slow down in Sidmouth – enjoy the Esplanade, maybe visit during Sidmouth Folk Week (early August) when the town’s pubs (like the Anchor Inn) overflow with music and cheer.

Summary: In 3–4 days, this South Devon coast path itinerary offers a bit of everything – ferry rides across scenic estuaries, heritage towns like Dartmouth and Salcombe, panoramic clifftop hikes, and cozy pub stops that bring local culture to life. The trail is well-marked and infrastructure (ferries, cafés, campsites/B&Bs) is generally good, though always check seasonal schedules. Whether you’re an avid hiker or a leisurely stroller, South Devon’s relaxed pace and breathtaking coastal landscapes will capture your heart. As the saying goes, “take a deep breath and savour the unrivalled views” – on this journey, I did exactly that, and each day left me more enchanted than the last. South Devon truly encapsulates the spirit of England’s seaside – friendly, beautiful, and endlessly inviting.

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