Cremyll to Wembury (to Plymouth): South West Coast Path Day 35 Guide

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Sitting in the pub last night and looking at the weather warnings, I’d had a decision to make. The little ferry across the River Yealm between Wembury and Noss Mayo would probably not be running today, and the next day was looking iffy as well (in the end, it didn’t run either day).

If I walked as planned, the chances of getting stuck on the western side of the river with no campsites and 60+ mph winds seemed very high.

Walking nine miles around the estuary instead, in the middle of a storm after already walking 17 miles that day, didn’t seem likely. There was no affordable accommodation in Wembury that night, nor anywhere else between there and the outskirts of Plymouth, and trying to find somewhere to wild camp in winds that my tent was very much not designed for didn’t seem the safest choice.

In the end, with few alternatives, I settled on booking a room at the Three Crowns in downtown Plymouth, with the idea of taking a bus to Wembury, walking to the ferry jetty, and then turning around to walk back into Plymouth.

Tomorrow, I’d take a bus from Plymouth to Noss Mayo on the other side of the river, and start walking again from there. That way I wouldn’t miss any of the path, but I’d also have somewhere safe and dry to sleep tonight.

This all seemed like a pretty good plan in the circumstances, right up until I realised the buses didn’t run on Sundays. Today was Sunday. Guess I’ll be taking an Uber instead.

All of that fun was in my future, however. This morning, after a pretty good night’s sleep in my dodgy little campsite, I woke up early to grey skies but no wind or rain as yet. Small mercies.

Being Sunday, the first ferry across from Cremyll to Plymouth wasn’t until 8:30 a.m., and sure enough, a boat puttered into view a few minutes beforehand and pulled up at the jetty opposite the pub.

Less than ten minutes later, I got off at Admiral’s Hard in Plymouth and immediately started searching for waymarks. As a rule, the bigger the town or city, the worse the signage on a walk like this, and Plymouth was no exception.

Given how much the official route ducks and weaves, you’ll definitely need a map if you’re trying to stick to it. Keep an eye out for acorn stickers on random lamp posts, small signposts, and even a few waymarks inlaid into the physical footpath.

I’d been so focused on logistical challenges today that it took me a while to realise that after nearly four weeks of walking past every beach, cove, and cliff in Cornwall, I’d finally re-entered Devon. At a minimum, I’d need to change the order of the cream and jam on my scones from now on. Or I would, if I ever ordered them.

The first little section around Royal William Yard, up a set of steps into Devil’s Point Park, and back up past the barracks, was really quite nice: many of the impressive stone buildings here date back to the early 1800s.

After that, the route turned slightly away from the water as it looped around Millbay Pier, and became more suburban and less interesting. After walking down West Hoe Road and Great Western Road to rejoin the coast, navigation became much easier: I just followed the promenade for a mile, first east and then north, as far as the little pedestrian bridge across Barbican Harbour.

Along the way, I passed a large “Welcome to Plymouth” message, inlaid on a sloping grassy bank above a…well, above a damp cycle lane on the main road. In a stiffening breeze under sullen skies, the Hollywood sign this was not.

Other than a few spits of rain, the weather had held up so far, but the thick black clouds rolling in behind me suggested that was about to change. I took that as my cue to head slightly off-trail for breakfast at Boston Tea Party, which didn’t have half the things on the menu and took forever to deliver the things it did have.

Still, given how heavy the rain now was, I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to leave.

If the Wembury ferry had been running today, I’ve have now carried on across the pedestrian bridge and onward around the eastern side of Plymouth. Instead I called an Uber to a random spot on the map, as close to the ferry point as I thought it could get. There was still a mile of extra walking after that, but as the saying goes, it could be worse.

I proved that saying correct almost immediately when, aiming for Warren Lane, I somehow ended up on the wrong side of a hedge in a farmer’s field with no way out beyond retracing my steps through muddy paddocks. Sigh.

Once on the lane, it was a straight run down to the ferry pier at Warren Point. With the rain pouring and nobody else around except a couple of very damp women walking their even damper dog, it was a very desolate scene as I stood on the empty jetty.

With no reason to linger, I turned around and started walking back towards Plymouth. Two minutes earlier I’d have told you I didn’t think it was possible to get any wetter, but now that I was facing directly into the wind, it was time to revise that assessment.

Walking with the ocean on my left for the first time took a bit of getting used to, but right now I didn’t have much of a chance to look at it. I was too busy trying to stay upright; while most of the trail was rocky enough that it hadn’t got super muddy, that definitely wasn’t true all of the time.

After a mile I dropped sharply down to Wembury Beach, which is apparently a delightful spot to go rock-pooling on a hot summer’s day. There was nobody out there today, however, probably because they’d have been smashed onto the rocks in seconds. Those waves weren’t messing about.

Beside the beach sat a very weathered wooden signpost that let me know that it was only 208 miles to the end of the Coast Path in Poole. Right now that still felt like an extremely long way away, not helped by the fact I was currently walking in the opposite direction.

After leaving the beach the path veered slightly inland, with sparse trees providing at least a little more shelter from what was by now more of a persistent drizzle than a heavy downpour. Returning to the coast at Heybrook Bay, the rolling hills and large rocky platforms just offshore suggested this could be an attractive and interesting section on a different day. Today, however, not so much.

I’d been glad of the low cliffs and flat path for the mile or so since leaving Wembury Beach, and even more glad that they stuck around for another two miles more. Passing a series of small rocky coves and dark sand beaches, I slowly made my way through the rain, up the eastern side of Plymouth Sound towards Bovisand.

Visibility was pretty poor at this point, but even through the gloom I could still make out a tall cliff up ahead. I’d noticed a place to stop just past Bovisand named Cliff Edge Cafe; even at this distance, it wasn’t hard to figure out where that was likely to be.

The path climbed up and over a small hill at Crownhill Bay, then down to pass a cluster of chalets and a closed cafe in Bovisand itself. The twitching of net curtains as I passed was the only sign of life.

The path then headed straight up the cliff on what would easily have been the steepest and longest climb of the day, had I not stopped at the cafe halfway up. It’s a tiny spot and every table was full: it wasn’t hard to see why, with friendly owners, good food and coffee, and at least today, nowhere else open nearby.

I quickly made friends with a couple sitting beside the counter, ordered a coffee and a cake, and sat down at their table to drip on the floor and intrude on their conversation. They didn’t seem to mind; like so many of the locals I’ve met during this walk, they’d tackled parts of the Coast Path themselves, and were very keen to talk about it.

I really didn’t want to leave the warmth and shelter of the cafe, but with no idea when the gales were going to show up, cracking on felt like the only sensible option. Bidding farewell to my new friends, their dog, the cafe owners, and any hope of staying dry for the next few hours, I headed back out into the mizzle.

As the crow flies, it’s only a little over two miles from that cafe to the pub I was staying at in Plymouth tonight. There were no crows flying today, however, and my heart sank when I looked at the map and realised I still had seven more miles of this to go. It was resilience-building, if nothing else.

After finishing that steep climb up the rest of the cliff, the path stayed up high above Leekbed Bay, before starting a much more gradual descent down and around Jennycliff Bay. The weather was finally clearing a bit, and Plymouth’s outskirts were clearly visible up ahead. I’d soon get to know them a whole lot better.

First up, however, was the obvious outcrop of Mount Batten, where the River Plym flows into Plymouth Sound. Perhaps trying to make up for the lack of waymarking earlier in the day, a large chunk of stone carved with “South West” and the National Trail acorn greeted me on a grassy hill just beforehand. You know, just in case I’d forgotten what I was doing today.

The views from here over the breakwater, Plymouth Sound, and the city itself were very impressive, even in the gloom. With several picnic benches dotted around, this would be the perfect place to stop with a packed lunch on a nicer day.

After trotting down the hill and past the long breakwater, then following a diversion around the back of Yacht Haven marina, the route started to get noticeably more suburban. Shortly after the Royal Oak pub, I arrived at the bottom of a steep lane and couldn’t help but laugh at the nearby sign. It really should be the official motto of the entire South West Coast Path.

Walking out onto the Laira Bridge, gusts roared up the river and ripped the rain cover right off my backpack. If I hadn’t clipped it on earlier that day, it’d be somewhere in Somerset by now; instead, it just became a fluorescent parasail to distract passing drivers with.

Turning left after the bridge, the path took a long loop through Cattedown, an industrial area that was completely deserted on this miserable Sunday afternoon and smelled strongly of fish. The wind had picked up noticeably by now, but even that couldn’t blow the stink away.

Dragging myself onward, I arrived at the top of Breakwater Hill and looked down on the city. The end of the day was finally in sight, and I couldn’t have been happier about it. One minute I was walking past fish factories, the next I was back at the little pedestrian bridge at Barbican Harbour that I’d walked past seven hours earlier.

Collapsing into the Three Crowns, the guy behind the bar took one look at me and said “mate, you look like you’ve had quite a day”. He wasn’t wrong.

After drying out in my room for an hour, I headed back out to disappoint myself with Thai food from a nearby restaurant. The weather was easily the best it had been all day: the wind had died down a bit, and with plenty of sun and blue sky, the harbour looked an absolute picture.

I briefly wondered if the forecast had been exaggerating, but as I sat in my room later that night listening to the windows rattle, the wind howl, and bins being blown down the street outside, I was extremely glad I wasn’t huddled inside my tent somewhere on the side of the path.

My mind now turned to tomorrow’s adventures. The wind was meant to keep blowing strongly all day, coinciding perfectly with the only river crossing on the South West Coast Path that doesn’t have a bridge or a ferry. Somewhere around low tide, I’d be crossing the River Erme: the only question now was whether I’d be wading it or swimming it.

Planning

Started at: Camp Bedrock (0.4 miles/0.6km off-trail)

Finished at: The Three Crowns (0.2 miles/0.3km off-trail)

I couldn’t have been more impressed by the Three Crowns if I tried, and not only because the alternative was being blown out to sea while wild camping in the middle of nowhere.

It’s in a great location beside Barbican harbour, five minutes from the Coast Path and close to loads of restaurants (assuming you don’t eat there as well). The staff behind the bar seemed friendly and competent, checking me in with a minimum of fuss. No fuss was exactly what I needed right then.

My single room was small, as you’d expect, but cozier and nicer than I expected. The bed linens were soft, the shower was clean and had endless hot water, and I could even crank up the heating so my clothes dried overnight for the first time in ages.

Breakfast was included the next morning, and when I told the lovely staff member that I had to dash to the bus and wouldn’t have time for a cooked breakfast, she insisted on quickly making me a takeaway breakfast bap so I’d have something hot to eat. Legend.

It felt like excellent value for what and where it was, at least on a Sunday night: like most places in that area, it’s more expensive at weekends. I’d definitely choose to stay there again.

Transport and Parking

Public transport on this section isn’t too bad, as long as you’re not trying to use it on a Sunday like I was.

Once you’re in Plymouth, you have several choices of bus (plus a ferry option) to get to various points along today’s trail. Most of these buses run from the Viaduct in central Plymouth: the number 34 bus will take you there from beside the Admiral’s Hard ferry jetty if you don’t want to walk it.

To get to Mount Batten, either take the number 2 bus from the Viaduct, or the Mountbatten Ferry from beside Barbican Harbour. The ferry departs every half hour and drops you beside the trail at the bottom of the hill, the bus runs every 20-30 minutes and stops beside the trail at the top.

For Bovisand, take the 49 bus from the Viaduct to the Mussell Inn in Down Thomas, and then walk a mile down Bovisand Lane to the coast. To get to Heybrook Bay or Wembury Point, stay on the same bus to the end of the route. The bus runs twice a day Monday through Saturday (excluding bank holidays), once in the late morning, once mid-afternoon.

For Wembury and Wembury Beach, take the number 48 which runs Monday through Saturday, roughly once an hour from 9:05 a.m. plus one or two early morning services.

To get to Noss Mayo on the other side of the River Yealm, you can either walk from Wembury down to the jetty to catch the little boat across (assuming it’s running), or take the 94 bus from Plymouth to Noss Mayo like I had to do the following morning. It runs three times daily, Monday through Saturday excluding bank holidays.

If you’re starting or finishing your time on the Coast Path in Plymouth, this is a major transport hub. Trains depart for Penzance, Exeter, London Paddington, and even Edinburgh, while long-distance coaches run all over the country from the nearby bus and coach station.

If you want to leave a car somewhere as part of a car shuffle or to combine with public transport, there are several places to do so.

There’s a good-sized carpark in Cremyll just back from the pub and ferry pier, and a small free carpark on Strand Street in Plymouth, beside the Admiral’s Hard ferry jetty where you get dropped off.

Unsurprisingly there are many other places to park in Plymouth as well, both off-street parking and on-street parking. Equally unsurprising, they tend to be more expensive the closer you are to the centre.

Many are short-stay only, which isn’t much use when you’re walking for hours. If you’re insistent on parking in the city, try the Elphinstone or Drake Circus carparks, which at least allow long-stay parking even if it’s not cheap.

Better options include the various free carparks beside the trail at Mount Batten, or the free Jennycliff carpark shortly further along (and also beside the path). There’s all-day parking beside the excellent Cliff Edge cafe above Bovisand at a somewhat-acceptable price, and likewise down the path by the chalets there as well.

There’s also long-stay parking at Crownhill Bay, a few free on-road spots in Heybrook Bay, and a free carpark at the end of the road at Wembury Point. There’s a National Trust carpark at Wembury Beach, and plenty of free on and off-road parking in Wembury itself.

River Crossings

Assuming the ferries are running, you’ve got two river crossings to contend with today: from Cremyll to Plymouth across the River Tamar at the start of the day, and Warren Point to Noss Mayo across the River Yealm and Newton Creek at the end.

Cremyll Ferry

The Cremyll ferry runs every day year round, with a summer timetable from April 1st to September 30th and a winter schedule the rest of the time. In either case it operates two services per hour in each direction, departing Cremyll on the hour and half hour.

Catch the boat from the small jetty opposite the pub. The first boat is at 6:45 a.m. during the week, 7:30 a.m on Saturday, and 8:30 a.m on Sunday. Depending on the day of the week, the last sailing is between 9 and 10 p.m. in summer, and 6 and 7 p.m. in winter.

The trip to Admiral’s Hard takes eight minutes, and costs £3 per adult. You can buy tickets for a particular day (not a particular time) online, or just pay onboard by cash or card.

If the Cremyll ferry isn’t running due to bad weather, check whether the Torpoint/Devonport ferry still is: these are much larger car ferries and further upriver, so are more likely to keep operating.

If so, it’s possible to take a circuitous route on the number 70 or 70B bus instead, from beside the ferry jetty around to Torpoint, staying on the bus to cross over on the ferry, and then continuing on into central Plymouth. Total journey time is about 1:40 hrs.

Noss Mayo Ferry

If you get better weather than me, the small electric boat across the River Yealm and Newton Creek leaves from a small jetty at Warren Point. It runs a triangular route from there to Yealm Steps near Newton Ferrers, across to Wide Slip just west of Noss Mayo, and back to Warren Point.

In summer, the service officially operates between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m. Sun-Thu and until 9 p.m. on Friday and Saturday nights, but these hours can and do vary, and as I discovered, strong winds may cause the boat to stop running entirely. Call 07399 067942 to confirm or check the Facebook page.

If the boat is meant to be running but isn’t there when you get to Warren Point, just pull the top of the large white sign downwards to create an orange signal: the boatman should head over shortly afterward. A single ticket costs £4.75.

Waymarking and Navigation

Navigation was a challenge today through Plymouth, as it often is in larger cities, but generally fine other than that. It’s not that there aren’t waymarks in the city, it’s just that the number of potential routes is exponentially higher than when you’re following a single footpath in the countryside, and they’re not all as well signposted as they could be.

Let’s just say the map on my phone got a good workout this morning.

Outside the city, however, the path was obvious. There’s really only one way to go most of the time, and it’s almost always right beside the coast. Even in the pouring rain, I didn’t take a wrong turn until I got back into Plymouth.

I used AllTrails as my main navigation app for the entire South West Coast Path, and it worked well throughout: you can find the Plymouth to Wembury/Noss Mayo section here. The app is free to use, although I pay a couple of pounds a month for a subscription so I can download maps to my phone in advance.

Phone Service

Phone service was fine in Cremyll and everywhere in or close to Plymouth with O2 today. It wasn’t too bad along Plymouth Sound either, but was patchier on the coast between Bovisand and the Wembury ferry.

As a backup, I’d also paid a few pounds for a data eSIM from Instabridge that let me swap between all three UK networks, EE, O2, and Vodafone/Three. It worked really well as a fallback option all along the Coast Path: if I didn’t have service with my usual provider, I’d just switch to another. As long as there were any mobile phone towers in range, I’d have service.

Facilities

There was nowhere serving breakfast in Cremyll before I left, but that wasn’t an issue: it was an eight-minute boat ride across to Plymouth, where I had an endless selection. Really, just decide when you’re hungry and look around; the path runs past dozens of different cafes and restaurants between the ferry at Admiral’s Hard and the Barbican in the centre of town.

Good places to eat near the trail get more sparse on the other side of Plymouth for a while, although you’ll pass a couple of decent pubs that do food (the Kings Arms and the Royal Oak) if you’re there from lunchtime onward.

Likewise, you’ll pass bars, restaurants, and coffee shops as you loop around Mount Batten, and there’s a cafe above Jennycliff Beach shortly afterward as well. That’s the last place for a while, until you get to the excellent Cliff Edge Cafe above Bovisand where I stopped for coffee and cake.

There’s another cafe just down the path in Bovisand (it was closed when I passed), and you’ve also got the Eddystone Inn just up the road from the trail in Heybrook Bay. That’s it until you get to the other side(s) of the river(s), with a pub in Newton Ferrers and two in Noss Mayo.

Accommodation

After leaving Cremyll, campsites are non-existent anywhere near the path on today’s section until after you’re across the River Yealm. With the ferry not running today, I ended up back in Plymouth overnight instead. If you’re able to get across the river, there’s both Worswell Barton Farm and Orchard Nook Campsite close to Noss Mayo.

If you aren’t camping, you have more options. There are many choices in Plymouth, including the Three Crowns where I stayed. Other good places in the west and centre of the city include Admiral’s House, Mariner’s Guesthouse, Crescent House, and this luxury apartment.

Closer to Mount Batten, you’ve got a few more options, often quite reasonably priced: start with The Lake House or this shepherd’s hut. After that you’re mostly back into the world of holiday cottages with multi-night minimum stays, other than a handful of B&Bs in Wembury. Over the river in Newtown Ferrers, there’s also a lovely little two-bedroom cottage that takes single night bookings.