Downderry to Cremyll: South West Coast Path Day 34 Guide

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Pitching my tent essentially inside the hedge last night had the desired effect: I was sheltered from all of the wind and most of the rain, and had a great sleep because of it. Waking up in the morning to near silence, with just the rustle of leaves and occasional bleat from sheep in the next paddock, was an absolute delight. I really didn’t want to get up at all.

The morning sun turned into a brief shower with impeccable timing just as I was pulling down the tent, but the clouds had rolled away again by the time I started walking back down the hill towards Downderry.

With nowhere open for breakfast, I continued along the road to the end of the village and started zigzagging up what turned out to be a surprisingly steep hill. There’s nothing quite like dropping 100m in elevation and then immediately regaining it to get the blood pumping first thing in the morning.

All was quiet at the top, other than my laboured breathing, and the path stretched out along the clifftop on a delightful soft trail with great views over the large expanse of Whitsand Bay. Turning a slight corner and immersed in my own thoughts, my solitude was interrupted by the sight of several sheep grazing on the side of the path.

I’ve no idea if they were meant to be there or not, but as one they all looked up guiltily and then started trotting off down the path in front of me. With a fence on one side and a hedge on the other, I guess they didn’t have many other options, so just like that I switched from walker to shepherd as my little flock and I made our way towards Portwrinkle.

Half a mile later, we all halted in front of a stile. Only one of us had legs long enough to use it, so after a short standoff, the sheep agreed that the best course of action was to run straight into the hedge and pretend I wasn’t there. I guess that’s one approach.

Switching back out of Little Bo Peep mode, I clambered over the fence and continued on. Up and down the cliffs I went, on what was at times a very soft trail. That overnight rain had definitely not dried out yet, a fact I soon confirmed when I slipped on a steep downhill section, pinwheeled uselessly for a second or two, and fell straight into the mud.

Lauren had donated a few large body wipes when she’d had to stop walking back in St Ives, and I’d assumed I’d never use them. Well, they sure came in handy now. Shows what I know.

After following an even more slippery, even steeper path down into Portwrinkle, I noticed a sign on the outskirts of town that I suspect was aimed at vehicles but seemed extremely relevant to me right then. “Skid Risk” very much summed up the last 15 minutes of my life.

Almost immediately afterward, the skid risk rose even higher as the overhead clouds decided they’d had enough of just looking threatening. The rain went from “oh, it’s raining” to “holy shit this is torrential” in about 20 seconds, and with no nearby buildings, I dashed for the closest trees. Just like yesterday, they definitely did not provide enough shelter from rain like this.

Of course, when the deluge did eventually abate and I set out again, I turned the corner and walked straight past a bus shelter a hundred yards down the road. Let’s just say I’d have been a lot drier if I’d found it a little earlier.

Just on the other side of the village is the Whitsand Bay Golf Course, which I’d been aiming for before the monsoon arrived. Squelching inside the clubhouse in the hope of finding breakfast, I was met by several frustrated golfers who’d missed their tee time and a glare from the person behind the counter, presumably because I was dripping water all over the floor.

The welcome might not have been very warm, but the breakfast bap and coffee were both nice and hot, as was the sunshine by the time I walked back into it half an hour later. That was, believe it or not, the last rain of the day. I was not sad.

Crossing the road back to the path, I soon realised I hadn’t seen the last of those golfers I’d met on the way in. The trail runs along the cliff beside the fairways and everyone was now making up for lost time: I had to stop twice to let groups tee off, and kept a watchful eye out the rest of the time. It’s a beautiful spot for a round of golf, which made it great place to walk as well.

The risk of being hit by flying objects continued at the end of the golf course: I was approaching the Tregantle firing range. It’s actively used by the Ministry of Defence, but generally not at weekends. Today was Saturday, and sure enough, the red flag wasn’t flying and the gate wasn’t locked, so in I went. If you want to know firing times in advance, check them here.

This is definitely the path to follow if you can: the alternative just runs parallel along the nearby road for a mile. Instead, I had a lovely stroll through grassy fields, past cows and military buildings, with stunning views out over the ocean and inland towards the Lynher River as it flows towards Plymouth.

Passing the impressive stone Tregantle Fort, I then left the firing range and turned down Military Road back to the coast. Note that the path actually runs on the other side of the hedge and rejoins the road at the bottom; it’s a narrow lane with a blind corner, so it’s better not to walk down it like I did!

From here, the path ran first alongside and then on the road for two miles past Freathy and Tregonhawke Beach: the off-road section was rugged and very enjoyable walking, the on-road section was neither of those things. Still, the views out over Whitsand Bay hadn’t got any worse, and neither had the weather, so no complaints from me.

I stopped for lunch at the appropriately-named Cliff Top Cafe to enjoy a baguette in the sun, and then set off again along the road towards Rame Head, the very obvious headland that I’d been looking at for most of the day.

Shortly after the large Vista Restaurant, the path left the road for a while to head steeply down into a confusing warren of paths that joined up precariously-built chalets and holiday homes all up and down the cliff face.

Signs and markers do mostly point you in the right direction, but it’s super-easy to miss one and end up on a completely different trail that ends up at somebody’s front door. Ask me how I know.

The path eventually made its way briefly back up to the road, before another steep drop to pass above Polhawn Cove and a more gradual climb up onto the headland. These next couple of miles, around the west and south sides of Rame Head, were an absolute delight: epic views, soft, flat trail, and perfect weather all combined to make this my favourite part of the day.

St Michael’s Chapel stands out prominently on the southern tip of the headland: unless the weather was atrocious, you couldn’t miss it if you tried. It dates back to the 1300s, and is well worth the quick detour off the main path to go and have a poke around.

Many other people seemed to have had the same idea; since the path had been mostly empty until that point, I presume they’d all come from Kingsand or Cawsand, twinned villages that were by now only about three miles away.

Even with this sunny weather and the promise of a pub stop, though, I was in no hurry to get to either of the villages. Walking around Rame Head was wonderful, and I really didn’t want to stop.

Sadly, like all good things it eventually did come to an end, although it eased me into it with a long, wooded walk down a lane that ran the entire eastern length of the headland above Cawsand Bay.

Arriving in Cawsand at the end, I stopped at the first pub I saw to rest my feet and enjoy a pint of lime and soda, my new go-to on this walk. I’d already walked 13 miles today, but was nowhere near done: I really wanted to get as close to Plymouth as possible today in case tomorrow’s forecast strong winds stopped the ferries from running.

There was definitely no sign of storms yet, however, as Cawsand turned seamlessly into Kingsand and hundreds of tourists turned seamlessly into lobsters in the last of the summer sun. After missing a signpost and taking an unnecessary detour along the esplanade and back, I found my way up out of the village and onto that most unexpected of things: a long, mostly flat path around the bay and into Mount Edgcumbe Country Park.

This too was really enjoyable walking, on quiet dirt paths through the trees. Well, until I hit the large detour signs, at least: apparently some of those trees had decided they’d be better off horizontal than vertical, and had blocked the path up ahead.

From here, it became a choose-your-own-adventure: there was no sign of where the detour ended or where I might rejoin the official path, so in the end, with the help of my map, I just picked a random path heading back to the coast and made it up.

Eventually emerging near the ruins of Mount Edgcumbe Folly with its spectacular views over Plymouth Sound, I rejoined the path for the final mile or so into Cremyll. Feeling decidedly out of place as I made my way past an extremely fancy wedding reception in the Orangery garden, I passed through the gates on the other side and walked up to the little ferry pier.

All going well, that’s where I’d be taking the boat over to Plymouth tomorrow: the helpful woman on duty there said she was confident it’d be running in the morning, but all bets were off after that. Good enough for me: I’d be on the first one of the day.

For now, it was time to head to Camp Bedrock, my home for the night and, as it turned out, the most basic campsite I stayed at on my entire walk. Half a mile from the ferry jetty, an old fuel depot covered in murals dominated the small space. Other than a couple of closed-up campervans, there were no signs of life, and the place had a very deserted air.

Figuring someone would come round later in the day to collect payment, I set up in the shelter of the fuel depot, sent Lauren my location so she’d know where to look for the body if I was murdered in the night, and wandered back to the pub in Cremyll for dinner.

After making short work of both my pint and my fish and chips (honestly I could happily have had both of them again), I headed back to the campsite in case someone was there to give money to.

There wasn’t, but I did get to meet the inhabitants of one of the campervans: a friendly woman and her even friendlier dog. We all seemed glad there was somebody else staying there that night: now that the clouds that had rolled in earlier had disappeared, the site felt much less sketchy in the evening sun with other people around than it had a couple of hours earlier.

Exhausted and with nothing else to do, I was in bed before dark. Tomorrow’s forecast hadn’t improved, and it looked it like it was going to be a pretty challenging day. The more sleep the better, I guess.

Planning

Started at: Trewall Farm Campsite (0.5 miles/0.8km off-trail)

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

Camp Bedrock pitches itself as “wild adventure camping”, and I guess in many ways that’s true.

Certainly in terms of facilities, things are pretty basic: there’s a single compost toilet (that didn’t smell), a tap for drinking water, and that’s it. No showers, no power sockets, no picnic tables. Just a small, mostly sloping field with large silos dotted around, covered in mural-style street art.

The site felt abandoned and a bit dodgy when I arrived under grey skies in the late afternoon with nobody else around, but much nicer later in the evening when the sun was out and I’d met the occupants of both of the campervans I’d seen earlier.

The site was pretty quiet, with no noise from the road or people on the public footpath nearby, and it’s only a short walk to the pub I had dinner at. I pitched in the most sheltered flattish spot I could find, in a small hollow beside the largest silo. It wouldn’t have been ideal in heavy rain, but it did keep the wind off me.

It’s not somewhere I’d usually recommend staying, but there are literally no other campsites anywhere nearby, so it’s this, wild camping, or heading over to Plymouth and staying in some other kind of accommodation.

As it was, I arrived late, left early, and had a decent night’s sleep in the middle. It could have been a lot worse.

Transport and Parking

By the standards of the last few days, public transport on this section is pretty good. I mean yes, it’ll still take two buses and two hours to get from one end to the other, but that’s better than usual and you’ve got many places to get on and off along the Coast Path on the way.

Start by taking the number 75 bus eastbound from Downderry: it calls in at Portwrinkle before turning inland towards Antony. Get off there and take the number 70 bus southbound: it stops alongside Tregantle Fort and then continues along Military Road.

If you get off anywhere along the three-mile stretch between the fort and Polhawn carpark, you’re basically right beside the path. From there, the bus cuts across the Rame Peninsula to Cawsand, before turning back inland to eventually end up beside the ferry in Cremyll.

The 75 operates at sporadic times Monday through Saturday excluding bank holidays: check the timetable linked above for details, but expect about three services each in the morning and afternoon.

The 70 runs every day, about once an hour most of the day Monday through Saturday with a few extra services on weekdays, and roughly once every two hours on Sundays and bank holidays. Again, the link above has all the details.

I talk about the Cremyll ferry in more detail in tomorrow’s guide, but for now, just know that if you’re trying to get to Plymouth today, catch the boat from the small jetty opposite the pub. It runs to Admiral’s Hard every half-hour from 6:45 a.m. during the week, 7:30 a.m on Saturday, and 8:30 a.m on Sunday.

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.

The small council-run carpark at Broads Yard in Downderry has quite cheap all-day parking, and likewise the cash-only one beside the beach in Portwrinkle won’t break the bank either.

The long stay carpark at Tregantle Fort also has cheap rates for 24-hour stays, although there’s also a large layby just back up the road that’s free if you can find a spot.

There’s a carpark in Freathy, but it’s more expensive and seems to have gone downhill since the council sold it to a private company. I’d be more inclined to use the cheaper, summer-only all-day parking in a farmer’s field slightly further down the road.

There’s a small free parking area at Polhawn Beach at the base of Rame Head, and a very reasonably priced one just before St Michael’s Chapel out on the headland. There’s also a small free (height restricted) one slightly further along the headland at Penlee Battery.

It’s unexpectedly cheap to park at the small long-stay carpark in Cawsand, given it’s a popular tourist destination, but you’ll need to get there early. The one in Kingsand is slightly more expensive, but larger.

There are a few carparks with long-stay options in Mount Edgcumbe Country Park (locations and costs here), and there’s also a good-sized one in Cremyll, just back from the pub and ferry pier.

Waymarking and Navigation

Navigation generally wasn’t too bad today, but there were definitely a few places where more, or at least more obvious, waymarking wouldn’t have gone amiss. The rabbit warren of paths and chalets at Treninnow Cliff can get pretty confusing and wasn’t always well marked, and I completely missed the sign pointing away from the esplanade in Kingsand as well.

Likewise, the detour in Mount Edgcumbe Country Park was very good at telling me where it started, much less so at telling me where it finished. In the end I just cut downhill along a random footpath to rejoin the path along the coast, but again, a sign would have helped a lot.

I used AllTrails as my main navigation app for the entire South West Coast Path, and it worked well throughout: you can find the Downderry to Cremyll 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 variable today with O2, although unsurprisingly it got noticeably better the closer I got to Plymouth. Before that, it was mostly ok up on top of the cliffs, much less so when picking my way along the side of the cliff or down in the valleys and coves.

Rame Head was generally fine, but there wasn’t much at all in Cawsand or Kingsand, probably due to being at sea level beside all those lovely old stone buildings. I had no problem with service in the campsites at either end.

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 Downderry, so the first place to get it today was the golf course clubhouse on the edge of Portwrinkle. Service was brusque and atmosphere was non-existent, but the food was fine and the coffee was drinkable. Given I’d just been rained on for 20 minutes and the alternative was nothing at all, I was glad to have it.

If you arrive in Portwrinkle later in the day, there’s also the Silas Cove bar/restaurant beside the path, and the Finnygook Inn, about half a mile off-trail up beside the main road.

In summer there’s usually both a coffee van and an icecream van parked on the side of the main road just up from Tregantle Fort. After that, above Tregonhawke Beach, there’s the Fort Inn restaurant inside Whitsand Bay Fort holiday park, and on the trail, the Cliff Top Cafe where I had my lunch.

You’ve also got Vista restaurant, right where the path splits off from Military Road to head down onto the cliff face for a while. After that, there’s nothing until you get to Cawsand and Kingsand, where there are plenty of pubs, restaurants, and ice cream shops to choose from. I had a drink in the sun at the Cross Keys Inn, mainly because it was the first pub I passed.

There’s the Farriers cafe close to the main house in Mount Edgcumbe Country Park that does breakfast until midday and lunch until 3pm, and finally the Edgcumbe Arms where I had dinner, right beside the ferry pier in Cremyll.

Accommodation

Campsites are in extremely short supply today: the only one close to the path is the basic Camp Bedrock where I stayed in Cremyll, and there’s nothing in or even particularly near Plymouth either.

The only other alternative is Maker Heights, close to a mile inland from Kingsand. They say there’s a minimum two-night stay in July and August, but if you’re walking at a different time of year or want to try your luck, you could always contact them.

If you aren’t staying in a tent, however, you have plenty of options. Let’s start with the Finnygook Inn outside Portwrinkle that I mentioned earlier as a lunch stop; they also have reasonably-priced rooms and are close to the path.

There are some very well-priced chalets available in the Whitsand Bay Fort holiday park, and a couple of lovely rooms in a farmhouse slightly inland from Military Road near the base of Rame Head.

As you’d probably expect, most of the accommodation in Kingsand and Cawsand is expensive, unavailable for single-night bookings, or both, but there is the very occasional exception. The Edgcumbe Arms in Cremyll where I had dinner also has a few rooms, and it’s beside both the trail and the ferry pier for the next day.

If you’d prefer to continue on over to Plymouth tonight instead, you’ll obviously have many more choices of where to stay. I can personally recommend the Three Crowns, which is where I stayed the next night. It’s in a great location, often very well-priced outside of weekends, and even my little single room was cozy and well-appointed.

Depending on how far through Plymouth you feel like walking, other good places to check (in order of distance from the ferry pier) include Admiral’s House, Mariner’s Guesthouse, Crescent House, and this luxury apartment.