Noss Mayo to Bigbury-on-Sea: South West Coast Path Day 36 Guide

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The wind gusted and howled all night, and hunkered down in my cozy little room above the pub, I was extremely glad I wasn’t wild camping in a field somewhere a dozen miles east. Every time the windows rattled or another bin blew down the street outside, changing things up to walk back to Plymouth yesterday felt like a better and better idea.

The wind wasn’t meant to die off until sometime late tonight, and one glance from my window towards the masts in the marina this morning confirmed it definitely hadn’t yet.

Because of that, the ferry over the River Yealm wouldn’t be running today either, which meant taking the bus to Noss Mayo instead. The completionist in me was glad I’d walked out to the jetty at Warren Point yesterday before turning and heading back to Plymouth, since it meant I wouldn’t miss any of the trail.

There are only three buses a day from Plymouth to Noss Mayo, and with a long day of walking and the most (in)famous river crossing on the South West Coast Path ahead of me, I needed to catch the first of those.

With very limited time, I popped downstairs to grab a bowl of cereal before I left; instead, the lovely woman making breakfast insisted on quickly putting together a takeaway breakfast bap so I’d have something more substantial to keep me going. Another wonderful human to add to the long list I’d met over the last five weeks!

The bus arrived at the Viaduct almost on time, and I settled in for the hour’s ride out to Noss Mayo. On the way out of town, an older guy with a large backpack got on, spotted me and my hiking gear, and struck up a conversation.

It was Phil’s very first day on the Coast Path; he’d never walked any of it before, and was planning to tackle a five or six day stretch. He had questions, I had (some) answers, and before we knew it the bus was pulling up in the pretty little village of Noss Mayo.

Like I mentioned above, today’s section includes the crossing of the River Erme at Mothecombe. It’s the only river crossing on the Coast Path without a bridge, ferry, or sensible walking route around it, so other than taking a taxi, the only option is to wade across.

Unsurprisingly, that’s very dependent on the tides: at high tide, the river is deep and wide, while around low tide, chances are the water won’t be higher than your knees. Unless there are strong winds blowing from the south, that is. Oh.

In any case, that was a problem for later. Low tide was around 6 p.m., and most of the time you can wade across about 90 minutes either side. That meant we had at least six hours to cover the ten miles from Noss Mayo to Mothecombe, and with nowhere to stop along the way, there was no great hurry to set off.

This sounded like the perfect excuse for a leisurely coffee at the Ship Inn (yes, another pub with that name), so that’s exactly what we did. Sitting there sipping our drinks and gazing out the window, I noticed that the sign for the carpark alongside went to great pains to point out that it was, in fact, tidal.

A tidal carpark, you say? Yes indeed. At low tide, it’s almost completely dry and you’ll usually find many cars parked up there. At high tide, at least some of it is submerged by the river. How high will the water get? Who knows! It’s always good to live life on the edge, right?

Eventually we drained our mugs and, unable to put it off longer, headed back outside. Sheltered by the headland and dense tree cover, the day felt deceptively calm as we left the village. Even so, I couldn’t help but notice the whitecaps on the river below: if it was that windy two miles inland, what would it be like on the coast?

We didn’t have to wait long for an answer.

We passed the ferry jetty at Wide Slip about a mile from Noss Mayo and continued above the River Yealm, detouring slightly to avoid erosion on the main path as we climbed. Emerging briefly from the trees to cross a grassy field above Cellar Beach, we were suddenly smacked by the wind’s full force. It definitely hadn’t dropped much since yesterday.

After being forced to take shelter from a brief but heavy shower, the sun returned for the rest of the morning. With great views as we rounded the headland at Mouthstone Point, and a soft, flat track along the cliffs afterward, the walking so far was turning out to be far easier and more enjoyable than I’d expected.

While the wind was still strong and gusty, it was at least now mostly coming from behind us, which made it a lot easier to deal with. Passing the turnoff to a carpark, we continued along the coast, chatting away in the sunshine. It had been a couple of weeks since I’d last walked with anyone for more than a few minutes, and it was nice to have some company for a change.

Turning briefly inland at Stoke Point and passing above the Church of St Peter the Poor Fisherman (great name), our six miles of mostly flat walking came to an abrupt halt near Long Cove. Phil was surprised to see such a long, steep descent down into the valley, followed by an equally-steep climb up the other side. By this stage of the Coast Path, I had to admit I was less shocked.

That pretty much marked the end of the flat stuff for the day. It had been great while it lasted.

Something else that had been great while it lasted was the relative lack of wind. After a brief lull it had started to noticeably pick up again, no more so than when we emerged out of a small valley into a huge, sustained gust that literally knocked us both to our knees. We stayed there for at least a minute on all fours, unable to do anything but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

Phil was having quite the introduction to the Coast Path, but seemed to be enjoying himself all the same. He’d said he was really looking forward to being out in nature for a week, and this was nothing if not that, I guess.

After a few more short, sharp drops into pretty coves and valleys, the wide entrance to the River Erme became obvious up ahead. This is apparently one of the most attractive and unspoiled estuaries in the country, and even with strong winds and big waves, I could see the appeal as we drew closer.

Looking down from the cliff above Mothecombe Beach, the visible change between the calmer, bluer river water and wild turquoise sea was remarkable. We still had a couple of hours to kill before we could start trying to wade across, so decided to check out the cafe/restaurant just up the road in Mothecombe village.

For once the timing was perfect, arriving at Schoolhouse Devon seconds ahead of another sudden downpour. The vibe, however, was extremely weird, with the manager unwelcoming and very specific about where we could sit based on what we planned to order. That’s despite it being 3 p.m. on a Monday afternoon with literally no other customers in the place. Rightio then.

Still, we were glad of the shelter, and my fish finger sandwich was by far the fanciest version of that dish I’ve ever been served. To be fair it was priced like it too, but it was tasty all the same, and definitely beat sitting on the bank of the river eating protein bars in the rain. Not for the first time on this walk, however, the coffee was barely drinkable.

Back beside the river 90 minutes later, everything had changed. Most of the water that had been flowing rapidly when we passed earlier was gone, other than a single deeper channel on the far side. It was still two hours until low tide, but things were looking pretty good.

I wandered out to the channel, peered at it suspiciously for a minute, then wandered back. A rain cloud rolled in, did its usual thing, then rolled away again, leaving only a rainbow behind to mark the path we should be following.

It was time to stop procrastinating. Shoes off, poles out, let’s go.

In the end, it was all a bit anticlimactic. We picked our way across the sandbanks, dog-legging towards the beach on the other side. The water never got higher than my calf, and other than a bit of gravel in places, the bottom was soft enough that walking in bare feet wasn’t an issue.

A couple of women had been watching us from the other side, their poles and backpacks telling us why they were there long before we got within earshot. “That didn’t look too bad”, one of them said as we approached. “I thought we’d be waiting here another hour.”

She wasn’t the only one.

I was very glad we’d made it across earlier than planned. The nearest campsite was nearly six miles away on the other side of Bigbury-upon-Sea, after a series of cliffs that the guidebook described as a rollercoaster. We had three hours of daylight left, and I suspected we’d need pretty much all of it.

The trail started up again easily enough, climbing fairly gently off the beach back up onto the cliffs above. The views back down the river were spectacular, the water twinkling in the late afternoon sunlight, and I was loving every second of it.

From there, the views got no less stunning, but the trail got a lot less flat. Those rollercoaster comments were no joke; the path just felt relentless, an endless series of steep climbs and precipitous drops with basically nothing in the middle.

Jutting distinctively out into the ocean, we could see Bigbury-on-Sea and Burgh Island from a very long way off. It didn’t do much for time estimates or morale: it seemed like we were almost there already, yet we still had over two hours of strenuous walking to go.

The steepest drop of all came about halfway along, at Westcombe Beach. As pretty as it was, my knees were getting extremely vocal about my life choices by the time we got to the bottom. That didn’t last long, though: they got drowned out by my calves and quads a few seconds later as we started up the other side.

Two hills later (yes, that is now a unit of time and distance), we finally stood above the large holiday park at Challaborough. That wouldn’t usually excite me, especially since we weren’t even staying there, but it was the only place to get food that night and I was a hungry boy.

Enter the immaculately-named Fryer Tucks, a little takeaway fish and chip shop that had no right to be as good as it was. Extra kudos to the owner who let me know there was a sheltered spot behind the building where I could get away from the sand that was by now whipping fiercely off the beach into my dinner.

After wolfing it down in double-quick time, I followed the path up and over the small headland, past Burgh Island just offshore, and on through the beach carpark. The island had similar vibes to St Michael’s Mount back near Penzance, accessible on foot via a sandbank that’s only usable around low tide.

Crossing Folly Hill and speeding up the path in a field beside the road, I caught up with Phil just as we arrived at the campsite. It still seemed quite popular even this late in the season, albeit very much with campervan owners rather than idiots in tents like us.

We tracked down the campsite manager, who directed us to an empty field back near where we’d come in with the comment “It’s the most sheltered spot you’ll find tonight”.

As the walk had worn on and the days had gotten windier, I’d found myself pitching my tent closer and closer to any shelter I could find. I set a new record for that tonight, finding myself almost inside the hedge in an attempt to keep the gale somewhat at bay. Stinging nettles and tree roots be damned.

Exhausted, sweaty, and covered in gritty sand, we’d ended up beating the sunset by about 15 minutes. Phil looked more than a little shellshocked after he finished putting up his tent; his first day on the path had been hard work. Even on day 36, I’m not sure I looked much different.

Today had been a lot.

Planning

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

Finished at: Mount Folly Farm (on-trail)

My time at Mount Folly Farm was limited, but what I saw, I liked.

It’s a simple affair, with a few different fields including the one we we directed to at the front of the site. There was (just) enough shelter from the gale that I slept surprisingly well, and other than the rustling of trees, hardly a sound to be heard all night. It’s not the flattest site I’ve been to, but I still managed to find a somewhat level spot. Yay for having a small tent.

There’s both a pizza van and coffee hut onsite, but sadly both had switched to weekends-only by this point in the season (mid-September). The coffee place in particular both looked great, and would have saved a walk back to Bigbury-on-Sea for breakfast in the morning. The closest place for dinner was the fish and chip shop I went to on the way in, about a mile and a half back down the trail in Challaborough.

It would have been nice to have somewhere to charge my phone and power bank, but that omission wasn’t unusual throughout my time on the Coast Path: I’d say at least half the campsites didn’t offer it, including some that charge a lot more than this place.

Speaking of that, I paid £10 for the night, in cash to the manager on arrival. It costs a bit more in July and August, but even so, given the lack of alternatives and the fact it’s right on the trail, you’ll be hard-pressed to find a better option today.

Transport and Parking

Public transport is essentially non-existent on this section, other than a once-daily bus (Monday through Saturday) that runs from Noss Mayo to Battisborough Cross, a mile inland from Mothecombe and the River Erme.

It doesn’t really save you that much distance and is unlikely to be useful for most walkers, but if you need it, it’s the number 94 that departs Noss Mayo at 2:05 p.m. That’s the same bus that I took earlier that morning from The Viaduct in central Plymouth to get to Noss Mayo.

If you want to leave a vehicle somewhere as part of a car shuffle, you’ve got a few choices.

There are two carparks in Noss Mayo, but you’re only going to want to use one of them. As I mentioned up top, the one beside the Ship Inn gets at least partially submerged by the river at high tide; I wouldn’t be leaving my car there for several hours unattended!

Instead, use the carpark a bit further inland beside the tennis court. It’s free but somewhat small, so get there early in summer.

There are two National Trust carparks nearby, on the other side of Mouthstone Point. The first, near Saddle Cove, is very close to the path, the second at Stoke Point is slightly further away. Both cost £3 all day for non-members.

There’s not really anywhere near the trail to park after that until you get to Mothecombe, where there’s somewhat expensive all-day parking available beside the cafe.

On the other side of the river, you’ll find plenty of parked cars squeezed along the narrow lane leading to Wonwell Beach. Feel free to try your luck there; it’s free if you can manage to find a spot.

After that there aren’t any roads, never mind parking spots, near the path until you get to Challaborough, where there’s a National Trust carpark inland of Ayrmer Cove. There’s also a large but expensive carpark beside the beach in Bigbury-on-Sea, and you can park in the field beside Mount Folly Farm campsite even if you’re not staying there: it’s £4 all-day.

River Crossings

If you’re starting today on the other side of the River Yealm and need details of the Wembury to Noss Mayo ferry, you’ll find them in yesterday’s writeup.

Today’s walk will be largely dictated by tide times, since they determine when you’ll be able to wade across the River Erme. The official guidance says it’s safe to cross an hour either side of low tide; in good weather, I’d suggest that’s somewhat conservative.

The river mouth faces directly south, so unless there’s a neap tide and/or wind is blowing strongly from that direction and pushing water up the estuary, chances are you can cross safely somewhat earlier or later than that.

I made it across just under two hours before low tide, with the water still below my knees at its deepest point. Obviously make your own decision about this; don’t do it just because I said so! River and weather conditions won’t be the same for you as they were for me or anyone else.

If low tide is too early or too late in the day to make the crossing, your only real option is to get driven around the estuary. If you don’t have someone who can do that for you, call Merlins Taxi on 07455 951185 for an expensive alternative.

The best crossing point varies slightly with the tides and river flow, but basically, just walk out from Mothecombe Beach, slightly upriver over some low sandbanks, and then cross the channel to Wonwell Beach. This is the deepest section, but as I say, the water level was still below my knees.

Chances are there’ll be other people, locals and walkers alike, crossing around the same time; for obvious reasons it’s a bit of a choke point. If you’re not sure where to go, just wait and watch someone else doing it! It’s really nothing to worry about.

Waymarking and Navigation

Navigation was pretty straightforward today, despite the occasional detour due to erosion. All of the alternative routes were clearly marked, and the path otherwise largely followed an obvious trail along the top of the cliffs all the way from Noss Mayo to the River Erme, and again on the other side to Challaborough and Bigbury-on-Sea.

I used AllTrails as my main navigation app for the entire South West Coast Path, and it worked well throughout: you can find the Noss Mayo to Bigbury-on-Sea 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 wasn’t great today, thanks to this being a fairly remote section of the path without any nearby towns or villages for much of its length. I had a little bit of signal with O2 in Noss Mayo and around Mouthstone Point, but it was quite patchy after that.

There was, however, service both beside the River Erme and at the nearby cafe in Mothecombe, so had I needed to call a taxi, I’d have been able to.

Service got sporadic again enroute to Challaborough on the other side of the river, especially during the very regular dips down into the valleys and coves. There was no issue once I got to Bigbury-on-Sea, or at the campsite.

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

Much like public transport, to say that facilities were limited on this section would be overselling things. Having a bit of extra food in your backpack wouldn’t be a bad idea.

There’s nowhere for breakfast in Noss Mayo, although if low tide is later in the day like it was for me, you can at least wait around and get a coffee at the Ship Inn when it opens at 10 a.m.

There’s nothing after that until you get to Mothecombe. As well as the underwhelming Schoolhouse Devon I mentioned above, there was also a seasonal food and drink van of some description in a field on the left as I walked up the road from the river to the cafe. It was firmly closed on the day I was there, but presumably opens more regularly in the height of summer.

Once you’re over the river, there’s nothing except endless hills until you get to the holiday park at Challaborough, a bit over four miles away. The small Nisa Local supermarket and Fryer Tucks fish and chip shop were the only places open when I got there.

There was also a closed and badly-rated bar/restaurant alongside, but you’re probably better off heading ¾ of a mile inland to the Journeys End Inn in Ringmore instead.

Over on Burgh Island, the Pichard Inn serves lunch and dinner, assuming the tides are in your favour to get there (which they probably will be if you’ve recently crossed the Erme). Nearby on the mainland in Bigbury-on-Sea, Venus Cafe is open from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. We had breakfast there the next morning, and it was perfectly acceptable.

Finally, depending on the time of year and day of the week, both the pizza van and the coffee hut at Mount Folly Farm may or may not be open. You should be able to rely on them in July and August, but will need to check at other times.

Accommodation

There are two simple campsites near Noss Mayo, Worswell Barton Farm and Orchard Nook. Both are within walking distance of the pubs in the village for dinner. From there onwards, there are no campsites for the rest of the day until you get to Mount Folly Farm outside Bigbury-on-Sea, where I stayed.

This is one of those rare sections where you have very few affordable options if you aren’t camping, and none particularly close to the trail. Take a look at this shepherd’s hut in St Ann’s Chapel (1.8 miles inland of Bigbury-on-Sea) or this tiny home near Battisborough Cross, about a mile inland of Mothecombe.

If you can cross the Erme early enough, you could also continue on past Bigbury-on-Sea for another mile or so to Bantham, and stay at the Sloop Inn. The only problem with this is that there’s (yet another) river crossing to deal with in between, and the little boat across the Avon only runs between 10 a.m. and midday, and 2-4 p.m. Make sure you get your timings right!