Exmoor is usually all about rolling purple moors and soft, rounded hills. Then you round the corner from Lynton and everything breaks. Suddenly, the earth splits into these jagged, prehistoric towers of U-shaped stone that look like they belong in the Colorado Rockies rather than a quiet corner of South West England. This is the Valley of Rocks North Devon, and honestly, it’s a bit of a geological freak show.
It’s weird.
The valley runs parallel to the sea, separated from the Bristol Channel by a massive spine of Devonian shale and gritstone. Most valleys have a river at the bottom, right? Not this one. It’s "dry." Geologists like Professor Ian Mercer have spent years explaining how this happened, and the prevailing theory is basically a massive case of coastal robbery. Thousands of years ago, the East Lyn River probably flowed through here. But the sea, being relentless, eroded the cliffs so far back that it eventually "captured" the river, diverting it and leaving this hollowed-out trench behind.
It feels ancient because it is. You aren't just looking at rocks; you’re looking at some of the oldest fossil-bearing strata in the country.
The feral goats that actually own the place
If you walk the narrow paths of the Valley of Rocks North Devon, you’re going to be watched. There’s a famous herd of feral goats that lives on the sheer cliff faces. They’ve been there for centuries. They aren't cute, petting-zoo animals; they are rugged, shaggy-haired survivors with horizontal pupils that make them look slightly demonic.
They are hardy.
The local council actually has to manage the population because they thrive a little too well on the steep crags of Castle Rock and Devil’s Cheesewring. In the mid-19th century, the original herd actually died out or was hunted, but they were reintroduced because the valley simply didn't feel right without them. Now, they spend their days effortlessly hopping across ledges that would give a mountain climber vertigo. Don't try to feed them. They don't need your granola bar, and they’re perfectly happy munching on the gorse and sparse grass that clings to the Lynton Beds.
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Why the geology is actually a bit confusing
Let’s talk about the Lynton Beds. This is the technical name for the rock formations here. We are talking about the Middle Devonian period, roughly 380 million years ago. Back then, this part of England was actually south of the equator, sitting in a shallow, tropical sea.
You can still find fossils.
If you’re patient and look at the scree slopes, you might find brachiopods or crinoids—tiny remnants of sea creatures from a time before dinosaurs were even a thought. The "Cheese Wring" is the most famous pile. It’s a stack of weathered stone that looks like it was intentionally balanced by a giant. It wasn't. It’s just "periglacial" weathering. During the last Ice Age, even though the glaciers didn't quite reach North Devon, the intense freezing and thawing shattered the rock, carving out the bizarre shapes we see today.
It’s a graveyard of stone.
Walking the North Walk is not for the faint of heart
The best way to see the Valley of Rocks North Devon is via the North Walk. It’s part of the South West Coast Path, but this specific stretch is notorious. Why? Because the path is skinny, and the drop-off to the sea is several hundred feet of "oh no."
On a clear day, you can see all the way across the Bristol Channel to the Welsh coast. The Mumbles and the Gower Peninsula sit on the horizon like blue shadows. But on a misty day? The valley turns into something out of a Gothic horror novel. It’s no wonder Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Wordsworth used to wander through here for inspiration. Coleridge actually wrote about the "desolation" of the place. It’s moody. It’s dramatic. It’s exactly the kind of place you’d go if you wanted to write poetry about the crushing weight of existence.
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Practicalities for the trip
- Parking: There is a car park right in the middle of the valley. It’s easy. But it fills up fast in August.
- The Cricket Club: Believe it or not, there is a cricket pitch in the middle of this jagged landscape. It’s arguably the most scenic—and distracting—place to play a match in England. Balls get lost in the bracken constantly.
- Lynton and Lynmouth: You should take the Cliff Railway. It’s a water-powered funicular that connects the two towns. It’s Victorian engineering that still works perfectly, and it saves your calves from a brutal uphill hike.
The "Great Hangman" and beyond
If you’re feeling ambitious, you shouldn't just stop at the valley. Heading west towards Combe Martin, the cliffs just get higher. You eventually hit Great Hangman, which is the highest sea cliff in England. It’s 244 meters (about 800 feet) high.
Standing on top of it feels like standing at the edge of the world.
The Valley of Rocks North Devon serves as the gateway to this wilder, more aggressive coastline. While the rest of Devon is all cream teas and thatched cottages, this specific stretch of the Exmoor coast is unforgiving. The wind here can be brutal. It rips off the Atlantic and funnels through the valley, making the stunted trees grow at permanent 45-degree angles.
What most people get wrong about the history
There’s a persistent myth that the valley was carved by a massive flood or some sudden cataclysm. It makes for a great story. But the reality is much slower and, in many ways, more impressive. It’s the result of millions of years of the earth very slowly tilting, buckling, and being sandblasted by the weather.
The "Devil’s Cheesewring" isn't a Druid altar. Sorry to ruin the vibe. It’s just a result of differential weathering—where softer layers of rock wear away faster than the harder ones, leaving behind weird, top-heavy structures.
How to actually experience it without the crowds
If you show up at midday on a Saturday in July, you’re going to be sharing the view with three tour buses and a dozen barking Labradors. Don't do that.
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The valley is best at "Golden Hour." When the sun starts to dip toward the sea, the light hits the yellow lichen on the grey rocks and everything glows. The shadows of the rock towers stretch across the valley floor, and the goats move down from the high peaks. It’s quiet. You can actually hear the waves hitting the rocks at Wringcliff Bay below.
If you want to hike, take the path down to Wringcliff. It’s steep. Your knees will hate you on the way back up. But the beach is tiny, rocky, and usually empty. It’s one of the few places where you can look up and see the full scale of the valley’s seaward side.
Actionable Steps for your visit
- Check the tide times if you plan on scrambling down to Wringcliff Bay or Lee Bay; the water comes in fast against those cliffs.
- Wear actual boots. The limestone and shale paths are slippery when wet, and the "North Walk" has some sections where you really don't want to lose your footing.
- Bring binoculars. Not just for the Welsh coast, but for spotting the peregrine falcons that nest in the heights of Castle Rock.
- Support the local economy by heading into Lynton afterward. The Mother Meldrum’s Tea Room (named after a local legendary wise woman) is a literal stone's throw from the rocks.
- Download an offline map. Signal in the depths of the valley is non-existent. You’re in a stone bowl; GPS struggles.
The Valley of Rocks North Devon is a reminder that the UK still has pockets of genuine, raw weirdness. It doesn't look like it belongs in a postcard. It looks like it belongs in an epic fantasy novel. Whether you’re there for the geology, the goats, or the sheer terror of a narrow cliff path, it’s a place that stays in your head long after you’ve left the Exmoor border.
To get the most out of the trip, start your walk in Lynton near the Town Hall, take the North Walk into the valley to see the scale of the cliffs, and then loop back via the inland path to get the "dry riverbed" perspective. This 3-mile loop covers the best geology and the most dramatic views without needing a full day of trekking.
For those interested in the photography side, bring a wide-angle lens. You’ll need it to capture the sheer verticality of Castle Rock against the horizon. If the weather turns, seek shelter in Lynton quickly; the valley acts as a wind tunnel and can become inhospitable in minutes when a storm rolls off the Bristol Channel.