I finally made it to Superior Oak Lodge Hot Tub (Slps 4) near Bishop Auckland after a bit of a faff on the A1. I'd set off from Leeds full of beans, fancying a proper three-day escape in County Durham, but about 20 minutes from the turn-off, I managed to splatter half a pasty across my windscreen thanks to a rogue seagull dive-bombing my hatchback. Classic me – always turning a simple drive into a sitcom moment. Scraped it off with a Costa napkin, chuckling at my reflection in the rear-view, and carried on, windows down to let the North East air blast away the pastry crumbs.

Pulling up to the lodge just as the afternoon sun dipped behind the oaks, I was gobsmacked. Tucked away in a quiet wooded corner off the beaten track – none of your tourist coach parks here – it felt like stumbling on a secret. The place is a proper gem: a cosy wooden lodge with that inviting hot tub bubbling away on the deck, surrounded by nothing but birdsong and the rustle of leaves. No neon signs or traffic hum, just pure, unpretentious Durham bliss. I dumped my bags, cracked open a tin of Beamish from the offy on the way, and soaked it all in. First impressions? Bloody brilliant. It's the sort of spot where you breathe out properly for the first time in months.

Eager to explore, I grabbed my boots and wandered off down a barely-there footpath snaking from the lodge's edge. No maps, no apps – just me, getting deliberately lost in the best way. County Durham's full of these hidden pockets if you veer off the main drags, and this first afternoon delivered in spades. Ten minutes in, I tripped over a stile and found myself at a forgotten quarry pond, all glassy still and fringed with wild heather. Not a soul around, just dragonflies skimming the surface and the odd moorhen pottering about. Sat there with my feet dangling in, supping tea from a flask, feeling like I'd nicked a page from a Brontë novel. Who needs the Dales when you've got this on your doorstep?

Wandering further, I clocked a narrow lane leading to what looked like an old railway cutting – proper Weardale vibes, reclaimed by nature. Pushed through the undergrowth and emerged at a tumbling burn, water chuckling over mossy stones. It was one of those accidental finds that make you grin like an idiot: a wild swimming hole, hidden from the world, with banks perfect for a picnic. No signs, no barriers – just the thrill of discovery. I skimmed stones till my arm ached, laughing at how a wrong turn (or three) had led me here. Back at the lodge as dusk fell, I fired up the hot tub, the steam rising like a misty hug. Sinking in with a cheeky GandT, jets pounding my shoulders, I reflected on how we all chase the big-ticket adventures, but it's these off-piste moments – the quiet stumbles into nowhere – that recharge the soul. Me, getting lost? Turns out it's my superpower.

That first evening wrapped up with a simple fry-up on the lodge's compact patio, stars popping out overhead, the hot tub calling for round two. Superior Oak Lodge isn't flash – it's better: a launchpad for serendipity, right in Durham's understated heart. If you're after proper peace with a side of surprise, this is your spot. Can't wait to "get lost" again tomorrow.