I’ll never forget the drive up to The Shearer Crossgate Luxury Glamping near Penrith – a proper Lake District jaunt that started with me taking a wrong turn just outside Kendal, splattering the windscreen with mud from some farmer’s track. Typical me, isn’t it? Armed with nothing but a dodgy sat-nav and a thermos of builder’s tea, I’d set off from the M6, heart lifting as the motorway gave way to those twisty B-roads flanked by drystone walls and sheep that looked at you like you’d personally offended them. Three days in this glamping pod was meant to be my reset button, and already, that little mishap had me chuckling – who needs perfection when you’ve got an excuse for an extra flapjack?

Pulling into the site after that detour, I was gobsmacked. Tucked away in a quiet corner of Westmorland and Furness, The Shearer Crossgate is one of those spots that doesn’t shout about itself – no neon signs, just a discreet gravel drive leading to these sleek, wood-clad pods perched on a gentle hillside. Mine overlooked a rippling stream, with fells rising like rumpled green blankets in the distance. First impressions? Pure bliss. Stepping inside, it was luxury without the fuss: a king-sized bed piled high with goose down, a wood-burning stove already set with kindling, and a loo that was comfier than my flat’s back home. Rain pattered on the panoramic windows as I unpacked, but it felt cosy, not claustrophobic – the kind of place that whispers “relax” rather than yelling it.

Eager to explore, I laced up my boots and wandered off-piste straight away, ditching the main paths for what looked like a sheep trod snaking downhill. Getting lost has always been my superpower in the Lakes, and it paid off big time within minutes. I stumbled on a hidden gill – one of those secret waterfalls you’d never find on a tourist map – tumbling into a peaty pool fringed with mossy boulders. No crowds, just the roar of water and a dipper bobbing about like it owned the place. I sat on a rock, feet dangling in the icy flow, sipping tea from my flask. Pure magic. Who knew such a gem was practically on the glamping doorstep? It was one of those accidental finds that makes you wonder why we all clump around Windermere like lemmings.

The next morning, bleary from a sleep so deep I dreamt of Herdwick wool, I headed out again, letting whimsy guide me along a faint track behind the pods. Another wrong turn (or right one?) led to a forgotten quarry hollow, its steep sides carpeted in bilberry bushes heavy with fruit. I foraged a handful – tart little bombs that stained my fingers purple – and perched on a ledge overlooking a valley that felt like it hadn’t changed since Wordsworth’s day. No Instagram influencers here; just me, a buzzard wheeling overhead, and the wind rustling bracken. Back at the pod for elevenses (fresh scones from the welcome hamper, slathered in clotted cream), I reflected on how daft it is to stick to signposted routes. Life’s too short for that, innit? These off-the-beaten gems remind you there’s joy in the stumble.

By day three’s dawn patrol, I’d clocked a third treasure: a wee tarn hidden in a fold of the hill, mirror-still and ringed by heather, perfect for skipping stones and pondering nowt in particular. The glamping vibe amplified it all – hot showers after soggy rambles, fairy lights twinkling as dusk fell, and that stove crackling away. First impressions sealed it: The Shearer Crossgate isn’t just a stay; it’s a launchpad for serendipity. If you fancy ditching the hordes for secret gills and berry-strewn hideaways, this is your spot. I drove home grinning, mud-splattered but soul-full. Cheers, Lakes – you’ve done it again.