I’ll never forget the drive to Bramble Lodge last autumn – that crisp October weekend when Devon wrapped itself in a golden haze, turning every winding lane into a postcard. We’d set off from home early, me behind the wheel of our trusty old estate car, laden with wellies, a thermos of tea, and enough cheese toasties to fend off the inevitable hunger pangs. The satnav was playing up, naturally, insisting we take a detour through some godforsaken mud track near Okehampton. Cue the insignificant mishap: a massive puddle that sent us splashing like kids in a paddling pool, coating the windscreen in a gritty Devon sludge. I laughed it off – or tried to, as my other half wiped the dash with a soggy tissue – because honestly, what’s a holiday without a bit of chaos? By the time we emerged, cheeks flushed and grinning, the sun was dipping low, painting the sky in those fiery oranges that only autumn can muster.

Pulling up to Roadford Lake around teatime felt like stumbling into a secret world. Bramble Lodge sits right there among the 12 Roadford Lake Lodges, a cosy wooden haven with its pitched roof and wraparound decking peering out over the water. Autumn had the lake in its prime – still and glassy, fringed by rustling brambles heavy with blackberries, while the surrounding woods blazed in reds and golds. No harsh summer crowds, just the gentle lap of water and the odd rustle of leaves in the breeze. We unloaded in that perfect golden hour light, the air nipping at our ears with a promise of frost later, but warm enough to linger outside without gloves just yet.

Stepping inside was pure bliss. The lodge smelled of fresh pine and that faint, welcoming wood-burner whiff – though we hadn’t lit it yet. It’s compact but spot-on for two: open-plan living with a squishy sofa begging for a collapse, a kitchenette stocked with everything from cafetière to chopping board (vital for my half-arsed attempts at cooking). The bedroom upstairs had a massive window framing the lake, duvet piled high like a cloud. First impressions? It screamed ‘get cosy and forget the world’. We cracked open a bottle of red – mulled it lightly on the hob, because autumn demands it – and sprawled on the deck as dusk fell. Geese honked overhead, winging south in perfect V-formation, and the trees whispered secrets in the wind. No telly needed; the view was the show.

That evening, as mist rolled in off the lake like a soft blanket, we wandered the short path to the water’s edge. Autumn’s magic was everywhere: dew-kissed spiderwebs glittering on the hedges, the ground carpeted in crunchy leaves that crackled underfoot. I picked a handful of brambles – tart and juicy, staining my fingers purple – and we munched them straight off, laughing about how we’d probably regret it later with a bellyache. The chill sharpened our senses; every breath felt alive, laced with earth and woodsmoke from someone’s distant chimney. Back at the lodge, we finally got the fire going, flames dancing as rain pattered softly on the roof – Devon’s way of saying ‘stay in, you fools’.

Sitting there, mug of tea in hand, staring into the embers, I had one of those gentle moments of self-reflection. Life back home’s a whirlwind of emails and errands, but here, in autumn’s quiet embrace at Bramble Lodge, it all slowed. The season stripped things bare – no distractions, just the raw beauty of fading light and turning leaves. It made me realise how rare it is to truly arrive somewhere, to let first impressions sink in without rushing on. We’d only just got here, but already it felt like the holiday had worked its spell. Three days ahead, shaped by this mellow month, promised more of the same: peaceful walks along the lake’s autumn trails, perhaps a bit of fishing if the weather held, all cocooned in that gorgeous, fleeting glow. If you’re after a proper Devon reset, book it now – before winter steals the show.