I’ll never forget the drive to Cherry Lodge last autumn – that golden cusp of October when Devon’s hedgerows burst with fiery reds and golds, but the wind has a cheeky bite that sneaks through your scarf. I’d set off from Exeter early, fancying a leisurely two-hour jaunt through the winding lanes of the South West, only for the sat-nav to throw a wobbly five miles from Lifton. “Recalculating,” it chirped, as I ended up looping past the same sheep-dotted field twice, honking futilely at a tractor that clearly owned the road. Classic me, turning a scenic drive into a mild farce, but honestly, those extra minutes just soaked me in more of the season’s magic – leaves swirling like confetti under a low, amber sun.

Pulling up to Cherry Lodge at Roadford Lake Lodges around teatime felt like stumbling into a postcard from a gentler era. Tucked on the edge of the vast Roadford Reservoir, the lodge is one of those cosy wooden havens that scream “get away from it all,” surrounded by 22 miles of shoreline fringed with ancient oaks now shedding their coppery coats. Autumn here isn’t the polite sort with crisp mornings and cosy evenings; it’s full-throttle, with mist rolling off the water like a dragon’s breath and the air thick with that earthy, damp scent of decaying leaves. I parked on the gravel drive, crunching through a carpet of fallen acorns – nature’s own welcome mat – and hauled my bags up the steps, grinning at the hot tub bubbling invitingly on the deck, steam rising into the chill like a siren call.

Stepping inside was pure hygge heaven, amplified by the season’s embrace. The open-plan living space glowed under the soft light filtering through windows framed by climbing ivy turning bronze. A wood-burning stove crackled away (I’d cheekily asked the hosts to light it early), casting flickering shadows on the plush sofa piled with tartan blankets – perfect for warding off the deepening dusk. I brewed a pot of tea straight away, the kettle’s whistle harmonising with the rustle of wind in the trees outside. Peering out, the lake shimmered under a bruised sky, wildfowl skimming the surface, their calls echoing as the sun dipped behind the tors. Autumn paints Devon in such vivid strokes; without it, this spot might just be a pretty lakeside cabin, but now it’s alive, every vista a watercolour begging to be savoured.

First impressions? Bloody brilliant. I wandered the deck as twilight crept in, wrapped in a borrowed fleece, watching bats flit from the eaves – a reminder that out here, you’re not top of the food chain. The hot tub was tempting, but the air nipped too sharply; instead, I rustled up supper from local bits – a pasty from Lifton’s farm shop (miles away? Pfft, worth the detour), crusty bread, and a wedge of Devon Blue cheese that paired gorgeously with the season’s apples, tart and crisp from a roadside honesty box. Sat by the stove, feet up, I reflected on how rare it is to arrive somewhere and feel instantly unplugged. City life had me wired, always chasing the next thing, but here, autumn’s mellow decay forced a pause – leaves falling, days shortening, urging you to hunker down and just be. No grand adventures planned yet, just this: the lodge’s warmth against the wild without, a quiet promise of two more days in Devon’s arms.

By bedtime, rain pattered on the roof – soft, persistent, the soundtrack of an autumn night – lulling me into dreams of misty walks come morning. Cherry Lodge didn’t just welcome me; it wrapped me in the county’s seasonal soul, mishaps and all. Can’t wait to wake to it.