I finally made it to Chestnut, that cosy little lodge tucked away in Fingle Glen near Exeter, after a drive from London that was equal parts scenic and soggy. It was meant to be a straightforward three-hour jaunt down the M5, but wouldn't you know it, about halfway through, I managed to splash straight through a massive puddle right outside a service station, drenching my windscreen wipers and turning my hatchback into a temporary aquarium. Laughable now, but at the time, I was swearing like a proper navvy while frantically wiping the dash with a service-station napkin. Still, by early afternoon, I'd arrived at Fingle Glen Lodges, the sat-nav pipping away triumphantly as I pulled up to Chestnut – a proper Devon gem, all timber-clad charm with a veranda begging for a cuppa.

First impressions? Blimey, it was love at first sight. The lodge sits in this lush wooded glen, surrounded by the kind of rolling Devon countryside that makes you forget the grind of city life. I stepped out into air thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, the river gurgling nearby like it was whispering secrets. Weather-wise, it was classic British – a tentative blue sky peeking through after the morning's drizzle, but I knew better than to trust it. I dumped my bags inside (hot tub on the deck? Tick. Comfy sofa facing the woods? Double tick), laced up my wellies, and headed straight out for a wander along the Fingle Brook path. No grand plans, just me, a flask of tea, and the promise of whatever the trails threw at me.

That first hike was pure Devon magic. The path hugs the brook through ancient oak woods, ferns brushing my knees as I splashed along. Birds were chirping like mad – robins and wrens darting about – and every few steps, you'd catch a glimpse of the river foaming over rocks. I reckon I covered a good two miles without breaking a sweat, clambering up little inclines for views over the glen. The sun even obliged for a bit, warming my face as I perched on a boulder for elevenses. Humour kicked in when I tried snapping a selfie with a particularly photogenic waterfall, only for my phone to slip into a puddle. Rescued it just in time, screen fogged up but spirits high. "Lesson one of Devon," I chuckled to myself, "technology hates mud."

But oh, the weather – that cheeky devil. By late afternoon, the sky turned from hopeful to proper moody, fat raindrops plopping down like it had a personal grudge. My plan to push on to the higher paths around the glen? Scuppered. I legged it back to Chestnut, arriving drenched but grinning, mud up to my calves. Stripping off in the porch, I couldn't help a gentle moment of reflection: how often do we bulldoze through plans back home, ignoring the cues? Here, the rain forced a pause – I brewed a proper builder's tea, wrapped up in the lodge's fluffy towel, and watched the downpour lash the veranda from the comfort of that massive window. It was a reminder that sometimes the best adventures are the unplanned ones, letting nature call the shots.

Day two dawned misty, the glen shrouded in that soft Devon fog that makes everything feel like a Tolkien set. Undeterred, I hit the trails again, this time looping up towards the woods on the opposite bank. The paths are brilliant here – well-marked but wild enough to feel exploratory, with boardwalks over boggy bits and the odd bench for pondering. Mist clung to the trees, turning the hike into a gentle ramble rather than a full-on trek, but I spotted a kingfisher flashing blue by the water, which felt like a proper treat. Lunch was a pork pie from my rucksack, eaten under a dripping canopy, laughing at how my "waterproof" jacket was anything but.

Come afternoon, the heavens opened again – thunder rumbling over the moors like a grumpy giant. Plans for a longer circuit? Right out the window. Back at Chestnut, I embraced the pivot: feet up by the wood-burner (logs provided, thank goodness), listening to the rain drum on the roof. It was oddly soothing, that rhythm turning potential frustration into contentment. By evening, a rainbow arched over the glen as the clouds parted, teasing tomorrow's possibilities.

These first impressions of Chestnut have me hooked – it's the perfect base for Devon's walking wonders, where the weather keeps you on your toes and every trail feels like a personal discovery. Can't wait to see what the rest of the stay brings.