I finally made it to Jurassic Lodge near Budleigh Salterton after a bit of a faff on the drive down from Exeter. Picture this: I'm humming along the A3052, windows down, dreaming of pasties and sea views, when—splat!—a seagull decides my windscreen needs a fresh coat of guano. Proper Jackson Pollock job, it was. I pull over at the next layby, armed with a pack of wet wipes and a muttered string of expletives, only to smear it into a lovely abstract masterpiece. Laughing at myself, I carry on, arriving at the lodge just as the late afternoon sun peeked through the clouds. First impressions? Bloody brilliant.

Nestled in a quiet spot on the edge of the Jurassic Coast, Jurassic Lodge is the sort of cosy dog-friendly retreat that screams "proper Devon getaway." It's a smart little detached lodge, all wood-beamed charm with a private hot tub out back and French doors opening onto a patio that begs for a GandT. I dumped my bags, kicked off my wellies, and stepped out to that view—rolling fields dipping towards the pebble beaches of Budleigh Salterton, with the East Devon cliffs stretching out like nature's own Jurassic Park set. The air smelled of salt and wildflowers, and for a moment, I forgot about the bird incident entirely.

Day one kicked off with ambitions of a grand hike along the South West Coast Path. I'd mapped out a cracking 5-mile loop from the lodge down to the Otter Estuary, hugging those red sandstone cliffs that give the Jurassic Coast its name. Weather app said "partly cloudy," so I layered up in my trusty waterproof and set off, full of beans. The path from the lodge winds gently through meadows dotted with grazing sheep, then drops you onto the beach at low tide. I crunched over the famous red and white pebbles—proper therapeutic, that—and watched oystercatchers skittering about. Halfway along, spotting seals basking on the rocks near Straight Point, I felt like David Attenborough in trainers.

But oh, the British weather—it's got a wicked sense of humour, hasn't it? No sooner had I reached the estuary, with its reed beds rustling and egrets fishing lazily, than the sky turned from blue to battleship grey in about five minutes flat. Fat raindrops started, then it was a proper downpour, wind whipping in from the Channel like it'd taken offence. My grand hike? Abruptly curtailed. I ducked under a gnarled cliff overhang for shelter, munching a soggy flapjack and pondering life's unpredictability. Here I was, middle-aged and still caught out by a Devon squall, reminding me of that time as a kid when Mum promised sunshine and we ended up paddling home in bin bags. Gentle nudge to the soul: maybe plans are overrated; it's the detours that stick.

By the time it eased to a drizzle, I'd rerouted for a shorter amble back via the lanes towards Littleham Cove. The wet paths glistened, turning the walk into a slippery adventure—nearly went arse-over-tit on a muddy slope, but caught myself with a daft yelp that scared off a rabbit. Back at the lodge, I fired up the hot tub under a patch of clearing sky, steaming away the chill while the sun dipped low, painting the cliffs in that golden Jurassic glow. First impressions sealed: Jurassic Lodge isn't just a base; it's a front-row seat to Devon's wild, weather-whipped beauty.

Day two dawned misty, so I opted for a low-level wander around the local meadows and down to the Salterton sands. The tide was out, exposing vast flats perfect for a thoughtful plod, herons standing sentinel like feathered philosophers. Weather played nice at first—soft light, birdsong—but by noon, fog rolled in thick as clotted cream, swallowing the cliffs. No views, but the soundscape was magic: waves hissing on pebbles, distant gulls calling. I looped back via the River Otter's edge, spotting kingfishers darting like azure bullets. Another plan tweaked by the elements, but it forced me to slow down, breathe deeper.

That evening, as rain pattered on the lodge roof and I tucked into fish and chips from the local chippy (fetched on foot, naturally), I reflected on these walking whims. Devon's hikes aren't about ticking miles; they're about dancing with the weather, letting it steer you. Jurassic Lodge captured that essence perfectly—cosy haven amid the chaos. Three days in, and I was already plotting a return, bird poo be damned.