I finally made it to Oak Valleyside after a bit of a faff on the drive down from Tiverton. I'd set off full of beans, sat-nav purring away, but about five miles out, I managed to take a wrong turn onto some narrow lane that twisted like a Devon pasty. Cue a classic British mishap: stuck behind a tractor chugging along at snail's pace, mud splattering my windscreen, and me laughing at myself in the rear-view mirror. "Welcome to the countryside," I muttered, wiping away the muck. Twenty minutes later, I pulled up to the Oak Safari Tent, this glamping gem tucked in a lush valley just outside Tiverton. First impressions? Blimey, it was like stepping into a posh treehouse – canvas walls billowing gently, wooden deck with views over rolling fields, and that fresh, earthy scent hitting you straight away.

The weather gods were on side for arrival, a rare crisp autumn sun filtering through the oaks. I dumped my bags, brewed a cuppa on the little gas stove, and immediately laced up my boots for a wander. Oak Valleyside's spot is perfect for it – surrounded by footpaths snaking through the Mid-Devon countryside. My first hike was a gentle loop along the valley edge, maybe two miles, past hedgerows dripping with blackberries. I popped a few in my mouth, tart and juicy, grinning like a kid. The tent felt like a proper base camp, cosy with its double bed and fairy lights, but it was the outdoors calling loudest. Birds chirping, cows lowing in the distance – pure Devon bliss.

Day two dawned with promise, mist lifting to blue skies. I plotted a longer ramble, aiming for the wooded trails nearby, the kind that wind up to viewpoints over the Exe Valley. Armed with Ordnance Survey map and a packed lunch of cheese sarnies, I set off. The paths were muddy in spots from recent rain, but that squelch underfoot is half the fun. Halfway up, I spotted a buzzard circling – magic. Sat on a stile for elevenses, munching away, feeling properly alive. Back at the tent by lunch, I was buzzing, planning an afternoon yomp along the riverbank paths. Oak Valleyside's seclusion meant no crowds, just me, the wind rustling the leaves, and that satisfying ache in my legs.

But oh, British weather – you cheeky devil. By mid-afternoon, the skies turned moody, fat raindrops plopping down like they'd been saving up. My grand river hike? Scrubbed. Instead, I dashed back to the tent, giggling as I slipped on the wet grass. Huddled inside with a flask of tea, zipping up the canvas against the downpour, I watched the world turn silver. It forced a rethink: a shorter, sheltered stroll under the dripping trees, splashing through puddles like a daft puppy. The rain sharpened everything – the green of the ferns electric, the air so clean you could taste it. Light humour in the mishap: I ended up soaked to the skin, steaming by the wood-burner (thankfully provided), pondering how Devon's forecast is basically "expect the unexpected."

That evening, as the shower eased to drizzle, I reflected gently over a GandT on the deck. Three days in, and these first impressions had me hooked – the hikes that exhilarated, the weather that humbled. It's funny how a wrong turn and a soaking can make you appreciate the simple joy of a good walk in Devon's wilds. Oak Valleyside wasn't just a stay; it was a reminder to lean into the mud and the mist. Can't wait to go back.