I finally made it to Benone Cabin near Portrush after a bit of a faff on the drive up from Belfast. Picture this: I'm humming along the A2, windows down, dreaming of sandy beaches, when I realise I've left my hiking boots in the boot of the hire car back at the airport. Proper numpty moment—ended up stopping at a wee petrol station in Coleraine for some emergency wellies that pinched like mad. Still, nothing was going to spoil my three-day escape to this cosy cabin tucked into the dunes at Benone Strand.

Pulling up just before teatime on that first Friday, the place hit me like a breath of fresh sea air. It's one of those classic seaside cabins—wooden-clad, low-roofed, with a veranda that screams "sit here with a cuppa watching the waves." From the gravel drive, you can hear the Irish Sea crashing just beyond the marram grass, and Portrush's lights twinkling a couple of miles east. I dumped my bags, cracked open a tin of beans for a solo supper, and stepped out to take it all in. The sky was that perfect late-summer blue, promising adventure. First impressions? Blissful isolation with just enough civilisation nearby to pop out for fish and chips if needed.

Saturday morning, I laced up those ridiculous wellies and headed out for my first proper hike along Benone Beach. It's a proper stretch of golden sand, three miles of it stretching west towards Downhill, backed by those massive dunes that feel like you've stumbled into a nature documentary. The weather was playing nice—bright sunshine, a gentle breeze off the Atlantic—so I powered on, dodging jellyfish washed up by the tide and spotting oystercatchers piping away. Felt like a kid again, legs pumping, salt spray in my hair. Halfway along, I clambered up the dunes for a breather, and there it was: the vast curve of the coast, with Magilligan Point just peeking in the distance. Sat there munching a flapjack, thinking how daft it is that we city folk forget how restorative a good walk can be. Gentle self-reflection, innit? Work stress melting away with every step.

By afternoon, classic British weather decided to gatecrash. One minute I'm striding towards the Ulster-American Folk Park trails (only a short hop from the cabin), the next it's lashing down with horizontal rain that turned my wellies into a swimming pool. Plans for a full afternoon tramp along the strand? Scrubbed. Instead, I ducked into the cabin, brewed a massive pot of tea, and watched the storm batter the veranda from the squashy sofa. Hilarious, really—me, shivering in soggy socks, pretending I was some intrepid explorer. The cabin's windows steamed up, framing the chaos outside like a living painting: waves whipping into foam, gulls battling the gale. It forced a rethink—cosied up with a book on local folklore, listening to the wind howl through the glens.

Come Sunday, the skies cleared just enough for redemption. I ventured east along the beach path towards Portrush's West Strand, keeping it local—no more than a couple of miles' plod. The changing weather had sculpted the sand into wild patterns, and the low sun turned everything golden. Picked my way over rock pools teeming with crabs, the odd dog-walker nodding hello. That mishap with the boots? Forgotten. The cabin felt even more like home base now, pulling me back for elevenses of Barry's tea and soda bread scavenged from the nearby shop. First impressions solidified into something deeper: Benone Cabin's magic is in how it hands you the coast on a plate, weather be damned, and dares you to walk it off.

Those three days flew, but arriving and sinking into that rhythm of hikes, squalls, and sanctuary left me buzzing. If you're after a proper Northern Irish seaside reset, this is your spot—wellies essential, mind.