I’ll never forget the drive up to Wee Acorn in Loch Lomond last October – a proper crisp autumn jaunt that had me grinning from ear to ear, even after that daft little mishap with the sat-nav. I’d set off from Glasgow early, windows down at first to catch the last of the summer’s warmth, but by the time I hit the winding roads towards Drymen, the Scottish autumn had well and truly kicked in. Golden leaves were swirling like confetti across the A811, and the hills were ablaze with copper and russet hues. It was one of those days where the low sun filters through the branches, turning everything magical. Then, classic me, I missed the turning for Balmaha because the sat-nav decided to have a wee sulk and reroute me via some farm track. Fifteen minutes of gravel-crunching panic later, I emerged covered in a light dusting of mud, laughing at my own incompetence. “Welcome to the Highlands,” I muttered, finally spotting the sign for Wee Acorn nestled in its peaceful corner near Drymen.

Pulling up to the cottage that first afternoon, I was gobsmacked by how perfectly it captured that autumnal Loch Lomond vibe. Wee Acorn is this cosy, chocolate-box gem – a traditional stone-built bothy with a pitched roof and flower baskets still blooming defiantly against the chill. October’s mellow light bathed it in a soft glow, the kind that makes you want to hug the place. I’d booked it on a whim for a solo three-day reset, craving that off-grid feel, and from the off, the season shaped every moment. The air was sharp with that peaty scent of fallen leaves and damp earth, nipping at my cheeks as I hauled my bag inside. No sprawling estate here, just a compact haven steps from the loch’s edge, with views that stretched out to the glassy water framed by Ben Lomond’s misty shoulders.

Stepping through the door, the first impression hit like a warm toddy. The interior was all low beams, a crackling wood-burning stove (logs already stacked, bless the hosts), and tartan cushions that screamed Scotland without trying too hard. I dumped my stuff and beelined for the kitchen – compact but kitted out with everything for a lazy fry-up. That first cuppa in hand, I wandered out to the private patio, where the October sun was low and golden, picking out the fiery reds of the rowan trees nearby. A squirrel dashed across the grass, hoarding nuts like it knew winter was lurking, and I chuckled, feeling a bit like that myself – stockpiling peace before life’s chill set in.

The real joy was how the season amplified the cosiness. That evening, as twilight fell early (properly dark by half-five, mind), I wrapped up in a blanket on the deck and watched the loch transform. Mist rolled in from the water, softening the islands like a watercolour painting, while the hills faded to deep purples. No hordes of midges this time of year – just pure, crisp tranquillity. I rustled up venison sausages from the local butcher in Drymen (a five-minute drive), pan-fried with autumn veg, and ate by the fire, the flames dancing shadows on the walls. It was blissfully simple, no telly or Wi-Fi to distract – just the hoot of an owl and the gentle lap of the loch.

Sitting there, mug in hand, I had a quiet moment of reflection. October’s shortening days force you to slow down, don’t they? In the rush of everyday life, I’d forgotten how restorative this is – arriving somewhere that feels like a hug from nature itself. Wee Acorn wasn’t flashy, but its first impressions wrapped around you like a woolly jumper: intimate, seasonal magic that made me grateful for the mud-spattered journey. By bedtime, snuggled under the duck-down duvet with rain pattering softly on the roof, I knew this three-day escape was already etching itself into my favourites list. Loch Lomond in autumn? Pure poetry.