I finally made it to Shepherd’s Stone after a bit of a faff on the road from Holyhead. Picture this: I’d packed my little hatchback with enough walking boots and waterproofs to kit out a small army, only to realise halfway there that I’d left my favourite Ordnance Survey map at home. No bother, I thought, Google Maps will do. Then, in true British fashion, the satnav decided to have a hissy fit just as I turned off the A55, sending me on a merry dance down a narrow lane that ended in a sheep-proof gate. I reversed like a pro (well, almost – one wing mirror got a bit too friendly with a hedge), and arrived at the cottage laughing at my own daftness.

Shepherd’s Stone is this cosy stone-built gem tucked away in the Anglesey countryside near Holyhead, with views that hit you right in the chest the moment you step out. It’s one of those places that feels like it’s been waiting for you – low-beamed ceilings, a wood burner begging to be lit, and a kitchen that’s proper homely, not some show home nonsense. I dumped my bags and cracked open the window to let in that briny sea air. First impressions? Pure bliss. It’s got this perfect spot for walkers like me, right on the edge of the Coastal Path, with the Irish Sea crashing about not five minutes away.

Day one, I laced up my boots for a gentle hike along the clifftops towards South Stack Lighthouse. The weather was playing nice – blue skies, a bit of a breeze whipping up the gorse. I reckon it was about three miles out and back, proper invigorating stuff. Seals were bobbing in the waves below, and I stopped for a brew from my flask, feeling like the king of Anglesey. The path’s rugged but doable, with stiles and those classic Welsh hand-painted signs warning you to mind your head on low branches. Shepherd’s Stone felt like the ideal base camp, just far enough from Holyhead’s bustle to feel remote, but close enough for a quick pasty from the marina if needed.

Come afternoon, though, the British weather pulled its classic trick. One minute I’m striding along, next it’s lashing down like Noah’s ark was due. I legged it back to the cottage, soaked to the skin, and spent the next hour drying off by the Aga with a cuppa and a cheeky biscuit raid from the welcome pack. Light humour in that moment: I looked like a drowned rat in the mirror, hair plastered flat, grinning like an idiot. “Welcome to Wales,” I muttered. It forced a change of plans – instead of pushing on to Trearddur Bay, I opted for a shorter loop around the local fields behind the cottage. The rain eased to a misty drizzle, turning everything emerald and sparkly. Muddy paths, calling ewes, and that fresh post-storm glow – it was magic, really.

By evening, the clouds parted again, and I nipped out for a sunset wander down to the pebbly cove nearby. Barely a mile from the door, but it felt worlds away. Waves lapping, gulls wheeling – first impressions sealed. That night, cosy in the cottage’s snug lounge, I reflected gently on how these weather whims are what make Anglesey hikes so alive. No two days the same, no Instagram perfection, just you, the path, and whatever the skies chuck at you. It’s humbling, innit? Makes you appreciate the simple joy of a dry pair of socks waiting back at Shepherd’s Stone.

Day two dawned misty, so I tweaked plans for a circuit around the headland, dodging sudden showers under a brolly. The weather kept me on my toes – bright spells for cliff-edge selfies, downpours that sent me sheltering in a ruined bothy. One hilarious slip in the mud had me sliding arse-over-tit into a puddle, emerging caked like a chocolate Labrador. Laughed it off, carried on. These cottages are spot-on for that: return to warmth, plot tomorrow’s route over tea. First impressions evolved into full-on love – Shepherd’s Stone isn’t just a stay, it’s a launchpad for weather-proof adventures that stick with you. If you’re after Anglesey’s wild side without the hassle, this is your spot.