I finally made it to Stepaside after a bit of a faff on the drive down from Carmarthen – nothing major, just me taking a wrong turn onto a narrow lane that had more cow pats than tarmac, leaving the car splattered with muck and me swearing under my breath. But hey, that's Pembrokeshire for you: one minute you're lost in the hedgerows, the next you're pulling up to this cracking 3 Bed Lodge, tucked away in a peaceful spot just begging for a proper Welsh getaway. It was the start of our three-day jaunt, and from the off, I knew the weather and a good hike would be calling the shots.

Stepping out into that crisp coastal air, the lodge hit me right away – cosy as a hobbit hole, with its wooden beams and that welcoming porch swing overlooking a garden that screamed "put your feet up". But feet up? Not on my watch. I'd clocked the coastal path markers nearby, and with the sun peeking through patchy clouds, I was itching to explore. First impressions? Proper lush. The place felt like it was made for rambling folk like me, dead central for nipping out on foot to some of Pembrokeshire's best bits without firing up the engine.

Day one kicked off with a gentle yomp along the Stepaside Valley trail, just a mile or so from the door. The lodge's garden path literally spat us out onto it, and we wandered through ancient woodland dripping with moss, past the ruins of old collieries that whispered tales of the area's mining past. The weather was playing nice at first – a soft breeze off the coast, blue skies overhead – so we pushed on towards Amroth's beach, all shingle and rock pools glinting in the shallows. I was chuffed; first impressions of the lodge were spot on for this, with its handy boot room for kicking off sandy wellies. We skimmed stones and watched seals bobbing offshore, feeling like we'd stumbled into our own private Eden.

But oh, British weather – never trust it further than you can throw it. By midday, the clouds rolled in like uninvited guests, turning our planned longer hike to Wiseman's Bridge into a comedy of errors. Fat raindrops started, then hail the size of marbles pelted down, forcing us into a giggling retreat under a massive oak. "This is why we pack cagoules!" I yelled over the din, drenched but daftly happy. Back at the lodge, dripping on the doormat, we brewed tea in the snug kitchen and watched the storm lash the windows. First impressions evolved right there: it's not just a pretty face; that wood-burner roared to life, turning soggy socks into a distant memory. Cosy doesn't even cover it – it's the sort of place that hugs you when the coast turns nasty.

Next morning, the sun was back, cheeky as ever, so we laced up for the Sageston trail loop, a cracking 3-mile circuit through meadows and clifftop views, all within easy striking distance. The weather teased us again – misty at first, then blazing – and we adapted like pros, swapping a beach detour for a windy bluff walk where the Irish Sea crashed below. Light humour in the air: me slipping on a muddy stile, ending up arse-over-tit in a puddle, while my mates howled. "Graceful as a three-legged goat," they ribbed. But honestly, that lodge was the hero; returning to its sun-trap patio for pasties and a pint felt like coming home.

Reflecting on it now, sat on that porch swing as the light faded on day three, I realised these first impressions weren't just about the bricks and mortar. It was the walks that shaped it – the weather's whims forcing us to pivot, laugh, and savour the raw Pembrokeshire magic. In a world of rush, this lodge taught me to lean into the unpredictability, one muddy boot at a time. If you're after a base for hiking adventures where the elements keep you on your toes, this is your spot. Can't recommend it enough.