I’ll never forget the drive to The Falls (Pet) in Snowdonia last autumn – that crisp October weekend when the leaves were turning gold and the air had that proper bite to it, making you glad you’d packed an extra jumper. We’d set off from Bangor early, me behind the wheel of our little hatchback, the dog, Rufus, snoring in the back with his head lolling out the window. The journey’s only a few miles up those winding lanes towards the River Ogwen, but wouldn’t you know it, about halfway there, I took a wrong turn onto a single-track road that looked promising on the sat-nav but turned out to be a glorified goat path. We ended up nose-to-nose with a sheep farmer in a battered Land Rover, both of us reversing for what felt like ages while Rufus barked his head off. Classic me – always overconfident with directions. A quick wave, a shared laugh through the windows, and we were back on track, the mishap already turning into a daft story we’d retell over tea.

Pulling up to The Falls just as the afternoon light was fading, that seasonal shift hit me straight away. Autumn in Snowdonia is magic, isn’t it? The fells around Bangor were ablaze with russet ferns and copper beeches, the kind of colours that make you pull over just to gawp. The cottage sits right by a tumbling waterfall – you hear it rushing before you even see the place, a constant, soothing roar that drowned out the world. It’s a proper pet-friendly gem, stone-built and cosy, tucked into the hillside maybe a couple of miles from town. As I unloaded the boot, leaves swirling around my feet like confetti, I could smell that earthy dampness rising from the river below, mixed with woodsmoke from the chimney I’d soon be lighting.

Stepping inside for the first impressions, blimey, it was like the cottage had been waiting for us. The open-plan living room-kitchen was bathed in that soft, golden glow filtering through the windows, the autumn sun low and lazy. We dumped our bags and Rufus immediately claimed the rag rug by the wood burner, tail thumping as if to say, “This’ll do nicely.” I pottered about, flicking on the kettle for a brew – there’s something about a strange kitchen that feels like home when it’s got all the basics: a proper Aga humming away, shelves stocked with tea bags and biscuits left by previous guests. The beams overhead creaked gently in the breeze, and outside, through the patio doors, the waterfall cascaded over mossy rocks into a foaming pool, framed by trees shedding their leaves in a lazy dance. It was chillier than I’d expected – that sharp October nip seeping through the stone walls – so I got the fire going pronto, watching the flames catch and crackle, filling the room with warmth and that irresistible smoky scent.

Wandering out to the garden as dusk crept in, the seasonal vibes really wrapped around us. The air was alive with the rustle of falling leaves, and a light mist rolled down from the Ogwen Valley, turning everything ethereal. We chucked a stick for Rufus along the short path to the river’s edge – he splashed about like a loony, shaking off icy droplets that sparkled in the fading light. No crowds, just us and the wildlife: a few robins flitting about, their red breasts popping against the muted tones. It struck me then, sitting on the bench with a mug of tea, how this time of year strips things back. Summer’s bustle fades, and autumn hands you Snowdonia raw and unfiltered – the colours punchier, the quiet deeper. I had a proper moment of reflection there, wrapped in my scarf, thinking about how we rush about life like I did with that daft wrong turn, but places like The Falls force you to slow down, listen to the water, breathe it all in.

First evening, we cooked a simple stew – lamb from the local butcher in Bangor, root veg that felt spot-on for the season – and ate by the fire, windows steamed up from the warmth inside clashing with the crisp night beyond. Rufus sprawled out, knackered from his riverside romp. Peeking out later, stars pricked the ink-black sky above the falls, no light pollution to spoil it. That first night, lulled to sleep by the waterfall’s endless hush, I knew we’d nailed it. Autumn shaped every bit of it – the vibrant decay outside mirroring that cosy introspection within. Can’t wait to go back when the frosts hit.