I’ll never forget the drive up to the Lake District last autumn – that golden time when the fells turn into a riot of rusts and ambers, but the weather decides to test your mettle. We’d piled into the car from Manchester, kids in the back squabbling over crisps, me navigating with a dodgy signal on my phone. About halfway, just past Kendal, we hit a proper downpour – the kind that turns the M6 into a skating rink. I misjudged a roundabout, skidded a bit, and ended up with the wing mirror kissing a lorry’s bumper. No damage, thank goodness, but it had us laughing nervously and vowing to stick to country lanes from then on. Still, as we wound our way towards Coniston, the anticipation built. Autumn’s my favourite for these trips – crisp air promising cosy nights in, leaves crunching underfoot, and that early dusk that makes everything feel magical.

Pulling up to the property just south of Coniston, I was gobsmacked. It’s this beautifully set retreat in a wild and wonderful spot alongside a meandering stream, surrounded by 7 acres of natural grounds with a private outdoor hot tub and sauna – pure luxury for a family getaway. First impressions? Spot on. The autumn sun was peeking through after the rain, turning the grounds into a shimmering patchwork of gold and copper, steam rising gently from the stream like something out of a poem.

We wasted no time settling in, the season dictating our every move. Mornings started with mist clinging to the fells, perfect for a brisk walk up to the Tarn Hows trailhead, just a short stroll away. The leaves were at their peak, carpeting the paths in fiery reds, and we’d crunch along, stopping to skim stones on the water or dodge the odd cheeky squirrel. One day, the wind picked up, whipping the trees into a frenzy – we hunkered down with mugs of tea, watching from the hot tub as the bubbles fought the chill. That sauna was a godsend too; after a damp hike, sliding into its heat felt like cheating winter’s approach, all piney steam and rosy cheeks.

Evenings were pure autumn bliss. We’d fire up the barbecue under a brolly (classic British optimism), grilling sausages while the sky bruised purple over Coniston Water. One night, the kids discovered glow-in-the-dark fungi by the stream – well, they thought they did; turned out to be glow sticks from last summer’s campers. Proper explorers, my lot. A gentle ribbing ensued, and I caught myself reflecting: amid the seasonal frenzy, these daft moments are what stick. In the rush of daily life, I forget how autumn slows you down, forces you to savour the fleeting – the scent of woodsmoke, the snap of frost on the grass come dawn.

We popped over to Coniston village for supplies, nabbing fresh bakes from the old-school tearoom, their windows steamed up against the nip. No grand adventures beyond a mile or two; the property’s grounds were adventure enough, with the stream gurgling lullabies at night. By week’s end, as the leaves started thinning, I felt recharged. Autumn in the Lakes isn’t just scenery; it’s a full-body hug from nature, mishaps and all. Can’t wait to go back next year.