I’ll never forget the drive down to St Ives last autumn – that golden stretch of September when Cornwall’s still clinging to summer’s warmth but the crowds have finally bugged off. Me and the family piled into the car from upcountry, kids buzzing in the back with pasties we’d grabbed at a services stop. But typical me, I took a wrong turn somewhere near Hayle, ending up on one of those narrow lanes that twist like a drunk seagull. We laughed it off as the satnav recalibrated, but secretly I was sweating – would we miss that first evening glow?

Pulling up to our second-floor apartment right on the harbour front felt like striking gold. Tucked above the Rum and Crab Shack, it had that perfect buzzy vibe without being overwhelming. Two cosy bedrooms for the four of us (plenty of space even for the little ones), and the views? Straight out to sea, with fishing boats bobbing in the harbour. First impressions were spot on – we dumped the bags, cracked open a window, and just breathed it all in. Autumn light hit different here, soft and hazy, turning everything that rusty orange hue.

That time of year shaped every minute. Mornings, we’d wander down to Porthmeor Beach, boots on because the tide pools were alive with starfish and crabs, the sea all slate-grey and wild from overnight winds. No scorching sand burns like midsummer – just crisp air that made clambering over rocks to Godrevy Lighthouse (spot the seals lounging on the beach below) feel like a proper adventure. Lunch was always fish and chips from a harbourside stall, eaten on the wall watching the swell roll in. The kids loved it; no sticky heat to wilt their energy.

Afternoons, we hit the coastal path towards Carbis Bay, leaves crunching underfoot from the windswept trees lining the cliffs. Autumn’s mellow light made the heather glow purple against the turquoise waves – magical, really. One day, we timed it for low tide and paddled out to the island at St Michael’s Mount (a quick hop away), the path shimmering like glass. Back at the flat, the live music from downstairs filtered up – folksy guitar strums that had us tapping toes over cider and pasties. Not too loud, just enough to feel part of the harbour hum.

Evenings were pure bliss. As the sun dipped, that seasonal chill crept in, so we’d huddle with hot chocolates, watching the bay light up with fairy lights from the restaurants. One night, a proper Cornish mist rolled in, turning the whole scene ethereal – like being in a smuggling tale. I had a quiet moment then, staring out: rushing about life back home feels daft when you can just... be here, with family, letting autumn’s quiet rhythm reset you.

We left fitter, happier, and plotting a return. St Ives in autumn? It’s Cornwall at its soul-stirring best – wild, wondrous, and wonderfully understated.