I’ll never forget the drive down to Lynton in early autumn – that crisp September weekend when the leaves were just starting to turn, painting the Devon lanes in gold and amber. We’d piled into the car from Bristol, me navigating with my trusty Ordnance Survey map (apps are grand, but nothing beats the real thing), when disaster struck just past Barnstaple. A rogue pheasant decided to play chicken with our windscreen – well, nearly. We swerved, hearts in mouths, and ended up with a feather stuck in the grille and a good laugh to shake off the nerves. By the time we wound our way up those twisty Exmoor roads, the anticipation was buzzing; I could already picture cosy evenings with the sea view as the days grew shorter.

Pulling up to this slick two-storey apartment right in the heart of Lynton, overlooking Lynmouth Bay, we were gobsmacked by the first impressions. Tucked into the Exmoor National Park, it felt like our own little retreat for the four of us – me, my partner, and our mates. The sitting room was bright and airy, those dual-aspect windows framing the bay like a living painting, with the autumn sun dipping low and casting a warm glow over everything. Up a flight of stairs, the super king-size bedroom with its luxurious en-suite (freestanding bath or shower cubicle – decisions, decisions!) promised pampering after days out in the chill. There was an immaculate shower room too, all crisp and white. And upstairs, under the eaves, it was pure snug heaven for lazy mornings.

Autumn shaped every bit of it, turning what could’ve been a standard holiday into something magical. The season’s mellow light made those coastal walks along the South West Coast Path utterly hypnotic – we tramped down to Lynmouth, about a mile away, where the cliffs were alive with rustling bracken and the sea crashed with that fresh, briny tang sharpened by cooler air. No summer crowds, just us and the odd dog-walker, crunching through fallen leaves. One afternoon, we hiked up to the Valley of Rocks, those weathered formations glowing in the golden hour, goats scampering about like they owned the place. The nip in the air had us wrapped in woollies, but it made the hot mugs of tea back at the flat taste divine.

Evenings were all about that seasonal cosiness. We’d fire up the oven for a proper roast – Devon lamb, naturally – while watching the bay fade to twilight, the lights of Lynmouth twinkling on. One night, a misty drizzle rolled in, straight out of a Brontë novel, and we huddled with board games and mulled cider. Hilarious moment: I slipped on the wet path coming back from the local shop (just a short stroll for pasties and clotted cream), landing flat on my bum. My lot ribbed me mercilessly, but it was the perfect ice-breaker.

Looking back, that weekend was a gentle nudge to slow down. In the rush of life, we forget how autumn strips things bare, making space for simple joys – no distractions, just good company and nature’s quiet show. If you’re after a Devon escape that feels timeless, hit Lynton this time of year. We’re already plotting a return.