We’d barely made it off the M5 when the satnav decided to have a laugh and sent us down a lane so narrow the wing mirrors were practically shaking hands with the hedgerows. By the time we pulled up outside Dolphin Lodge in Budleigh Salterton the car was coated in a fine layer of Devon dust and our nerves were in tatters, but the sight of the little white cottage with its blue door made the detour worth it. The sea was only a five-minute stroll away, and as soon as we’d dumped the bags we headed straight out, trainers still gritty from the journey.

The South West Coast Path starts practically on the doorstep, so we set off along the red cliffs towards Littleham Cove, the sun warm on our shoulders and the gulls wheeling overhead. We’d packed a picnic of pasties and a flask of tea, fully intending to make a day of it, but within half an hour the sky turned that particular Devon grey that always seems to arrive just when you’ve forgotten your waterproof. We sheltered under a stunted hawthorn, laughing at our own optimism, and watched the rain sweep in over the waves. It didn’t last long—typical coastal dramatics—but it was enough to remind us that even the gentlest plans need a Plan B.

Once the shower passed we carried on, boots squelching, following the path as it dipped and rose along the cliffs. The air smelled of wet bracken and salt, and every so often we caught glimpses of Budleigh’s famous pebble beach curving away below us. By the time we reached the edge of the town again my legs were pleasantly tired and my waterproof was tied round my waist like a makeshift belt. We stopped at the beach café for a quick cuppa, watching families building elaborate pebble sculptures while the sun tried its best to reappear.

Back at Dolphin Lodge we kicked off our muddy shoes on the little patio and sat with the door open, listening to the distant hush of the tide. I found myself thinking how rarely we actually slow down like this—how a simple walk along the coast can turn into the whole point of a holiday when the weather has other ideas. The cottage felt like the perfect base for it: close enough to the path that we could duck out whenever the sky looked promising, yet cosy enough to retreat to when it didn’t. Tomorrow we’d try again, maybe heading the other way towards the River Otter estuary, but for now it was enough to sit with salt on our skin and the quiet satisfaction of having got a bit wet and carried on anyway.