I’ll never forget the drive down to North Devon – sat nav on, tea thermos in hand, belting out some old Oasis tunes with the missus. We’d booked this cracking coastal retreat up near Bideford, all elevated with smashing views over Bideford Bay and the Bristol Channel. But about 20 minutes from Westward Ho!, disaster struck: a rogue sheep decided to play chicken with our hire car on one of those twisty lanes. Heart in mouth, we swerved, laughed it off with a shared “close one!”, and carried on, buzzing with that arrival anticipation. Pulling up to the gated grounds felt like stumbling on a secret – this spacious beauty with its enclosed garden, sea-view patio, and that private indoor pool with hot tub and sauna? First impressions were pure gold. We dumped the bags and dived straight in, toasting with fizz as the sun dipped over the water.

Westward Ho! village was just a short stroll away, with its two miles of golden sand tempting us for daily dips, but honestly, the real magic happened when we veered off the tourist trail. I’m one for getting lost – it’s my daft way of feeling adventurous without much effort – and North Devon delivered in spades. First hidden gem: we wandered from the beach one afternoon, chasing a sneaky path behind the championship golf course that no guidebook mentioned. It spat us out at a wild, pebbly cove where seals lounged like lazy royals, barking at our sandwiches. No crowds, just us, the waves, and a thermos of builders’ tea. Pure bliss.

Next day, aiming for Appledore’s quay (five minutes’ drive, all narrow streets and maritime yarns), we took a “shortcut” that turned into a proper maze of unmarked lanes. Got properly lost, phones on zero signal, but stumbled on this tucked-away spot called the Northam Burrows – a vast nature reserve right on our doorstep. Dunes as far as the eye could see, skylarks overhead, and a hidden creek perfect for crabbing with bits of bacon on string. We spent hours there, kids (well, me acting like one) whooping as we hauled up the little blighters. Laughed till our sides hurt when I nearly toppled in chasing a monster one.

Evenings were for al fresco nosh on the patio, watching Lundy Island haze in the distance, plotting our MS Oldenburg trip another time. One night, post-sauna unwind, we followed a whim down a farm track from the property – ended up at a secluded viewpoint overlooking the bay at dusk. Rabbits everywhere, badgers rustling, and not a soul in sight. Felt like we’d hacked the holiday matrix.

Looking back, that sheep mishap was a blessing – forced us off the beaten path into these accidental gems. In a world of Instagram hotspots, getting lost taught me to embrace the faff; it’s where the best stories hide. North Devon’s got that pull – we’re already plotting a return. If you’re after proper escape, ditch the maps and let the lanes lead you.