I’ll never forget the drive up to Portree on the Isle of Skye last autumn – that crisp October chill in the air turning the Highlands into a riot of gold and russet, with the Cuillin mountains looming like ancient guardians under a sky that couldn’t decide between dramatic clouds and fleeting sunbeams. We’d piled into the car from Inverness early doors, me navigating with a dodgy signal on my phone, and halfway there, disaster struck: a cheeky Highland sheep decided our single-track road was prime grazing spot and plonked itself right in front of us. Heart in mouth, I braked sharpish, and we all burst out laughing as it sauntered off, leaving us with a classic Skye story to retell over dinner.

By the time we trundled down the narrow approach to our semi-detached, single-storey cottage, anticipation was buzzing. Would it live up to the photos? One glimpse and we were smitten – those first impressions hit like a warm hug after the blustery drive. Nestled in the heart of bustling Portree, yet cosy and tucked away, it felt like the perfect bolt-hole for our family of six. Stepping inside, the well-equipped kitchen screamed “home-cooking heaven” with all the mod cons you’d need, and the dining area was spot on for our gang to huddle round, sharing tales of the road. Post-supper, we’d fire up the woodburning stove in the lounge, its gentle crackle warding off the deepening autumn chill, and flop on the sofas plotting the morrow’s adventures.

Autumn shaped every minute of that stay, wrapping the whole experience in this magical, mellow glow. Mornings dawned misty over the harbour, the sea loch a shimmering mirror flecked with turning leaves, and we’d wander the five-minute stroll to Portree’s high street for fresh bannocks and coffee from the bakery, the air tangy with woodsmoke from chimneys. One day, we tackled the short hike up to the Old Man of Storr – well, as far as the weather allowed before a sudden squall had us giggling and retreating, faces windswept and rosy. The season’s moody temperament kept things exciting; golden hour lit up Sligachan like a painting, perfect for family snaps amid the russet bracken.

Evenings were pure bliss, that stove casting a flickering light as rain pattered on the roof – no mad dashes to far-flung spots, just easy ambles to the pub for a pint of Isle of Skye ale, or nipping to the chippy when the hunger hit. The cooler temps made cosy nights in feel extra special, curling up with board games while the world outside turned inky and wild. Reflecting on it now, I reckon that’s the real gift of an autumn break here: it slows you down, doesn’t it? No scorching summer rush, just this gentle nudge to savour the quiet moments, like watching deer graze in the twilight fields nearby. We left feeling utterly recharged, already plotting a return when the leaves are falling thick and fast again. Skye in autumn? Absolute gold.