I’ll never forget the drive up to our little Welsh hideaway in North Wales – a proper mission that started with a comedy of errors. We’d piled into the car from Manchester early doors, full of beans and armed with flasks of tea, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just past Bala. It sent us down a single-track lane that was basically a sheep’s personal motorway, and wouldn’t you know it, we ended up nose-to-nose with a farmer in a Land Rover who looked less than impressed. A quick reverse manoeuvre (with me yelling directions from the passenger seat like a deranged air traffic controller) and we were back on track, hearts racing but laughing our socks off. By the time we crested the hills towards Dinas Mawddwy, the anticipation was buzzing – would this be the perfect spot for our walking-obsessed getaway?

Pulling up to the cottage, my first impressions were spot on. Tucked among the rolling hills just a mile from Dinas Mawddwy and Mallwyd, it was this appealing retreat in a beautiful setting, blending contemporary comfort with that cosy Welsh charm. Three bedrooms for our group of six, and it slept us like a dream. Southern fringes of Eryri (Snowdonia to the uninitiated), it screamed hiking heaven. We dumped the bags, laced up our boots, and cracked on with a gentle wander up to Foel Benddin – a cracking climb right on the doorstep that had us puffing but grinning at the panoramic views.

First full day, the weather gods were smiling: blue skies, crisp air, perfect for proper leg-stretching. We tackled a stretch of the Mawddach Trail from nearby Dolgellau – just 10 miles down the road, an easy drive. That flat(ish) 9.5-mile path along the estuary edge to Barmouth was pure bliss, estuary sparkling, herons flapping about, and not a soul in sight for ages. We picnicked by the water, feeling like we’d cracked the code to holiday nirvana. But oh, British weather, you fickle friend. Next morning, it was lashing it down – horizontal rain that turned the hills into a no-go zone. Plans for a big Eryri scramble? Scrubbed. Instead, we embraced the damp and did a muddy loop around the local hills near the cottage. Waterproofs on, spirits high (well, mostly), we sloshed through puddles, slipping on wet grass and pretending we were Bear Grylls. Got gloriously soaked, but there’s something oddly satisfying about a soggy stomp when the alternative is Netflix.

By day three, the clouds lifted just enough for another bash at Foel Benddin. Steeper this time in the wind, but those summit views over the Mawddwy valley made every calf-burn worth it. We even spotted what we swore were wild ponies in the mist. The weather kept us on our toes – one minute basking in rare sun, the next dodging showers that turned paths into streams. It forced us to mix it up: shorter local rambles when it poured, longer hauls when it cleared.

Looking back, that mishap on the drive was a fitting opener – holidays here aren’t about perfection, but rolling with the rain and the ridges. I came home fitter, muddier, and with a soft spot for Welsh hill-walking, come hell or high water. If you’re mad for hikes like me, this corner of North Wales is your jam.