We’d barely turned off the A497 when the satnav decided to send us down a lane so narrow that the hedgerows squeaked against the wing mirrors. By the time we reached Capel Bethania I was convinced the car had lost a layer of paint, but the sight of the little stone chapel-turned-cottage, perched just above the dunes, made the scrape worth it. It was early October, that soft shoulder season when North Wales beaches are almost empty and the sea has a steel-grey calm that makes you want to stare at it for hours.

The key was waiting under a flowerpot exactly as the host promised, and stepping inside felt like walking into someone else’s Sunday best: polished slate floors, a wood-burner already laid, and a faint scent of sea salt that no amount of airing could shift. We dumped the bags, flicked the kettle on, and wandered straight back out again; the tide was out, the sand looked endless, and the light had that low, honeyed quality that only happens once the summer crowds have gone.

We spent the first afternoon simply walking the shoreline, wellies crunching over tiny shells and bits of driftwood. Every so often a gust would lift a spray of sand that stung our cheeks, yet the air still carried enough warmth to make a coat feel optional. Back at the cottage the wood-burner caught quickly, and we sat with mugs of tea watching the sky turn peach then lilac through the tall arched windows that had once held hymn numbers.

That evening the temperature dropped faster than we’d expected. I’d packed for mild weather and ended up wearing every jumper I’d brought, plus an old cagoule that made me look like an amateur lighthouse keeper. We cooked pasta on the little electric hob while rain tapped at the glass, and I found myself thinking how rarely I slow down enough to notice the shift between seasons. Here, with nothing but the dunes and the chapel’s quiet history for company, the change felt obvious and oddly comforting.

The next morning a thin mist hung over the water, turning the beach into a watercolour. We walked again, this time spotting a seal’s dark head further out, and I realised the whole weekend had already been shaped by the weather’s gentle bossiness. Autumn had dictated warmer drinks, earlier nights, and the simple pleasure of watching clouds rather than chasing sunshine. By the time we loaded the car, the lane seemed wider on the way out, or perhaps I’d simply stopped rushing. Either way, Capel Bethania had reminded me that sometimes the best part of a holiday is letting the season set the pace.