I’ll never forget the drive up to our holiday spot in North Wales – a proper white-knuckle affair thanks to my sat-nav deciding to play silly buggers just outside Ruthin. It kept directing me down what looked like a sheep track rather than a road, and I ended up doing a three-point turn in the pouring rain with a flock eyeing me suspiciously. Still, by the time we crested the hill into Pencoed, two miles shy of Corwen, the clouds were parting like they knew we’d arrived. There it was: this charming detached farmhouse, perched a bit higher up with cracking views over the rolling Dee Valley and those brooding Berwyn Mountains. First impressions? Spot on. Cosy inside, light and airy, perfect for kicking back after a hike.

We’d booked it as a base for some proper walking, you see – nothing beats lacing up the boots and letting the Welsh countryside work its magic. Day one, the weather gods smiled: blue skies, crisp air, ideal for a gentle stomp along the valley paths right from the door. We wandered down towards the River Dee, past drystone walls and buzzards circling overhead. It was one of those moments where you proper feel small – the mountains stretching out like an endless green quilt, with wild ponies dotting the hillsides. We pushed on to a nearby spot by the river for a brew from the flask, laughing about how I’d nearly twisted my ankle on a hidden tussock. Pure bliss, that first hike; about five miles round, but it felt effortless.

Come day two, though, the British weather pulled its classic trick – woke up to horizontal rain lashing the windows. No way were we letting that scupper things. Bundled up in waterproofs that could’ve doubled as bin bags, we headed out for a shorter loop around the hamlet’s back lanes. Muddy as heck underfoot, mind – I slipped once and ended up on my bum in a puddle, which had us in stitches. Selfishly, it made me reflect a bit: how often do I let a bit of rain keep me indoors back home? Out here, it just added to the adventure, turning a simple walk into a comedy of splashes and soggy socks.

By afternoon, it cleared just enough for another go, this time aiming for the Berwyn foothills within easy reach. The paths were slick, but the views when we hit higher ground? Magic – mist rolling off the hills like smoke from a dragon’s nostrils. We spotted red kites wheeling about, and paused for ages just soaking it in. That evening, back at the cottage, we collapsed in the sitting room, tea in hand, windows framing the darkening valley. No telly needed; the day’s exertions did the trick.

A couple more days of this – sunny rambles one minute, dodging showers the next – and we’d clocked miles without even trying. The weather kept us on our toes, mixing epic vistas with laugh-out-loud mishaps, but that’s North Wales for you. Left me pondering how a bit of unpredictability makes the best memories. If you’re after a walkers’ haven, this corner’s unbeatable. Can’t wait to go back.