I’ll never forget the drive down to Pembrokeshire last autumn – those golden leaves swirling around like confetti as we trundled along the A40, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a cheeky detour through some narrow lanes near Haverfordwest. We ended up behind a farmer herding sheep at a snail’s pace, which had us laughing and me questioning my map-reading skills again. But honestly, that little mishap just built the anticipation; by the time we crested the hill into St Ishmaels, I was buzzing to see our holiday house.

Pulling up to this cosy, welcoming spot in the heart of the tranquil village felt like slipping into a warm cardie on a crisp October day. First impressions? Spot on. Tucked away just 3.5 miles from Marloes and Dale, it’s perfectly placed for those Pembrokeshire coastal gems without the summer scrum. Autumn here transforms everything – the sea turns that moody slate grey, the cliffs glow rusty red, and there’s this fresh, briny tang in the air that screams proper getaway.

We wasted no time unpacking and heading out for a stroll around the village. St Ishmaels in autumn is pure magic: quiet lanes lined with hedgerows heavy with blackberries, which we picked shamelessly for our first evening’s crumble. No crowds, just us and the odd dog-walker, and the light – oh, that soft, slanting afternoon glow – made every path feel like a painting. A quick five-minute drive took us to St Bride’s Bay, 4 miles away, where the waves were crashing with real gusto under overcast skies. We wrapped up against the chill and crunched over pebbles, dodging the odd rogue gust that had me holding onto my hat like a fool.

The seasonal shift really shone through on our trips to Marloes Sands, just 4.5 miles off. Beat the summer hordes by miles; we had the vast golden beach almost to ourselves, with seals popping their heads up in the bay like nosy neighbours. The tide pools were alive with starfish and crabs, and that low sun turned the sand all sparkly – proper Instagram gold, if I’d bothered with my phone. Back at the house, we’d light the fire (bliss after a breezy walk) and cook up local treats from Dale, 3.5 miles away, where the sailing crowd thins out in autumn but the harbour’s still buzzing with a few hardy types kitting up for wind sports. We even nipped to Broad Haven, 5.2 miles up the road, for a fish and chips supper – greasy, perfect, eaten on the beach as the sun dipped early, painting the sky in fiery oranges.

One afternoon, mooching around Dale’s pebbly shores, I had a proper moment of reflection. Sat there with a thermos of tea, watching the kitesurfers battle the strengthening winds, I realised how autumn strips things back – no distractions, just you, the wild coast, and that quiet contentment. It’s humbling, innit? Makes you appreciate the off-season hush.

Evenings were for pottering in the house, playing board games by lamplight as rain pattered the windows – classic Welsh weather, keeping things cosy. Proximity to Milford Haven’s marina, 6.5 miles away, tempted us for a rainy-day jaunt; we grabbed pasties from a shop there and caught a film at the local cinema, all very low-key and lovely.

Pembrokeshire in autumn? It’s the unsung hero of holidays – raw, restorative, and ridiculously beautiful. We’re already plotting a return.