I’ll never forget the drive up to Ffestiniog last autumn – the leaves were turning that glorious mix of gold and rust, carpeting the winding roads through Eryri like nature’s own welcome mat. Me and my partner had been buzzing with anticipation for weeks, dreaming of cosying up in our little holiday cottage on the edge of the village. But typical me, I took a wrong turn just outside Blaenau Ffestiniog, ending up on a narrow lane that dead-ended at a sheep-dotted field. Cue a ten-minute reverse manoeuvre with the sat-nav yelling at us, both of us in stitches. “Well, that’s one way to arrive fashionably late,” I laughed, as we finally pulled up, hearts racing but grinning like idiots.

Stepping through the door, we were hit with this instant glow of warmth – the kind that autumn in Snowdonia delivers so perfectly. It’s an end-of-terrace cottage, dog-friendly and spot-on for a couple like us, with a thoughtful setup that felt like a hug. The woodburning stove was already begging for logs, and that massive rear garden stretched out with a hot tub steaming gently under overcast skies, all overlooking the rolling countryside that looked even more dramatic with the season’s mellow light. First impressions? Bloody brilliant – or rather, blooming marvellous, as my Nan would say.

The time of year shaped everything, really. Mornings started misty and crisp, mist clinging to the hills like a soft blanket, perfect for brewing tea in the well-stocked kitchen and plotting the day. We’d wander the short half-mile into Ffestiniog village, picking up fresh bread from the local shop, the air sharp with that earthy, fallen-leaf scent. One afternoon, we tackled the Llechwedd Slate Caverns, just a quick hop away – shivering underground in our jackets, marvelling at the history while the autumn chill outside made the warmth back at the cottage all the sweeter. The hot tub became our ritual: slipping in as dusk fell early, steam rising into the cooling air, stars popping out above the dark silhouettes of the Moelwynion hills. Pure magic, with a cheeky glass of mulled wine to fend off the bite.

Evenings were for stoking the stove, flames dancing as we sprawled on the plush sofa, cooking up hearty stews – think Welsh lamb from a nearby farm shop. Our dog, Monty, claimed his spot by the fire, snoring contentedly while we played cards, the wind occasionally rattling the windows like a gentle reminder of the wildness outside. There was this one moment of quiet self-reflection, sat there with the glow on my face, thinking how the shortening days and that golden-hour light made everything feel more intimate, more alive. I’d been knackered from work, but Snowdonia’s autumn stripped it all away, leaving just us and the rhythm of the seasons.

We squeezed in a gentle hike up to Llyn Parc Mawr reservoir, no more than a couple of miles off, where the bracken was turning fiery and the water mirrored the fiery trees. Slipping on mud once or twice had us chuckling – “Channel your inner mountain goat!” I teased. Back home, the garden felt like our private haven, leaves crunching underfoot as we watched the sun dip behind the hills. It was one of those trips that lingers, proving autumn’s the sneaky best time for Snowdonia: fewer crowds, deeper colours, and that cosy pull to hunker down. If you’re after romance wrapped in nature’s chill, book it – just mind the sat-nav.