Ireland’s Cabu By The Lakes is the grown-up summer camp we’re all craving

When I was younger, I was obsessed with American summer camps. I loved them all – Camp Mohawk from The Baby-Sitter’s Club, Camp Waziyatah from Bug Juice and, later, Camp Firewood from Wet Hot American Summer. If I’m being honest, I even loved the camp from Friday the 13th. You know, before all of those pesky murders.

So it was inevitable that I would fall in love with Cabu by the Lakes, a collection of dinky log cabins set in the middle of Killykeen Forest Park, in Ireland’s County Cavan. Or rather it was inevitable that I would find myself relentlessly referencing said summer camps, whenever I spotted people heading out on kayaks or hopping into one of the rowboats lined up at the jetty.

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In my defence, the similarities are endless. At Cabu, the 28 wooden cabins are dotted throughout the woodland, each perched on a height so you can see the waters of Lough Oughter and the tips of the towering oak trees. All the activities on offer have that wholesome summer camp vibe, from the communal ping pong table to the s’mores you make at the fireside. Even the staff have the right look, dressed in checked shirt uniforms and with a fresh, pink-cheeked glow.

Of course, the overall feel is a little more grown-up. While there were a few kids knocking around, most of the other guests were couples or groups of friends reuniting after lockdown. And, as far as I can recall, the camp in Wet Hot American Summer didn’t have a hot tub hidden among the trees, where glasses of prosecco are delivered to you as you soak surrounded by forest. When it comes to the cabins, the aesthetic is more cabin porn and less dorm room. Think thick Aztec rugs, rolltop baths and copper cocktail shakers.

I arrived at Cabu with a couple of friends and an incredibly handsome dog, Vipp, soon after the last bout of restrictions were lifted here in Ireland. The scene-change between my tiny Dublin flat and the wide, open beauty of the forest felt profound. There’s a distinct scent to the air of the proper Irish countryside: heady, mossy and earthy, with a bit of dampness to it. Breathe in a lungful and you’ll feel your shoulders drop a couple of inches almost immediately.

Just walking around the campsite felt like a meditation, accompanied by the sound of the lake lapping against the shore and bicycles purring along gravel pathways. Each morning, we’d head down to the water and leap in before we could change our minds, kicking off the day with a shot of adrenaline stronger than any coffee. My morning plunge was made, obviously, on the proviso that an actual coffee would follow soon after.

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Luckily, the cabins were kitted out with genuinely good kitchens, rather than the ineffective stuff haphazardly thrown in with a lot of self-catering properties. Most of the kitchenware was far superior to anything I have at home – exposed shelves filled with copper pans, thick wooden platters and enamel dishes that made every meal we cooked look like an Instagram tableau.

We spent our days drifting between the Famous Five-style activities on the lake and dozes under blankets in the cabin, depending on what the weather was doing. I took out a stand-up paddleboard for an attempt that eyewitnesses could only describe as “embarrassing”. We rented a motorised wooden boat and took it out around the lake, to explore the tiny island of Cloughoughter and its 800-year-old castle, as swallows flew overhead.

When evening fell, we’d head up to the “Sitooterie”, an outdoor space with huge squishy armchairs, faux-fur cushions and a giant fire pit, for oozing s’mores and a warming glass of wine. It seemed that everyone had fallen into the same slower pace of life that we’d embraced. I had a chat with a woman who complimented my dress, while another girl raced back to her cabin to bring back a leftover tomahawk bone for Vipp.

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On my last morning, I woke up early. After a few minutes of quiet grumpiness, I decided to get up, wrap myself in one of the cabin’s Aran throws and head out to the deck with a cup of coffee. A moment which, had my friends not banned me from making any more references to Wet Hot American Summer, would have very much reminded me of Janeane Garofalo watching the camp kids running between cabins.

In this part of the country, it never really gets dark in the summer. The sky was a misty shade of blue, the edge of the clouds smattered with the merest suggestion of sunrise. Birds flitted between the tops of the oak trees, warbling the dawn chorus as they flew.

And, in the grand tradition of American summer camps, I didn’t want to go home.

Stena and P&O operate UK-Dublin ferry crossings. The ferry terminal is a two-hour drive away from Cabu.

Various airlines offers flights from the UK to Dublin Airport; Cabu is around a two-hour drive away.

Two-night breaks at Cabu By the Lakes start from €350 (£298) for two people.