Improving your Wellbeing
- Jamie Crocker
- Jun 25
- 5 min read
Words by Jamie Crocker
The atypical charm of one of Kosel Treehouses’ charismatic hideaways – Daskor.
Known for its dramatic coastline, artistic appeal and a rich history derived from below the surface of the land and the peel of the sea, Cornwall is justifiably a popular spot for holiday makers. Separated almost completely from the rest of the United Kingdom by the river Tamar, whose meandering course from north to south only just fails to make it an island, the county possesses an idiosyncratic character that permeates its residents and structures alike. It is therefore incumbent upon those who seek to make a mark of their own that they embrace this spirit and offer something unique themselves. Patrick and Maddie Spink have done just that.
In the 1800s, the area above what is now Kosel Treehouses was steep, worked farmland. By the time it changed hands, nature had already begun its reassertion with wild flowers spreading, birds settling and trees reclaiming space. The new custodians saw its potential as a retreat for people, as well as a living, breathing woodland sanctuary. Each tree house was placed with care, built to tread lightly and leave as little trace as possible.
Today, Kosel runs entirely on renewable electricity, with plans for solar generation for Skapya and Kalmynsi in the future – Daskor already has solar panels. The work surrounding the three tree houses continues: planting new trees, reviving the older woodland and removing remnants of its farming past. Every step, from clearing rusting machinery to restoring the ground cover that woodland flowers need to thrive, is part of a long-term commitment to protect and enhance this corner of Cornwall. Set high above the Helford River valley, just beyond Gweek, the curved timber forms press out from the tree line like something grown rather than built. And yet, this is not some back-to-nature off-grid fantasy. They belong instead to a new kind of woodland living: architecturally refined, materially thoughtful and very habitable.
Accessed from the narrow, moss-fringed road that rises steeply from the village, winding between twisted Cornish oaks whose gnarled limbs beckon like outstretched arms, you feel as though there is something otherworldly in their gesture, as if the forest itself was ushering travellers toward a place suspended between worlds. Then, the canopy breaks, a shaft of light spills through the parting trees, confirming that you have reached the entrance to Kosel Treehouses. The incline eases, transforms into a driveway and Daskor stands revealed. There’s nothing showy, no grand gates or designer signage, just a smart, timber-clad form that pulls its geometry from the land.
Inside, the design follows the Scandinavian ideal: clean, unfussy, focused on light. Large panes of glass frame the woodland beyond, pulling it into every room. On overcast days, the house holds its warmth; when the sun appears, it glows. The heart of the building is its open-plan living area: a handsome velvet sofa, Jøtul wood burner, LP player, Smart TV and dining space that can accommodate painting, reading, or simply staring out. The kitchen is robust, well-stocked with utensils, logically arranged and blessed with a proper fridge, not the apologetic cube so common in other short-stay lets. You do not have to compromise here.
That balance of practicality and atmosphere carries through every part of the interior. The bedrooms, two generous kings, one with a trundle, sit at opposite ends of the property, affording privacy and calm. They are unpretentious but pleasing: natural fabrics, thoughtful touches, proper curtains. The bedding, from Piglet in Bed, earns particular praise. It’s the kind of linen you look up when you get home.
ABOVE: Images ©Chris Fletcher - Daskor
The bathroom, too, is no afterthought. Curved walls, underfloor heating, brushed brass fittings, and a rainforest shower come together with a sort of spa-like resolve. Tiles in deep forest hues echo the view outside, creating a through-line between interior and environment. It is not luxurious for the sake of it, it simply works well.
Outside, the terrace is edged in chestnut decking and elevated just enough to make you feel part of the canopy. Children play here instinctively, watching and listening. Adults drift to the bath, where steaming water and evening birdsong meet in the hush of dusk. Torches, a fire pit and barbecue equipment are all thoughtfully placed but never crowd the space.
Behind Daskor lies a generous meadow. Not formal, not landscaped, but open and natural, an untrimmed counterbalance to the tighter grain of the forest. It does important visual work, letting light into the rear of the structure, expanding the sense of space. The forest does not loom; it surrounds. In that, Daskor is masterfully sited. It does not retreat from nature, but nor is it swallowed by it.
What comes to the fore, perhaps, is how the space makes its occupants feel. On arrival, you’re greeted by clarity. Instructions are unnecessary. The area is clean and already warm. There is no scramble to claim a bed, to decode the cooker, or to locate a corkscrew. Everything works. And that effortlessness, the absence of friction, is rarely noted in guidebooks, but always remembered by guests.
The layout respects both togetherness and solitude. The long, curving central area creates just enough spatial separation so that early risers and late sleepers can peacefully coexist. Children, often the real test of any getaway, are quickly absorbed by their surroundings, television, a good table at the right height and enough space to roam without anxiety. Meanwhile, the adults could indulge in the romance of the setting: wine by the fire, shared meals, long soaks outdoors. It is rare to find a setting where those two experiences, family and coupledom, can exist simultaneously and without compromise.
ABOVE: © Tim Martindale - Curve appeal
Though there is no on-site reception, communication with Maddie and Patrick is smooth and responsive. Guests aren’t left in limbo, nor are they micromanaged. You’re given just the right amount of distance to feel free and just enough support to feel secure.
This kind of space has a rare ability to sharpen the senses without overstimulating them. To stay at Daskor is not to disappear into some hermit’s hut. It is to take advantage, however briefly, of a different rhythm. You notice what’s near: the sound of wind through beech leaves, a squirrel on the balustrade or the cool breath of air drawn up from the river below. You sleep more deeply. Eat more slowly. Read whole chapters in one sitting. None of this has been achieved through excess. The palette is restrained: forest greens, stone greys, soft woods, flax. Instead of decoration, there is balance. And it’s that very economy of style that gives the space its character.
Where some destinations aim to wow, Daskor chooses instead to attune. It meets its setting with a kind of reverence, drawing on the tones, curves and calm that define this corner of Cornwall. You could easily spend a morning here doing very little: coffee on the deck, watching mist rise through trees, children still in their pyjamas arguing about which branch looks most like a dinosaur. Later, you might walk down to the river or across the meadow, or you could drive into Helston or Gweek for supplies. The point is, there is no pressure or programme to follow.
In that sense, Daskor acts as a lens, narrowing your focus to what matters and quietly removing the stuff that doesn’t. You begin to dwell in detail: the shape of the light on the bathroom wall, the rhythm of footsteps across wooden floors, the relief of a sofa that’s actually comfortable. Small things. But they build, and by the time you leave, they’ve become large.
Kosel Treehouses may sound whimsical, but the thinking behind them is grounded. Daskor is not a novelty but a blueprint for something better. You arrive a little late, a little tired, a little preoccupied and leave not transformed, but re-aligned.
And that, in the end, is the true measure of a place.
