There are certain places that become spiritual homes over time, where friendships deepen, passions thrive and mishaps turn into cherished memories. For me, Derbyshire is one such place. A quaint little cottage called Sunnyside, perched on the hillside above Matlock, often lay at the heart of these adventures. In the autumn of 1997, newly freed from the constraints of school and enthralled by my first term at university, I found myself journeying northward again and again for weekends of climbing, catching up with old friends and savoring home-cooked treats. One particular September weekend stands out as a gateway to countless more visits.
Saturday:
Saturday morning, I left my university digs around 11:00 a.m. Reaching Coventry train station required a short trek from an ill-marked bus stop although once aboard, the day’s rail odyssey began. First came the crowded train to Birmingham New Street, then a packed one-carriage service to Derby, standing room only for about thirty travelers. Finally, I caught a third train to Matlock, a modest branch-line terminus marking the fringe of the Peak District National Park.
At Matlock station, my friend Charlotte arrived, having been coaxed into chauffeur duty by our mutual friend, Ad. We headed to Stancliffe Hall, a place that already felt like a second home. While I waited for the evening’s plans to unfold, I flicked through my newly acquired Pascal programming book, one of my computer science texts. (A year later, we’d switch to Java, how technology has soared since those days!) Then it was off to Sunnyside.
Sunnyside was more than just a place in those years. Over the following years it was to become a well-worn anchor for countless climbing weekends, delicious home-cooked meals, and impromptu sleepovers in the sitting room. With the rain coming down, outdoor climbing was off the menu, so we drove to The Foundry climbing wall in Sheffield. Even then, The Foundry was legendary, a tall echoing space teeming with routes and bouldering problems. After battling resin holds, we rewarded ourselves with a cheap and cheerful curry from a local spot, swiftly grabbing some BYOB beers from the pub across the road as traffic whizzed by.
That evening, we reconvened at Sunnyside, unwinding over beers and garlicky bread. It was only then I realised my sleeping bag was still at my friend’s flat. So much for a cozy night, though it was too late for regrets!
Indoor walls are great for honing technique although the Peak District’s gritstone edges hold a special place in my heart. Over the years, I joined a flurry of trips up from university with friends. On one such trip I was climbing with Charlotte and Ad suggested I lead the classics P.M.C. 1 at Curbar Edge. The route may be graded HS 4a, but don’t let the “Hard Severe” fool you: at 15 meters, the climbing is steep and punchy, culminating in a thrilling, exposed finish on sloping holds. Few moments rival the relief and elation of pulling over that top ledge. I tackled many of such climbs with Ad, an ex-schoolteacher known for phrases like, “Just climb up there; it was VDiff in my day!” only to find the guidebook now had it at HS or even VS. Perhaps the rock got steeper over time or maybe Ad’s recollections were tinted with nostalgia.
Sunday:
Sunday dawned gentler, with an 8:30 a.m. wake-up and a welcome cup of tea. Soon after, Ad and I headed to Stancliffe Hall to work on a video-editing project: converting old slides from school expeditions in places like Rum and Jura into a digital format. The software was fiddly, the hardware primitive although half the fun lay in the challenge, right!
Lunch came courtesy of leftover school meals, courtesy of Ad. Some dubious cut of lamb that hunger made us forgive. With the rain persisting, we skipped the crags and returned to The Foundry for another indoor session. It was busier than the previous night although I still managed a personal victory: completing the 6a corridor bouldering problem until my forearms burned.
Late afternoon arrived too soon, and I reversed my train journey: Matlock → Derby → Birmingham → Coventry, then back to campus. Another weekend in Derbyshire concluded, but I knew I’d be back soon enough.
A Continuum of Friendship and Climbing
That weekend kicked off years of repeated visits, cherished climbs on Stanage, Froggatt, Curbar, and the countless lesser-known edges scattered across the Peak. Whether I was tagging along with school groups or simply swinging by for a post-climb cuppa, Sunnyside always felt like a home away from home. Charlotte’s legendary cooking was reason alone to drop in and if you’re curious about her current pursuits, you can find her culinary flair shining at the Food and Photography Retreats she hosts with her husband, Niall.
Of course, not every memory was gilded: there were sketchy leads, bruises, and the cat’s claws digging into me when it decided my sleeping bag was prime real estate and then I rolled over in the night. Then there was that time my bouldering guidebook got left out in a thunderstorm. Amazing after it dried out and with a bit of gaffer tape, it still survives, a testament to gritstone resilience.
Yet overall, Derbyshire offered a precious continuum: the comfort of close friendships, the thrill of climbing progression and the simple joy of swapping stories late into the evening. In so many ways, those trips shaped the climber and person I became.
Eventually, life pulled me away to the south coast for work and on to new horizons. Even so, each return to the Eastern Edges feels like reuniting with an old friend. The gritstone stands steady, as it has for millennia, quietly welcoming me back with every footstep on that worn path along Curbar, Froggatt or Stanage. As luck would have it a decade later I had the chance to move closer to the eastern edges and my climbing escapades were replaced by running adventures although more on that another time.