Derbyshire Drinking; Matlock to Wirksworth

Time to get the boots mucky again. A market town with a microbrewery was the destination, a corking inn with Thornbridge beers was the waypoint. And there was even time for some lovely lager....


Slabs of sun were falling onto the Derwent Valley as the train criss-crossed its way over river and up to Matlock. Which is as good enough place as any to start the walk, particularly as it has a beer shop, a 'Spoons and a wonderful butchers. But you can't have everything - well, not at quarter to ten in the morning. The shop, Peli Beers, was shut so nosing through the window was as close as I got to bottles by the likes of Howard Town, Derventio and Spire. The 'Spoons (The Crown) offered promise too with clips for Thornbridge McConnels and Amber Imperial IPA but... yep, they were 'coming soon'. At least the butchers, Hambridges, delivered on the breakfast front; a bacon and sausage cob positively straining with juicy protein. Reluctantly, I had to pass on the the lamb & cider pie and the sage & honey sausages but did secure a pork-pie half for lunch.

From Matlock, it was a steady grind uphill towards High Tor. Behind, the town sprawls in brick and stone over the hill. Ahead, the path works its way close to the edge of the Tor, affording great views of the 400 foot vertical drop to the valley floor. I passed up on the Giddy Edge walk - the cliff face on your left, two feet of rocky path under your feet followed by several hundred feet of fresh air to your right - and zigzagged my way down through the woods and past the cable car station into Matlock Bath.


The smell of chip fat warming up, ice creams being eaten just after breakfast, arcade machines spewing loose change - Matlock Bath is like Skegness's country cousin. Once more famous as a spa town, it's now a tourist trap rammed with candy-floss-faced kids and chip-fuelled bikers on any weekend when the sun shines. I took a constitutional stroll along the river before partaking of a pint at The Riva, a pleasant place on the main road overlooking the Derwent where you can while away the hours watching domestic disputes develop amongst daytrippers as they make execrable attempts to park their Chelsea tractors. I needed a quencher so none of their malty-clack-sticking Marstons would do the job. A pint of Stella went down easily. Yes, dear topers, I'm not averse to a jar of Samlesbury's finest.

I thought I may as well let the train take the strain for the next few miles. Partly due to laziness, mainly due to me wanting to get to the next pub sooner. At least it gave me time to wolf down my pork pie half from Hambridges. Good chunky mixture of meats in here, crispy enough pastry, though perhaps not quite enough jelly. The train was on time and was busy - Derby County were playing at home and it seemed every other passenger was a Rams supporter. Never mind, eh! We can't all be cultured. Off at the second stop down the line, the wonderfully named Whatstandwell, and ready for the real slogging section of the ramble.


From the river crossing to the pub, it was a long haul uphill. It was one of those slogs over fields, a steady rise that was fairly easy going over the bare fields with boggy corners. Although the view ahead wasn't that inspiring - field, sheep, field, field, sheep - looking back eastwards there was the impressive Crich Cliff topped by the war memorial of Crich Stand. Crossing over the Midshires Way, the path still rose relentlessly westward towards the village of Alderwasley. Cutting across the edge of the village, a farm track takes weary toper legs up to this stretch's final field where a handpainted sign points the way across to the far corner and a stile into the car park of The Bear Inn.



Here was the kind of pub that weary topers dream about. Rooms with eclectic furniture were tucked away at every turn, some hidden behind curtains, some with candelabra, most with lunchtime reservations. The small bar had a clear divide with locals clustered around the wrought iron fireplace to the left, whilst tourists roamed off to the right where the blackboarded menus could be found. Those locals were landowners and landworkers; shovel-hands scooping up frothing pints and slamming down dominos with equal vigor.

And Jaipur was on. I'd heard that the Bear was a regular Thornbridge outlet and a pint of their finest hoppy, sticky-round-the-gums IPA slipped down alarmingly quickly. I was sat away from the bar, in a cubby-hole with high back settles, near enough to the kitchen to hear the pub bell rang out for service... and the local's banter about beer prices. "I remember when that would buy you two calves" said one tweeded farmer. "Aye, or a crate of Guinness!" replied his stout friend.

More Jaipur followed as I meandered through the Saturday papers. The food looked gorgeous - roast beef dinners, steak and potato pie, lamb shanks - but I'd promised myself a short liquid lunch here. Which meant I could make room for half a Halcyon; another (stonger) Thornbridge IPA with a head like hide peppered by shot; a chill-hop-hazy body hiding viscous, wincing, wonderful hops. As it was (literally) downhill all the way from here to Wirksworth, I forced myself into having another half before the final leg.

I was truly Reluctant to leave the Bear behind, especially with Thornbridge in such fine form. But that walk to Wirksworth wasn't going to get any shorter. The ribbon of road along the ridge gave great views away over to Crich Stand and the Derwent Valley, before the slow and sometimes muddy footpath descent into the town. They'd been celebrating their newly-bestowed Fairtrade status that day, but it was all rather quiet now; the market has packed up, the major's tea party had supped up. I bought two hunks of flapjack from a bakery-cum-tearoom and dreamed of fish, chips and Jaipur....

But there was a pub I fancied visiting here - in the hope of getting some Wirksworth beer. The Hope and Anchoris one of those imposing busy-market-town pubs, multi-roomed with a lounge given over to flat screen TVs screaming out a music channel that the barmaid seems to wish she was appearing on. The bar was quieter, just a few paper-readers supping slowly. A newish Wirksworth beer - Bunny Hops - was good enough with a refreshing and sustained gentle hop feel, quenching enough at the end of a good day's wandering. As the local football team turned up and the smoothflow began to, er, flow, I beat a retreat for the last bus back to Derby.



Good food, good beers and only slightly sore feet. I'll certainly be back in the summer to sample more Thornbridge in the Bear garden (couldn't resist...) and visit Wirksworth on a market day to see what Fairtrade goodies are on offer.

And I have to say... the walk was made possible by two trains and two buses all covered by a Derbyshire Wayfarer ticket. Check with your local council / transport authority to see if they do a county-wide ticket - it's a great way to toper out and about.