I’ll never forget the drive to Castleton Premier Lodge – a proper Peak District jaunt that started with me taking a wrong turn just outside Bakewell, thanks to my sat-nav deciding to have a midlife crisis. Picture this: me, swearing under my breath in a hire car stuffed with crisps and walking boots, suddenly veering off the A6 onto some narrow lane that looked more like a sheep’s personal runway. Classic me, isn’t it? But honestly, that little mishap was the best thing that happened. Instead of the usual tourist crawl, I stumbled right into the heart of Derbyshire Dales, arriving at the lodge with the sun dipping low over the limestone hills, feeling like I’d earned my welcome.

Pulling up to Castleton Premier Lodge on that first afternoon was pure magic. Tucked away in a quiet nook near Ashbourne, it’s one of those proper stone-built beauties – think cosy cottage vibes with a hot tub bubbling away like it’s inviting you for a dip before you’ve even unpacked. The owners had left fresh scones and jam on the kitchen table, which I demolished while gazing out at the garden framed by those classic Peak District drystone walls. First impressions? Spot on. It’s got that welcoming hug of a place, with fluffy towels, a wood-burning stove ready to roar, and views that make you forget the world’s gone potty.

But the real joy kicked off as I set out for a wander, no map, just vibes. I’d planned a gentle stroll to Castleton village, all of two miles away, but true to form, I took a left instead of a right at a fork in the path. Suddenly, I’m off the beaten track, weaving through a hidden limestone dale that felt like it hadn’t seen a soul since the cavemen packed up. There’s this secret spot – a tucked-away gorge with a babbling brook and wild garlic carpeting the banks. I sat on a mossy rock, boots dangling in the water, munching a cheese butty I’d rustled up from the lodge’s well-stocked fridge. No crowds, no Instagram hordes, just the sound of water and the odd curlew calling overhead. Who knew getting lost could taste so good?

Day two dawned misty, perfect for more accidental exploring. From the lodge, I followed what looked like a faint sheep track uphill, away from the main drags to Speedwell Cavern or Peveril Castle. Bloomin’ marvellous – it led me to a forgotten quarry overlook, one of those off-the-radar gems where the rock face plunges dramatically into a fern-filled ravine. I picnicked there with a flask of tea, chuckling at how I’d nearly twisted my ankle on a loose stone earlier, only to land with a view that stopped me in my tracks. The Peak District’s full of these surprises; you think you’re heading for the obvious beauty spots, but the best bits hide in the hedgerows and holloways.

By evening, back at the lodge, I fired up the hot tub under a sky turning raspberry pink. Sinking in with a cold lager, bubbles massaging away the day’s miles, I had one of those quiet moments. Staring at the hills, I reflected on how daft it is rushing through life’s paths, always chasing the marked trails. Getting lost here – properly, blissfully lost – reminded me there’s joy in the detours, the unplanned pauses that let the place sink in. Castleton Premier Lodge isn’t just a base; it’s a launchpad for those serendipitous finds that make the Peaks unforgettable. Three days in, and I was already plotting my return, mishaps and all.