The Yorkshire Vet, Julian Norton faces a vertical challenge during a trip down memory lane

The sunny weather had left all the trails in perfect condition, green buds were appearing on the trees and spring was in the air.

The ride was fantastic, but I was late back due to a snapped chain. This messed up the main part of the weekend – a reunion with my old university climbing pals on Saturday night.

Cambridge University Mountaineering Club is one of the oldest and most prestigious climbing clubs in Britain, founded in 1905. I don’t think any of its members in the 1990s really appreciated this history.

Certainly, very few of us followed in the footsteps of previous climbing greats. But what we lacked in skill we more than made up for in enthusiasm.

My time in the club was filled with fun times and great characters. The steep gritstone of Almscliffe crag, Ilkley and Brimham were excellent training grounds for further forays: winter trips to Ben Nevis or Glen Coe and weekends to the huge and intimidating sea cliffs in Devon and Cornwall.

It wasn’t long before we had cravings for the bigger peaks of the French and Swiss alps.

These were happy times for us all, hitching a carefree lift from Cambridge to the Peak district, climbing all day until our hands bled, then drinking until last orders before sleeping in a cave, back at the crag.

Of course, for most of us, our studies eventually took priority. I had to concentrate on learning how to become a decent vet and climbing took a back seat.

One friend, who was a superb climber and also a mathematics genius, set about a PhD. Reportedly, he cracked the complicated equations in just three weeks but didn’t confess, leaving him free to continue his passion for the rocks and crags without the hindrance of university schedules!

So, the chance of a reunion with some of my old friends was hard to resist. Since I had missed the Saturday evening rendezvous because of the chain accident, I arranged to meet them at the crag on Sunday morning. I parked at the bottom and made my way upwards, with Emmy.

I’d forgotten how awesome Stanage Edge is, and I felt quite emotional to be back.

I was a bit concerned that I might not recognise people whom I had not seen for almost thirty years. I need not have worried. I could spot them from miles away. Tim even had the same helmet I think, with the same wispy unkempt hair protruding out of the sides.

Apart from one member of the group who had silver hair, everyone looked exactly the same, although I was the only one with the same rock boots. We were an eclectic bunch back then and it was nice to see that the vein of non-conformity continued in some.

There was a boat builder, a maths professor and one guy who had a firework company. But the best bit was the climbing. I sat on top of the crag, feet dangling groundwards next to the ropes.

I’d enjoyed the same view many times before, wishing the sun would hang around so we could stay there longer. As a student, when working in a dusty carpet factory in Wakefield as a holiday job, with the spectre of an unpleasant week’s work ahead, I wanted to stay on the sun-drenched rock as long as possible.

At least today the prospect of work on Monday morning filled me with as much joy as watching the sunset and reuniting with friends and kindred spirits. It was a great day.