On a fine summer's day with hundreds of cars parked and crowds milling around it certainly doesn't seem wild, but on a gloomy late-August evening as the ski paraphernalia faded into the mist I could soon have been miles from anywhere. A very well-made and much-tramped path climbs steadily up into the northern corries; after a couple of miles it was already getting too dark to see and time to put the tent up. Within half an hour I was asleep, enjoying a much better night's rest at 3000 feet that I ever get in any hotel or B&B where beds tend to be soft, duvets too warm and rooms overheated.

The drizzle and mist had cleared by early morning, though the midges were out, and after a quick, cold breakfast I was off before seven, climbing up to the high plateau. Mist filled the deep cleft of the Lairig Ghru below and rolled in over Speyside, the high tops remaining clear and calm under dappled cloud.

By 8.30 I was on the bouldery summit of Ben Macdhui, the second highest peak in Scotland. Southwards the skies faded into rain over Perthshire, to the east sun gleamed on the Grampians rolling beyond Deeside towards Aberdeen. In good conditions it is just an easy five-mile walk from the car park, but you visit these high tops only by kind permission of the mountains; the weather can often be truly apocalyptic and people have perished within half a mile of the road.

Already the first walkers of the day were heading upwards as I returned to pack up the tent (midges permitting). Back at the car park the circus was in full swing with hordes arriving by car and tour bus to ride up the funicular and experience the mountains from inside the cage which is the top station – visitors are not allowed out.

People lament the lost remoteness of Loch Avon and the northern Cairngorms, but in one sense nowhere in Scotland is truly remote; anyone with enough money can hire a helicopter and get to anywhere they like in a few minutes. However, by normal standards there are still plenty of places which are many hours' walk from the nearest road and most folk have no idea how far off the beaten track it is possible to get without leaving the shores of this overcrowded country. One such spot is a bothy I've agreed to help look after, somewhere high in the wild country west of Bonar Bridge. But not even this place has remained entirely immune from modern developments, one such is very obvious if you come in from the east.

Few tourists make it beyond Ardgay and Carbisdale, this is the territory of crofters and the hunting/shooting/fishing fraternity. Towards the end of the glen are the big, plush estate lodges of Amat and Glencalvie, and the Scots pine parkland leading onto Paul Lister's Alladale, of recent TV fame. The road comes to an end and you tramp westwards for many miles, heading up the long Glen Mor in the heart of the Alladale estate. There used to be an open bothy just a mile from Alladale Lodge at the foot of the magnificent Alladale Glen, which was maintained for many years by the Mountain Bothies Association until it was closed by the estate at the end of 2007. The latest brochure from Alladale Wilderness Lodge (summer prices from £180 per person per night for a party of 16, just 18 minutes by helicopter from Inverness Airport), includes a photo of a wedding couple posing on the bridge just beyond the bothy, where countless ordinary folk used to enjoy the wilderness for free.

Commercial interests have taken over. Not to mention Paul Lister's crazy plan to obtain a derogation from the new access rights so that he can keep people out and put a 30-mile electrified fence over the high ridges to create an outdoor zoo with bears and wolves and elk. (If he does this, I shall be the first to climb his fences and camp at the far end of the Alladale Glen!)

Already a smaller area has been fenced to enclose wild boar and a few elk; the lower part of Glen Mor and the high ridge above is disfigured by a huge electric fence bearing red signs "Dangerous wild animals, keep out". This supposed environment restoration scheme, like many so-called "green" projects, just destroys another bit of our wild country. All you need to do to restore the landscape is to shoot most of the deer and get rid of the sheep. And if you want to reintroduce bears and wolves and elk, do it without putting up fences and trying to make money out of the scheme.

The river running through Glen Mor.

Salmon fishermen were struggling to cast in the strong westerly funnelling down the glen, but it was a fine fresh late afternoon after rain and with a spring in my step I strode briskly up the miles of track leading round the big corner bluff to Deanich Lodge. A Land Rover, two dead stags in the back, came past, the men waving cheerily... this was the stag stalking season. The hills were purple with heather.

A few miles further on and the track comes to an end at hydro-electric works, a big weir and a tunnel taking excess water through the mountain to a reservoir. Now the country gets truly wild. It's a rough and pathless two miles up into the high glen where the bothy sits, passing under towering crags and huge, piled boulders with waterfalls pouring down the mountainsides. The final river is awkward to cross and can be an impassable obstacle in spate. A semicircle of Munros guards the upper glen from the west – you have to cross them to reach the nearest road.

The nearest habitation lies across those mountains, unless somebody is staying at Deanich, which is usually empty. It very often rains and blows, or snows. On a wild night on your own you can enjoy a solitude and peace here – no mobile phone reception or internet access, cut off by the rivers – which most city people would never imagine could still be found in Britain. Further hydro, or wind farm, or bears and wolves schemes seem unlikely here. Ironically it is so- called "green" schemes which now threaten our environment. Perhaps this spot may yet be preserved.

A fine early morning proved, as usual, deceptive, drizzle and low cloud soon moved in. I met the stalkers heading up the glen beyond Deanich and so knew that it would be okay to take a route back over the tops further east, keeping high above Glen Mor. Here were bare, stony ridges and remote lochans, mist and drizzle sweeping across from time to time. I could see down to the distant Alladale Lodge, perched on its high bluff amid the pines.

Descending to Glencalvie proved slow and awkward, the lower slopes very rough with long, lanky heather and bog. A right-of-way passes through the grounds of Glencalvie Lodge and suddenly I emerged into the incongruity of manicured grounds with tennis courts and people mowing the grass. Even the steep river banks are carefully managed with a made fishermen's path along boards with steps and rails. A fine array of tree-houses guards the entrance.

In the TV series, Paul Lister spoke of staying at the (very well equipped) Deanich Lodge as "camping". We're fortunate in Scotland with the new access rights which legalise wild camping and allow anyone to walk virtually anywhere in our country – and once you've bought the gear, it not only costs nothing but gives you a far better experience of the wilderness than any expensive hotel or visit to one of those plush lodges.

There is no need at all to spend hundreds of pounds to enjoy our wild country!

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