Within reason I've no objection to more houses filling in gaps where people already live, or where ruins indicate former habitation. But how can any planning department have permitted, for example, that ribbon development taking place along the Gillock to Wick road, especially outside Gillock? Or all those huge mansions springing up along roadsides, miles from anywhere, where nobody has ever lived before?

All these houses come with oil-fired central heating and at least two cars for long drives to the towns and work – hardly environmentally friendly. A cycle ride in eastern Caithness is increasingly becoming a matter of simply passing one house after another. Perhaps a positive effect of the recession will be to put an end to all this urbanisation of the countryside!

Yet wild land is still never far away in Caithness. The proximity of really wild places to civilisation is one of the characteristics of the county, in spite of the efforts of wind-farm and other developers to spoil the place for good.

It's always tempting to use the car to get out into the moors and mountains of the Far North. Yet once in a while it is good just to spend a day walking or cycling near home, to appreciate how much fine and unspoilt scenery has managed to survive in spite of the best efforts of some to turn the county into another south-east England.

One of my favourite round walks from home is about 20 miles in length but with virtually nothing on roads. It takes in moorland, farmland, forest, rocky coastline and river; the only scenery lacking being that of high mountains. On a bright morning of broken cloud and very cold westerlies I set off over the hill, two miles before crossing the first road then another mile over fields before an unavoidable short road stretch to pick up the track leading down to Murkle Bay ( I say unavoidable – once, in dense fog, I somehow managed to walk all the way to the coast without seeing a single house and only crossing two roads. I still don't know what route I took!).

One should search for and collect at least one "groatie buckie" from the white shell sands before carrying on westward. I always like the walk round the coast to Thurso, there's a little path all the way and no real obstacles. The quiet coast and neighbouring farmland are worlds removed from the busy Castletown to Thurso road. Fine breakers often roll in, especially off Claredon Head; an otter or a fox will quite likely be seen. The new sewage works towards Thurso spread an interesting aroma over this part of the walk, further on hardy surfers were actually camping at Thurso East and braving the force-six winds in the sea.

The town always has a completely different feel to it when you've walked in from the country. There are plenty of friendly places to enjoy a coffee and a snack before carrying on south along the river, keeping to the west bank down the Mall as there is still no replacement bridge below the cemetery. Once past the ruins of Bleachfield Farm, the river scenery is surprisingly good along the banks below the railway; at Geise, big salmon were splashing and swimming upstream through the shallows.

The Castle of Mey silhouetted against the winter sun.

The southbound train had just passed so I knew it was safe, if not strictly legal, to cross the river by the railway bridge and carry on along the eastern side of the river to Sordale. Crossing the main road I climbed up onto Sordale Hill with its ancient chambered cairns – built long, long before Neil Oliver's History of Scotland began – and with one of the best views of the Thurso river valley. Ahead, beyond the reservoir, is the proposed site of the Durran wind farm. The case against building it is overwhelming as it would totally dominate and despoil this area. I waved two fingers at the anemometer mast before crossing the site to enter the shelter of a pine and spruce plantation; very peaceful to sit on a bench for a few minutes out of the wind as dusk was falling, before the longest road stretch of the walk – just half a mile home.

A week later, and a bike ride made me realise how Caithness is becoming like some of those northern states of America where, in winter, nobody ventures outside other than in cars or under cover. Dawn came up under a grey sheet of high cloud, with frost and a bitter south-east wind picking up. I cycled into Thurso where I had to call on a few houses. What struck me was that the place seemed almost dead except for a growing volume of car traffic which had turned into a veritable school rush-hour as I pedalled out towards Castletown. Nobody goes anywhere these days without first thinking "car".

By the time I'd reached Dunnet the roads were quiet and the peace of the grey, early winter day had enveloped the countryside. On by Scarfskerry and Mey to John O'Groats and Duncansby Head – an enjoyable ride in a freshening cold wind. Tourists were few and far between on the headland in the lazy wind (which goes through you rather than bothering to go round). But the stony beaches below the stacks were crowded, certainly over 100 grey seal pups lying out with their mothers and a few large bulls. Most of the pups were still in their white fur. All had been born in the six weeks since I'd last visited when the beaches had been empty. These seals are large, potentially dangerous, wild animals; it doesn't do to get too close as the mothers may attack to defend their pups. Also, the young seals can be well hidden and if you accidentally trod on one or got within reach it would give you a very nasty bite. So best observe from a distance.

The cliffs echoed with the mooing of the adults and the occasional baby-like crying of the pups. Out at sea the waves were white-crested as the flood tide fought the strengthening south-easterly wind.

Rain was starting to sheet across in front the towering stacks. Wild seas, wild weather, wild animals. Yet so close to the sheltered town life of Thurso and Wick, and indeed to the warmth of the café at Groats where I was enjoying a capuccino less than an hour later.

Later that afternoon the rain briefly cleared, the setting sun gleaming between the clouds, illuminating the Dunnet sand dunes a golden yellow, almost like a range of mountains. Skeins of wild geese flew in towards Loch Heilan, calling.Yes, Caithness is still quite a wild place. And a very special one. Let's keep it that way.

Sand dunes at Dunnet illuminated by the setting sun.

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