Little Hill of my Heart
Bed and breakfast accommodation in Applecross 

Applecross peninsula:, the end of the road.

At Sand Bay, a few miles from Applecross, there's a sand dune that stands at least 100ft high at the back of the beach. And whenever I'm there, in a kind of ritual, I climb to the top. As I start my agonisingly slow ascent, my mind starts to wander and I'm reminded of the classic film The Hill, in which a young Sean Connery is tormented by an army drill sergeant who forces his men to climb an ever-shifting mountain of sand over and over again.

I like to think I have a little in common with the Bond-to-be, even if it's simply struggling with the ordeal of sand climbing. I end up in a heap at the top, unable to speak, my calves screaming in pain. Were Connery, on the other hand, to visit this exquisite part of the West Highlands, he would no doubt be fresh as a daisy and capable of making some memorable, whimsical remark at the summit.

Needless to say, my children reach the top in seconds and descend even faster, hurling themselves down recklessly or sand-surfing like penguins on ice. It takes me about six minutes. But when you reach the top you know why you came. Slump back into the sand and take in the view across the sea to Skye, and the hazy blue of the Cuillin mountains in the distance. On a busy day, the vast expanse of the beach beneath you could be packed with as many as 20 people. But then "busy" is not what Applecross is about; it's hard to get to, but the rewards are spectacular.

Applecross is a peninsula, part of mainland Scotland, in the West Highlands. The village itself is perched on the shore, but to get there by the most direct road route you need to do battle with another mountain. Bealach na Ba is the highest mountain pass in the UK and a test of both man and machine. The most hairy part of the journey starts after you leave the village of Lochcarron, which is a perfect place for a cup of tea and to fill up with petrol. From there the road narrows and the landscape and the drive become more challenging.

The single-lane road winds up the valley; the temperature drops and the land looks ever more bleak the higher you go. There's always a moment when you start to ponder potential crises: what if the car overheats, what if we meet a rather large lorry coming the other way, and what if the rear of the car slides off the side of the mountain and we're all left bickering in the style of the final scene of The Italian Job?

The road itself is a minor engineering marvel, hugging the side of the mountain and winding up impossibly acute hairpin bends. But when you get to the summit, take a moment to enjoy the 360-degree view and pay your respects to the cyclists who've got there the hard way.

The drop down to Applecross itself is the joy of this journey. Halfway down, you get a glimpse the sea. Minutes later you'll be able to see Applecross Bay, fringed with trees and dotted with houses. Then you make the final turn to the shoreline and there is a palpable sense of calm. The microclimate here means that this year locals boast that a peach tree has borne fruit; it's claimed to be the most northerly place that it's ever happened.

On a warm, sunny day you could be in a Scottish version of the Mediterranean. What's certain is that Applecross is not a place for those who seek laid-on entertainment. The village itself comprises a pub, a row of cottages and a small shop. There's a campsite perched above the pub and a walled garden cafe with perfectly tended vegetable patches. To compound clichés, this is an oasis of calm within an oasis of calm.

In the woods behind the restaurant is a tree-house with swings and ropes that will keep children happy for hours. But this part of the Highlands is perfect for walking – for packing a rucksack and exploring. It's not remote in an epic sense, but choose any of the paths that criss-cross the area and you can find a place all to yourself that you can claim for your own.

There's one particular walk we know as the Fairy Glen, a mile-and-a-half from the road and so quiet you just have to stop to take it in. Above you a tangled web of branches creates a natural tunnel. On one side towers a 20ft high bank of moss, peppered with tiny caves, some just a few inches high but deep enough to be pitch black. Inside each cave, waiting for you to pass by are the tiny people: elves, fairies, gnomes and sprites. Of course, you don't actually see them, but if you want evidence of magic you're missing the point.

If there were ever a place to suspend your cynicism and delight in the thought that you're being watched, then this is it. At the end of the walk, pick a beach or a rock and marvel at how beautiful Scotland can be. The sand at the northern end of the peninsula is white and soft, almost like the Caribbean. Some stretches are a paradise for shell-seekers. The water is crystal-clear and hugely inviting. I lasted all of two minutes in the water this year. It's the kind of foot-numbing cold that takes your breath away. Kids, of course, are oblivious, until they turn blue.

Wildlife is all around you up here. You just need to look. My wife claimed to have seen a golden eagle this year, which the rest of us derided as combination of wishful thinking and poor eyesight, but the next day, in the very same place she claimed to have spotted the rarely seen bird, we all caught a glimpse. It's one of those things you'd love to catch on camera but the photograph would probably look rubbish. You've just got to enjoy the moment. At sea there are seals basking on the rocks and, although we've never seen one, whales regularly pass by.

Many years ago, my children found the rotting corpse of what looked like a stingray. We left it in peace because it felt wrong to disturb it, but they still talk about it now. Last year we reached a deal on how many dead things we could take back to London: an entire sheep skull was the most prized possession.

Cold water, dramatic scenery and summer midges that can make an evening walk a complete nightmare are things that will never change in Applecross. Mobile phones are pretty much redundant; it's a place where you can easily forget the outside world.

But the outside world is coming to Applecross, in the shape of a wildlife expert called Monty. He arrived here a few months ago to make a documentary in which he'll be living in a croft and trying to survive. We watched him for a while as he busied himself rebuilding his new home, which is perched on a headland. It's hardly Big Brother, but in Applecross it's causing quite a stir.