I was nervous before my solo stay in a remote Scottish Highlands cabin - but the solitude is glorious

As a lone female traveller, the prospect of staying in a hut on Rannoch Moor is daunting, but the silence of the mountains and lochs turns out to be 'the ultimate luxury'

In the gloaming, the trees stand dark and impenetrable on either side of the path. An owl, wide-faced and pale as a spectre, glides out of the pines ahead of me. Heart pounding, I pick up speed and continue uphill, the silence thick around me.

Just a few minutes earlier, I had been scuffing my feet in the sand by the loch shore, watching as the clouds draped themselves across the top of the Grampians. In the absence of other people, Loch Laidon, silvery in the half-light, had been mine to enjoy; in the woods, however, my solitude feels unnerving.

It is not long before I break out of the trees, following rough boards over boggy moorland to reach the top of the nearest hill. Below, past the green viaduct that carries the West Highland Line, stretches the eastern edge of Rannoch Moor, with layer upon layer of Perthshire's hills beyond that. Out in the open, my fears dissipate - there is no one here, except for me and the fieldfares that fly squeakily away at my approach.

I have come to Rannoch station to spend two nights alone in a place that is, by most people's standards, remote. A dead-end sign at the western end of Loch Rannoch had marked the last part of my drive here, with the words "No road beyond Rannoch station" below. The station and the very small community around it lie five slow miles further on, with the road running first through the flat strath (valley) of the River Gaur, and then up and over the moors as mountains dip in and out of view.

My accommodation, the Star Hut, sits on a small slope just a few hundred yards from the station, its face turned towards Rannoch Moor. It is a small and perfectly formed wooden structure, housing a double bed, two chairs, a fold-up table, microwave and fridge, plus essentials such as OS maps, binoculars, compass, torch and a decanter of Scotch. There is, however, no shower, and the toilet facilities are the ones on the station platform - using the bathroom before bed means walking past a skittish herd of hinds, whose wide eyes glitter in my torch light. It's no real struggle, though, particularly when I'm woken the next day by a streak of yolk-yellow sun and a view across the empty moor.

There are two main reasons visitors come out to the end of the road here: for the walking and the station tearoom. As the first customer of the day, I have my pick of the tables and choose a window seat, from which I can look out over the tracks and Loch Laidon beyond. Despite it being the tail end of the season, within half an hour the small space is packed with people grabbing breakfast before the next train. When I go to pay, I ask for a slice of the pink cake on the counter and the owner, Sylvia, lowers her voice to tell me about the other cakes out back. "If I put them out now, they'll all disappear," she says, conspiratorially.

With a huge, somewhat clandestine, slice of carrot cake tucked into my rucksack, I take the 11.09 train one stop north to Corrour, a spectacular 12-minute journey through the moor. The highest railway station in the UK, Corrour is also the most remote, accessible only by train, bike or on foot - a fact that feels rather at odds with just how busy it is on the platform and in the adjoining restaurant.

It is 11 miles from here back to Rannoch station, on a clear path that cuts across Rannoch Moor. I pass a couple walking their dog at a leisurely pace, and two cyclists going in the opposite direction, but as I climb up above Loch Ossian the track is blissfully empty.

It is a glorious Highland morning, the sun warm on my face and the shadows of the cotton-wool clouds dancing across the slopes of the surrounding hills. Walking alone makes my focus keener: the browns and greens of the moor seem more intense; the cry of a buzzard as it circles overhead more eerie; the crunch of the gravel beneath my feet and the whistle of the wind in the grass louder. It's just me and the landscape, and the subconscious act of putting one foot in front of another. In my normal, at-home life, my head is always full of the countless things I need to do and remember; out here, that running commentary is silenced. As I climb further up, I turn around and take in the view: Loch Ossian like a sheet of metal below, and in the distance a staggering lineup of mountains that includes Ben Nevis. My "wow" gets swallowed up by the wind.

It is around the four-mile mark that I start flagging, all too aware that I still have almost double those miles ahead of me. The hills opposite, flanking Blackwater Reservoir, are shrouded in a mist that makes a hasty approach towards me, and the rain arrives when I am partway through putting on my waterproofs. And then it passes, so quickly it's almost as if I've imagined it, taking my low mood with it. When I reach a ford that is too deep to cross without soaking my boots, I whip them and my socks off to wade through the ice-cold water with the glee of a three-year-old.

In the five hours the route takes, I only meet three people: a French couple who are picnicking so quietly by the side of the path that I am taken by complete surprise, and a hiker from Northumberland walking the route in reverse. "I just can't get enough of the Highlands," he says, and I agree enthusiastically as we stare out at the undulating moor, littered with jewel-like pools that shine under the constantly changing sky.

When I arrive back at Rannoch station, its little cluster of buildings feels like the height of civilisation after the moor. I bump into Bill, the Star Hut's owner, who tells me that he and his wife, Jenny, are two of only four permanent residents here. "But our community stretches to Kinloch Rannoch [16 miles east] and beyond," he says. "Everyone knows everyone." I think of my own cul-de-sac back home, where I know the names of only about half a dozen people, and think perhaps my perception of remote is entirely wrong.

Back at the hut, I sit on the steps and finally dig into my carrot cake, looking out at the landscape I have just crossed. Last night, so much of it had seemed forbidding and unknown; today, it feels anything but. Being alone out here feels like the ultimate luxury.

The Star Hut can be booked through Airbnb (two nights from £170). Rannoch Station Tea Room is open from late March to late October (Saturday to Wednesday); a 24/7 honesty box is open on the station platform all year, for hot and cold drinks and snacks, as well as the bathroom and shelter. ScotRail services run to Rannoch from Glasgow Queen Street, and the station is also on the Caledonian Sleeper route between London Euston and Fort William