Find real serenity in Gran Canaria

As mountaineering triumphs go, it was a decidedly minor one. I didn't need crampons for the ascent to the base of Roque Nublo; just a hire car, a good pair of trainers, and a bottle of water. The 64-metre basalt sentinel rises to 1,813m above sea level and is considered something of a symbol of Gran Canaria, not least because on much of the island you only have to look up to see it – it's clearly visible from as far away as the beach at Maspalomas, an hour or so to the south.

The island's excellent road network had taken care of most of the ascent from the coast, so that by the time I parked at the side of the road above the village of Ayacata I was already close to my goal. A gentle amble on a well-marked and fairly even path along a pine-clad ridge soon brought me to the only real challenge of the climb – a short, rocky section sufficiently steep to require me to use my hands here and there. It was just a short scramble, and I was soon at the top.

The rewards more than justified the embarrassingly modest effort. I emerged on to a narrow, bare, rocky plateau from which there were breathtaking views in all directions. The experience was somewhere between being on the deck of a very tall ship and being airborne – in short, not one for anyone susceptible to vertigo, though despite its volcanic origins the rocky platform was stable enough. Other Canary Islands may still be geologically active, but Gran Canaria hasn't blown its top in the last few thousand years.

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At the far end of the plateau was Roque Nublo itself – surprisingly chunky this close up, though the finger of rock looks graceful and slight from a distance. Its sheer rocky sides are best left to experienced rock climbers. To the west, rugged mountainous ridges tailed off ever more hazily towards the horizon, above which rose the unmistakable outline of Mount Teide on the distant Tenerife. To the north, the white village of Tejeda lay dozing in the sun, scattered across a lush terraced hillside that climbed to the northern rim of a vast, extinct volcanic crater.

Though the sky was a deeply satisfying shade of blue, a wispy tablecloth of white cloud poured over the lip of the crater, threatening to descend into the valley and engulf the view, but not quite succeeding. To the east, cool pine forests swept up towards the Pico de las Nieves, the highest point of the island; the roadside through the forests is dotted with picnic tables, and on the rare occasions when a thin carpet of snow blankets the top of the island it's often here the TV crews will film cars skidding and excited Canarians throwing snowballs. Most of the time, even in the middle of the winter, the sun shines and the temperature is that of a crisp September day in Britain.

If you're the active type, it pays to pack your walking boots, and to leave your preconceptions at home. The reliable sun that beats down on Gran Canaria's beaches also shines on the bikers and cyclists, climbers and hikers who flock here to escape the European chill, but who don't just want to lie basting on a sun lounger for a week. More than 40 per cent of the island's surface is a protected landscape. The geographical isolation of the Canary Islands means much of the flora and fauna is unique to the islands, and for this reason parts of Gran Canaria were declared a Unesco World Biosphere Reserve in 2005.

The tourist-brochure cliché about this, the most populous of the Canary Islands, is that it is a continent in miniature: the deep barrancos or ravines, steep slopes and volcanic calderas that characterise the island ensure a huge range of ecosystems and landscapes, from near-desert in the south to the lushest of subtropical greenery in the north. And because you can't often see from one barranco to the next, Gran Canaria feels much larger than it really is – so that hikes along the island's excellent, clearly marked caminos reales take on an epic quality that belies the relatively short distances involved.

But unwinding in the island's peaceful countryside doesn't have to be hard work. The rise of rural tourism means you no longer have to stay in the big resorts, and casas rurales – which can be anything from a snug traditional cave dwelling to a villa with a hot tub or pool – offer the prospect of serenity far from the coast's madding crowd: clean air, magnificent views and a complete absence of noise or fuss.

The newest rural hotels offer spa facilities, and, while the array of treatments can't compare to the big coastal hotels with their thalassotherapy centres, they offer a setting that none of the beachfront behemoths can match.

At San Bartolomé de Tirajana, the Hotel Las Tirajanas stands on a wooded ridge high above the village, with breathtaking views of the surrounding mountains from its balconies. Stay at San Bartolomé de Tirajana and you also get to discover the sort of sleepy, whitewashed Canarian village that many visitors to the coast will never see. It's a centre for the production of the fruit liqueurs – guindilla and mejunje – that are proffered by restaurants on the island as a digestif, and the district is dotted with orchards.

Side roads of alarming steepness and narrowness clamber into the mountains to reveal a Canarian idyll of date palms, whitewashed houses and a profusion of flowers. The revamped Parador at Cruz de Tejeda goes one better – it stands 1,560m above sea level and enjoys one of the island's finest views – and its spa includes a superb pool that reaches almost to the edge of the pine forest.

Fresh from my conquest of Roque Nublo, I slowed the pace of my afternoon with a lazy drive down into Tejeda, famed across the island for the beauty of its almond blossom and for the wonderful things it makes with almonds: I nibbled delicious biscuits and stocked up on bienmesabe, the blend of honey and chopped almonds that is the local speciality, and which graces many an after-dinner ice cream down on the coast.

Afterwards, I pushed on through the late-afternoon sun to Cruz de Tejeda, high above the village to the north on the rim of the caldera. Here, amid the market stalls that clutter the roadside in front of the Parador, the temperature fell abruptly as the trade winds made contact with the north face of the island. This prevailing wind was the reason for the cloudy tablecloth I had seen from Roque Nublo, and it's reason enough to take a jacket if you're exploring the centre of the island in winter, however balmy the temperatures might be on the coast.

Though the views south from Cruz de Tejeda over the multiple ridges of the island's heart are lovely, I didn't linger. Instead, I continued all the way up to the Pico de las Nieves, where I knew the car park would give me a grandstand view for the evening's best free show. As the sun set, the mar de nubes – or "sea of clouds" – at last swept across the rim of the crater to engulf the pine forests far below, crashing against the base of Roque Nublo like some incoming tide reaching high watermark. I had come prepared: I pulled my camera and tripod out of the car and snapped the sunset until the light was gone. Incredibly, I had the car park to myself; however spectacular the experience, it was also a rather solitary one. But serene? I'll say it was.

* Hotel Las Tirajanas, c/o Oficial Mayor Jose Rubio sn, 35190 San Bartolomé de Tirajana (00 34 928 123 000; hotel-lastirajanas.com). Doubles €100 until 30 November, then €126.

* Parador de Cruz de Tejeda, 35328 Cruz de Tejeda, Las Palmas. (00 34 928 012 500; parador.es). Doubles €122.

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