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On December 28th 1734 Scotland’s famous outlaw, Rob Roy MacGregor, died at home in his bed.

Rob Roy has been represented as a bit of a rogue, a Scottish Robin Hood, a hero and even as an out and out criminal. The difficulty we have is that life in the highlands in those days was a far cry from the life we see today. Life was hard, and the highlands were still in the turmoil of the Jacobite risings and the beginnings of what was to become the United Kingdom.

The Clan loyalties were still fairly strong, some still are and Rob Roy is still a subject that can provoke fierce debates, many of you might think of him as the lovable rogue type but he was far from that. Much of his life was spent either stealing cattle or offering a protection racket charging farmers a percentage of their annual rent to ensure that their cattle remained safe. I say farmers but they weren’t the rich ones owning swathes of land, they were more like crofters, they paid the Laird to stay on the land and it didn’t come cheap so when the likes of Rob Roy came knocking it hit them hard in the pocket and those who did not pay regretted it he had them stripped of all they possessed.

A little known fact is that when the MacGregor name was outlawed Rob Roy used his mother’s name, Campbell, not a well liked name in the Highlands, especially after the events at Glencoe in 1692.

I’m not saying he was all bad just putting another spin on the story instead of the romanticised one that was perpetuated, first by Daniel Defoe then Walter Scott, both Royalists yet Rob Roy was a Jacobite! In my opinion he wasn’t all he seemed, as a Jacobite he was at the point of being transported to Barbados in 172 yet was pardoned by George I, there’s more to that story than meets the eye, in my opinion……

Throughout all these exploits Rob Roy managed to hold his MacGregor Clan together. Born into a protestant family, he became a Roman Catholic in his later years. He died peacefully in his own bed at Balquhidder in 1734.

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Scenes from a night trail.

Took a walk down the Clansman trail at dusk yesterday. It seemed like a good idea when I started. Darkness fell as I reached the last half mile, which is a steep, slippery trail strewn with fallen leaves through ancient Caledonian Forest. Thankfully it's pretty straight as I wanted to preserve my headlight battery for the return journey. The temperature was literally at freezing point and was looking forward to a warming cup of mocha at the Clansman Hotel. Mistake; it was an out of season Sunday and the hotel was shut. Oh well. Only four miles and a 1400 foot hill between us and home. I toyed with the idea of phoning home for a lift, but that would mean dragging my wife out for a 20 mile road trip in freezing conditions. Oh, and there's no cell phone signal down here. Hike it is then. The first mile saw 750 feet of gain. I was down to my base layer and still dripping. The second mile was easier, adding only 450 feet. The elevation meant the temperature dropped below freezing and wind chill dragged it lower still. Another layer went on. The third mile took us out onto the tops. Now it was cold. Final mid and outer layers went on. Still we climbed. The tops are undulating so you climb, descend and climb again before reaching the summit. That's the summit cairn with the lights from Inverness and Dores beyond. From there it was a slither along the icy trail back into the forest and home for a hot shower. Three hours, eight miles and 2012 feet of gain. I'll take that. Hello December.