If you don't recall your geography lessons, for shame. Your teacher put a lot of time and effort into trying to mold your mind. Your inattention is why she went home and drank wine and cried to her cat every night. Be that as it may, here's a quick reminder of Scotland's location:
|Jamie Fraser resides in the Scottish Highlands. And in my heart.|
Scotland's greatest attraction to uncomfortably warm Englishfolk, however, was the countryside. A fair number of English lords owned estates in Scotland. An invitation to a house party on one of these Scottish estates was quite the hot commodity come summer. Guests descended on the host's home for a stay of a week or two, sometimes upwards of a month. During this time, the company engaged in civilized activities such as after-dinner charades, musical evenings, horseback riding, and stealing kisses in the hedge maze.
Others owned a property called a "hunting box," a quaint term which could refer to a house ranging in size from a cabin to a mansion only slightly less grand than the family heap. The hunting box's prime distinction was that it was a retreat for the sporting gentleman, rather than a family home. Here, a man might pass a couple weeks with his friends, partaking in such manly pursuits as hunting, fishing, and... well, it was pretty much hunting and fishing. Maybe they wrestled bears, too. I don't know.
|The moor, aka Scotland's Nebraska.|
Land-bound game, such as hare and deer, were also defeated by the Regency huntsman. Oh, and did I mention the "cub hunt"? This was a pastime in which inexperienced riders could practice hunting baby foxes. So. Very. Manly.
Perhaps more picturesque than the grouse moors were the fishing spots. Rivers, streams, and lochs provided cool water for swimming, foot dangling, and shoving unsuspecting buddies. Fly fishing was the method by which men later boasted about how they came thisclose to bringing in an absolutely enormous trout. No, really, you guys, you should've seen this thing. It darn near pulled my arm out of the socket.
|Loch Lomond, upon the bonnie, bonnie banks of which I shall never again meet my true love.|