Scottish Jumper

Donald McBean may not have had time to weigh up the sheer folly of his circumstance in relation to his adrenalin levels and that feeling of self preservation which ultimately led to a fortunate escape from his enemies and pursuers back in July 1689.

Nowadays, his feat under extreme duress, would not be attempted without a very rigorous Risk Assessment likely to extend into quite a lengthy document in conjunction with, perhaps, computer modelling to determine such factors as optimum speed for take-off, co-efficient drag factors, air speed, ambient temperature and all that pseudo scientific mumbo-jumbo. Imagine the time scale required to apply for permission from the relevant authorities to undertake what was ultimately a desperate flight from, at best capture but a more likely grisly death.

Donald McBean was, way back then, also very alone and outnumbered.

In a modern scenario the support staff, Safety Marshalls, physio, back room officials and press entourage would be equivalent to a small encampment and would make that location a very crowded place. The subject of sponsorship and marketing opportunities would open up a vast range of possibilities. I could quite well see a commemorative key ring, ceramic mug, tea towel and Nike branded winged effect trainers amongst the glossy gift catalogue. The after event round of speaking at dinners, product endorsements and appearances on chat shows or walk on parts in movies would be most lucrative.

I suspect that Donald McBean was only hoping that his reward would be to get away from that place and die in old age attended by his family under his own roof.

Scotland in 1689 was a war zone.

James the Seventh had been deposed in the Spring of that year in favour of an open invitation from the rest , but predominantly English part, of the British Isles to William of Orange to take the throne. James' supporters from the Highland Clans, under the unifying title of Jacobites rose up in direct conflict with the Redcoat Government Forces. There were a series of running and pitch battles throughout the central part of the country.

Donald McBean was a Government Trooper and on the 27th July he was involved in a violent skirmish with the Jacobites who had startled the regular army with a ferocious and surprising assault. The location was the valley of the River Garry where it passed through, in peacetime, some beautiful and idyllic countryside of wooded slopes , broader vales and steep rocky gorges.

It was perfect ground, home territory for the Jacobites.

The Government Forces were easily routed and any formal and organised resistance disintegrated rapidly. It became a case of every Redcoat for himself. It is difficult to appreciate the terror experienced by Donald McBean as he was being pursued by kilt clad and fired up Scots down to the base of the valley.

The river was wider and slower for a short section. It was the height of summer but in the still typically predictably wet Scottish weather even for that time of year there was a good strong flow over the rock strewn river bed. The river bank was flat and passable and will have offered a good prospect of outrunning the Jacobite rampagers.

However, just ahead the river plummeted into a narrow trench through massive granite boulders which significantly increased the speed and noise into a torrent. The change in the valley profile from flat and broad to tight and sheer turned the escape route into a dead end. Perhaps Donald McBean was preparing for his flight by discarding his weapons, any webbing or uniform that was bulky or a hindrance as he ran. There will have been no time at all for a reasoned train of thought as he came up against the wall of rocks and boulders.

A single route to safety presented itself in a 'once in a lifetime' only opportunity.

Hesitation would lose him the critical forward motion and he would plummet into the deep, dark precipice and a watery grave. He did not slow down as his feet passed from the soft vegetation of the riverbank onto a flat, rain and wind worn slab of granite which projected out into the space above the white water rapids.

It must have felt like an eternity to Donald McBean from take-off through the spray misted air to a crumpled but welcome landfall on the far side.

He kept going and was reported by his enemy to have disappeared up and into the tree-line. They did not attempt to follow.

There is a small information board at the gorge for curious tourists and visitors all about what is known as Soldiers Leap at Killiecrankie.

The measured distance of the exploit of Donald McBean is stated as 5.5 metres or in Imperial terms about 18 and a half feet.

I have stood on that very spot as a visitor and can appreciate the depth and breadth of that void above the water. The coach load of school children who surrounded me showed excitement and a willingness to get as close to the edge, out of the sight of those in loco parentis, as possible. A couple of the larger lads got into a mock tustle over who should be the first to attempt a leap and with some egging on from the girls in the group.

A call went out to return to the bus. The bravado is forgotten in the departing crowd and I am left alone with my thoughts and the spirit of Donald McBean.

I cannot help but see the scene through his eyes.

For a very brief moment I feel out of breathe and exhilarated from fear. I sense my left leg lifting as my right leg takes my full weight ready to launch.

In my cagoule and walking boots and with no blood thirsty pursuers at my tail I relax and think about whether a tea towel or a mug would be a more appropriate purchase from the Gift Shop.