Bernie, we first met when I, a fresh Glasgow graduate, had just started working at the Lighthouse Field Station, Cromarty, Scotland. SMRU was based in Cambridge then and we, the Lighthouse team, had been charged with deploying the newest satellite transmitters onto the grey seals of the Moray Firth. Many of you know Bernie as the man who put smart-phones on seals heads, well in those days, the ‘phones’ were the size of bricks and we were under strict instructions to only catch individuals that weighed over 300kg, as only seals of that magnificent bulk could carry this new technology. Clumsily clad in an over-sized dry-suit (that very inconveniently zipped up the back), we deployed the Zodiac and off we set to find our seals. I should mention, at this point in time, I had never seen a live seal before, nor had I learned to tell the difference between a “common” seal (as we used to call them then) and the rather more daunting grey seal. I weighed approximately 60kg (plus the 6kg for the men’s size 10 boots on my dry suit) and as I was wondering how on earth I was going to ‘catch’ something that outweighed me so considerably, the “briefing” began! We were using the tried and trusted “rush-and-grab” technique, which involved a stealthy approach to a seal-covered sand bank, followed by a last minute, full-throttle “ram-the-boat-onto-the-beach” and leap, using the boats momentum to launch yourself (before the zodiac jammed to a dead stop in the sand) onto the nearest 300kg seal. On asking how I was to tell the difference between a ‘common‘ and grey seal, I was nonchalantly informed that when a common seal is running at you down the beach, it will swerve at the last minute, whereas a grey seal will hurl itself, jaws open, at your crotch. Bernie then quipped I wouldn’t need to worry about that as I had so much excess dry-suit doubled up and folded around my body that no seal would penetrate the padding! And so, the day ended, surprisingly without injury to scientist or seal, with two tags successfully deployed! We returned, exhausted and exhilarated and, leaving the inevitable ‘gluing-the bottom-back-on-to-the-zodiac’ til tomorrow, we adjourned to The Royal. All my memories of Bernie and the pub are hazy, not because of distance or age, but because the “just the one or two” nearly always becoming more, where spoon-playing and song-singing would dissolve into earnest discussions over which Runrig song/concert/album was the finest. Bernie’s passion for music and all things Caledonia shines through many of our encounters over the years, which I cherished all the more as my career took me away from Scotland’s shores. Back in those early Lighthouse days, you taught me things were nearly always impractical, but rarely impossible, and I have carried that lesson with me always.
One of my favourite ‘induction’ memories of Bernie was an evening at the first “major society” meeting I went to. The intense programme of presentations by the global gods of the marine mammal world culminated in a black-tie dinner, all of which was incredibly daunting for a newbie like me. I think it was during this meeting that I first realised how much SMRU was revered and what incredible advances had been made in understanding seal ecology, largely due to the telemetry techniques that Bernie and colleagues had pioneered. Feeling deeply honoured to be seated at the SMRU table, I wondered why we were way down the back, far from the top table and speeches. Surely SMRU were one of the most published, innovative and ground-breaking teams in the marine mammal world and we should be more prominent at such an event? It soon transpired that the SMRU crew were also infamous for being a little boisterous. As Bernie detailed several previous ‘unfortunate incidents’, he explained that this was why he had cut down on the usual “carry oot”, as he whipped out ‘just the two’ bottles of whisky from underneath his jacket. Needless to say, the memory of that night is hazy too, but SMRU did not redeem their reputation on that occasion.
Oh Bernie, news of your passing has not yet sunk in and it is with a heavy heart I try to accept that we will no longer have that “quick chat” (2 hours plus then to the pub), clatter spoons (which you were so very good at) or lustfully belt out “Alba” at the top of our lungs, as we did many a time as last orders were called. Dear Bernie, safe passage in whatever waters you sail in now ……
And we’ll sing,
And we’ll sing,
Of the ties that bind forever,
We will sing.
(Runrig: Party on the Moor, 2014)