The real reward is to know you have made a difference SEASHORE SAVIOURS!
Waist-deep in the bitter Tay, our writer struggles with a two-ton artificial whale as she joins the sea-mammal medics, the...
IAM standing waist deep in the Firth of Tay, trying to keep a two-ton whale afloat. ‘We move on the count of three,’ shouts a medic – and on three, eight of us wade into deep water, pushing a large floating pontoon onto which the whale has been delicately placed. The last time I was on Broughty Ferry beach I ate an ice cream. This time I’m wearing enough waterproof gear to cover a school of porpoises and feeling, literally, out of my depth.
Thank goodness then, that this particular whale is made of plastic. I am taking part in the marine mammal medic course run by British Divers Marine Life Rescue (BDMLR), the only training of its type in the country. By the end of today, as long as I haven’t done anything disastrous like accidentally stand on a blow-up whale or mix up my Sowerby’s beaked whale with my Cuvier’s beaked whale (one is smaller and paler than the other) I too will be a qualified marine mammal medic, ready to be called out at a moment’s notice the next time a whale becomes stranded in the region of Scotland where I live.
Thanks to the generosity of Scottish Daily Mail readers, who have raised more than £7,000 for British Divers Marine Life Rescue in our Pontoon Appeal over the past three weeks, the charity’s trained medics will now have access to more pontoons in Scotland than ever before, including one on Staffin Island off Skye, where 21 pilot whales were stranded last June.
Today, I am seeing first hand just how vital those pontoons are to rescuing these beautiful animals. Without pontoons, refloating a two-ton whale is every bit as difficult as it sounds. With the pontoons, however, which keep the animal upright – vital for a whale’s sensitive navigational equipment – they can be gently taken out to sea and, hopefully, the safety of open water.
The pontoons are useless, however, without qualified marine mammal medics to operate them. None is paid for their roles but instead works in a network of volunteers based around Scotland, who respond to call-outs for distressed whales, dolphins, seals and porpoises. In recent years, they have also attended mass beachings, of which there have been an increasing number in recent years.
‘We are always looking for more medics,’ says Colin McFadyen, BDMLR co-ordinator for the NorthEast of Scotland and today’s course tutor. ‘Because people have lives outside the organisation, when we have rescues we are very rarely over-burdened with volunteers. Particularly when we have mass strandings, we could always do with more help, so we’re always keen for more people, and for those who are already involved to have the opportunity to pass on their knowledge while they are still here.’
Here are some facts you learn when you train to be a marine mammal medic: seals are classed as wild animals by DEFRA, in the same category as lions and tigers. Dolphins are believed to have the ability to take their own lives and when stressed have been known to elect never to breathe again. KY jelly is by far the best way to keep the exposed skin on a beached whale moisturised – so much so that Johnson & Johnson used to give BDMLR pallets of out-of-date lubricant free.
We start the day in a makeshift classroom in a boathouse with a tutorial on the various types of cetaceans found in British waters, before moving on to what to do if you find yourself first on the scene of a mass whale beaching (phone a vet is top of the list). The volume of information on the course is astounding, a mix of basic marine mammal biology and practical first aid.
‘It’s a very in-depth course,’ says Mr McFadyen. ‘It’s a look at the sort of whales and dolphins we have around the coastline, then we teach the first aid and assessment of the animal on the beach, how you would treat them and handle them and the possible different outcomes depending on their condition. Then we put the theory into practice on the beach with life-size, life-weighted models.’
There are 12 course members here today and all have signed up for different reasons. There is a couple that live near a large seal colony in Aberdeenshire who have witnessed so many seal rescues they want to learn how to do it themselves. There is a young zoology student who wants to gain some practical experience with the cetaceans he studies at university.
One woman has come along because her teenage daughter recently qualified as a medic and when she accompanied her on a recent call-out to an abandoned seal pup, she felt useless and wanted to help. There are no specialist skills required, simply the desire to get involved.
‘People are motivated to do the course for a variety of reasons,’ says Mr McFadyen. ‘Some are there just for a love of the animals and a desire to help and quite often we get people who’ve been involved in a rescue in an untrained capacity and want to learn how to do it properly. We also see members of the Coastguard and the RNLI and those who just love the sea and everything to do with it.’
So we are taught why pilot whales are more likely to beach than others (they operate in a very close-knit pod and will often follow each other, even into danger) and how to apply KY jelly to the delicate skin around a whale’s blowhole. We are told that if you are going to pour water over a beached dolphin, the best equipment to use is a watering can with a rose, and that you must always avoid whale and dolphin breath, as it contains viruses and bacteria that can kill.
It’s all rather overwhelming, not to mention a little alarming. But just when I start thinking that a day at a rescue centre for fluffy puppies might have been the more enjoyable option, Mr McFadyen talks to us about the intelligence of the animals they rescue – that singing to a whale is a tried and tested method when it comes to keeping cetaceans calm because they respond so well to human voices – and of the sheer joy in sending a healthy whale back into the sea.
‘The real reward is to know that you’ve made a difference – to have seen something in difficulty and to know that you have made some sort of contribution to ending its suffering, one way or another,’ he says.
‘The ideal, obviously, is when you get to see them sail off into the sunset. It’s an incredible feeling, that knowledge that you personally have done something to help.’
Mr McFadyen is part of a BDMLR team that works on large whale disentanglements – usually humpback whales, which are increasingly becoming caught in fishing nets in
shallow waters. It is a dangerous business, demanding a lot of skill and nerve and an operation he cheerily describes as ‘terrifying’.
Me, I’m still trying to remember if you should ever cover the dorsal fin of a dolphin with a wet towel (no) and how to examine a fully grown pilot whale for injuries (very carefully). There are other practicalities. BDMLR recommends keeping a medic kit in your car with cetacean first aid basics such as towels, bed sheets, a face mask and the everhandy KY jelly. Which is all very good, but could spark the odd awkward question if stopped by police.
Back out in the water, the trainers patiently talk us newbies through how to set up the pontoons and get the whale securely onto them. This is a delicate operation involving eight individuals and a lot of rolling and unrolling of tarpaulins.
At one point I have to kneel down on the seafloor to attach a clip – and there’s a nerve-wracking moment where I nearly disappear under water as I fumble about in the gloom at nothing, before finally slotting the clip into place.
The whole experience is cold, wet, and a little frightening – yet there is something supremely satisfying about learning a skill few have and which could mean the difference between life and death for one of our most precious mammals.
Everything on the course is designed to respond to the sensitivity of the whales. Even little things like having the pontoon facing shore when a whale is being refloated during a mass stranding, rather than out to sea, so the whale can see its other pod members. ‘The mass strandings are always more difficult, partly because it is such an assault on the senses,’ says Mr McFadyen. ‘There’s the overall sense of urgency and drama when you’re dealing with so many casualties, plus the added knowledge there’s a much higher chance that several of them aren’t going to survive.’ In 2011, he responded to a call in Durness, Sutherland, where 39 pilot whales had been stranded on the beach after the Royal Navy set off four underwater bombs. It is the largest mass stranding in Scottish history. ‘Durness was my first mass stranding and it was also the biggest we’ve ever had to deal with,’ says Mr McFadyen. ‘It was a very remote and difficult location. And in a situation like that you have to be aware there are other people around you who aren’t as experienced. You’ve got to try to manage the human aspect as well.’ Every medic who was at Durness remembers it to this day. Perhaps the most moving part of the course comes when, dried off and back in our civvies, we head back to the classroom to be handed our certificates, ID cards and medic handbooks. First, though, we watch a haunting short video of the mass beaching at Durness. The images are devastating: whales lying prostrate on the sand, some in pools of their own blood. Many of the volunteer medics have been assigned an individual whale and are doing their best to keep it hydrated, looking at each other in despair at the sheer scale of the tragedy. It is the sound, however, that is most distressing. The whales are noisy and plaintive, calling out in pain and terror. It becomes clear they are attempting to communicate with each other – and with the humans trying to save th em. A total of 19 whales died that day, but 20 were saved, thanks to the efforts of those volunteers. I drive home exhausted but elated, with my marine mammal medic ID card in my wallet, thinking it is a sight I hope never to see, but knowing that if I ever do, I am now trained to do everything I can to help.