After working with many different animals in a zoological setting, I can think of no other animal that compares with a killer whale. Thinking back about working with polar bears, walrus, sea lions, various species of dolphins, false killer whales, canids and birds, there always seems to be something profound missing in those interactions. No doubt these latter relationships are special and wonderful, but that one extra indescribable ingredient with killer whales makes the cake rise just a little higher, taste just a little richer.
Let me be clear, never is the illusion of control more apparent than when working with a killer whale. It means working together; there is no dominion over the animal. It means depending on each other and depending on a strong and well-established relationship, a working relationship that earns the animal’s attention and trust over time. It is a partnership, a cooperative effort, not a trainer leading a whale and certainly not that of a boss dictating to an employee. The partnership is 50/50 and each fulfills a distinctive role in that relationship. The trainer must do his or her part to protect a hard-earned trust and bond utilizing every ounce of intellect, skill and ability to read that animal and provide a clear, consistent atmosphere of learning.
Killer whales are constantly communicating to their partners in a training environment. It is up to the trainer to learn the language of killer whales and the idiosyncrasies of the particular animal. The basis for that communication is the science of behavior and the art of applying behavioral modification. Simply put, this means that environment, cues, and consequences shape the way an animal behaves and the choices it makes. This principle is not exclusive to zoological settings; rather it is a hallmark of nature, existing in every setting. Nor is it exclusive to other animal species; it holds true for humans as well. Influence on behavior is like gravity, always present. Behavior is always in a state of change and always able to be influenced. At any given time, there is a vast array of forces at work shaping the way an animal (or a person) behaves.
Understanding the principles that shape behavior is only the beginning step in the process of introducing change. There must also be an understanding of the particular species’ genetic history, the individual animal’s learning history since birth, its physical capabilities and limitations, its environment (past and present), its social setting and where it fits within the social hierarchy.
To effectively manage how an animal’s behavior is shaped, variables that can be controlled must be identified and managed proactively. Environmental conditions that set the stage for certain responses, other animals, human activity, sounds, the frequency of and the predictability of every stimulus perceived by the animal; these are but a few of the variables within one’s sphere of influence. In the case of Keiko (Keh-ee-koh) and his reintroduction to the wild, that sphere of influence was sophisticated and many layered. There were many potential factors outside this sphere of influence for which there was no control. Nonetheless, there had to be a masterful awareness of all potential factors at work in Keiko’s environment.
Potential influences outside of our control can be anything and happen at any time: they are like uninvited guests who crash a party. A good host will pick up on these situations and gracefully turn them to his or her advantage. The complexity of Keiko’s release was on an order of magnitude light-years beyond what Hollywood portrayed in the film Free Willy. In order to offer him the best chance of success, the application of learning principles and the constant analysis of all areas of influence had to be fluid and unrehearsed. There was much at work that pitted the odds against Keiko’s success; however, when all the elements shaping behavior are managed appropriately, anything is possible.
I spent the most formative years of my young adult life working alongside killer whales in a zoological setting. There is no complete manual on how to work with a killer whale that I know of, but if there were, it would, among many other things, advise new trainers that reacting with fear or intimidation will get them killed. This is not to be confused with being stupid or taking unnecessary risks, but one cannot be timid with a killer whale. Being a top predator, they are not prone to “small talk.” They carry an impressive array of sensory capabilities, and they are deliberate in everything they do. You cannot sneak up on them. They are 100 percent more aware of their environment than we are.
The most remarkable illustration of a working relationship with a killer whale I’ve seen (outside of the real thing) is depicted in the movie How to Train Your Dragon. The connection and delicate trust portrayed between the lead character Hiccup and the Night Fury dragon masterfully illustrate many uncanny parallels found in the bonds between trainer and killer whale.
A trainer has nothing that will impress a killer whale, and a killer whale has no burning desire to impress that trainer or earn his attention. If the animal works with his trainers, it is because it chooses to do so, and that choice is most definitely based on relationship; on the excitement and challenge its caregivers can offer. One cannot motivate a killer whale with food for long. Leveraging food to motivate animals is an antiquated method used by a few marine mammal trainers in the 1950s and ‘60s. Killer whales are immune to this approach. With a formidable layer of blubber, they can easily go without food for several weeks. I have witnessed killer whales offered salmon (a delicacy) take the tendered fish only to spit it, almost perfectly fileted, back in the lap of the unwelcome trainer. I’ve seen countless times when a whale has refused to work with a certain trainer, only to meet the favored next with unbounded energy and enthusiasm. Food is not a compelling motivator. Make note of this important lesson; it is a critical component to understanding Keiko’s journey back to the wild.
To understand Keiko, the effort to return him to the wild, and the project’s outcome, three defining factors stand out above all others: 1. recognizing how learning occurs and behavior is influenced; 2. knowledge of what it means to work with a killer whale in a training environment; and 3. awareness of the distinctive traits of a killer whale. They are the only means by which decisions made throughout Keiko’s journey can be weighed against their impact on his behavior, his choices and the final outcome.
Beyond a story about the invisible forces of nature and learning taking place on the high seas of the North Atlantic, this is more so the tale of one killer whale and his notorious journey to freedom. It is about a journey that spans four decades, encompasses the zoological and animal rights communities and epitomizes the evolution of public appreciation for the killer whale. Keiko’s story begins long before Hollywood uncovered an icon in Free Willy, or before children around the world recognized compassion.
In order to understand the profound breadth of Keiko’s journey, it is necessary to begin with an understanding of the industry that created him and, ultimately, how philanthropists urged Keiko to follow in the footsteps of his fictitious counterpart, “Willy.”
Whale Killer
Fifty years ago, the general perception of killer whales was that of maniac predators roaming the seas and ravaging anything in their path. Fisherman hated them for stealing bounty from their nets. Whalers hated them for devouring their catch as it was towed alongside their ships. The military used them for target practice from ships and in aerial simulations. This loathing, along with the public’s false impressions of the ocean’s top predator, vanished almost overnight following a series of unexpected events that unfolded in the mid 1960s.
In 1964 a male killer whale named Moby Doll was harpooned by an expedition commissioned by the Vancouver Aquarium. They intended to kill the whale for skeletal fabrication and subsequent display in the aquarium. The whale was harpooned but did not die. Instead Moby Doll lived for eighty-seven days in a temporary Vancouver-based sea pen. In that short time, he became an international celebrity and attracted scientists and the public alike.
In 1965 yet another encounter with a killer whale excited public attention. After a male killer whale had been caught in a gill net near Namu, British Columbia, aquarium owner Edward Griffin to
wed him over 450 miles in a makeshift sea pen to the Seattle Public Aquarium. Songs were written, and a movie titled Namu, the Killer Whale was made. Namu died there after only eleven months, believed to have succumbed to an infection from poor water quality. However, during this time he developed a relationship of sorts with Griffin and became the first live orca to perform in front of the public.
Seemingly overnight, an industry was born. Killer whale collections for the purpose of public display began in Puget Sound. But by 1976, due to opposition from environmental factions and public sentiment promulgated by the death of five whales, collections in the Northwest were halted. Thus Icelandic waters became the next frontier for killer whale collection boasting larger populations, a capable shipping channel, and the indifference of a whaling nation.
The ideal killer whale candidate for collection was usually between two and three years of age. But determining age was less than precise. Many animals much younger than two years old were taken. Following an initial acclimation period, graduate whales were transported to zoos and aquaria around the world. By the 1980s, “themed” animal parks were located on virtually every continent. Due in large part to unparalleled intimate exposure, the general public quickly gained an insatiable fascination with the killer whale.
Science was only just beginning to understand the extraordinary learning ability of the bottlenose dolphin when this mysterious and beautiful cousin took center stage, filling our hearts and exciting our minds. The striking and bold coloration of the killer whale became its trademark. Crisp mirrorlike black contrasted by the milky-white underside made it appear as living, breathing art. Likewise, the distinguishing combination of strength, beauty and social complexity appealed to a wide audience. The top predator of the ocean was supreme in disposition, mysteriously elusive at sea and the top of its class in the animal training environment. For most, it took little effort to fall in love with or be awestruck by Orcinus orca.
In the late ‘60s renewed interest in migration routes, populations and social behavior led various individuals and organizations to study killer whales in the wild. In efforts to collect data, many researchers devoted their lives to the task, spending tiresome hours onboard research vessels with few accommodations. Every aspect of the killer whale was an exercise in stretching the imagination. What had been recently believed to be a ferocious man-eating killer was now the focus of unlimited study and public interest. At the same time, knowledge of whales was growing in leaps and bounds due to the relative ease with which researchers could observe the whale’s behavior beneath the water’s surface in zoological settings. Trainers and caretakers gained an unequaled respect for the killer whale’s aptitude. Many of today’s advancements in behavioral conditioning and the application of positive reinforcement techniques in the animal training field were originally implemented and streamlined through work with the ocean’s top predator.
Keiko’s Collection
According to the “Reintroduction Protocols,” the formal document submitted to the Icelandic government from which Keiko’s release permit was granted:
The killer whale (Orcinus orca) “Keiko” was captured off the coast of Iceland in 1978 at the estimated age of two years. Following two years at a temporary housing facility in Iceland, Keiko was transported to Niagara Falls Aquarium and maintained there for a period of six years. In 1986 the subject was transported to Reino Aventura Amusement Park in Mexico City, Mexico. While maintained in Mexico City, the subject’s health progressively deteriorated due to inadequate environmental conditions.
Immediately following collection, Keiko was taken to a coastal sea pen-type facility in Iceland. He was maintained there for an extended period of time, as was common for newly placed animals that would eventually go to permanent facilities. This period of acclimation ensured that individual animals were healthy, eating, and had successfully adapted to the initial change.
The first move from Reykjavik, Iceland, to their new home was the toughest transition for the whales. It involved yet another change of environment or acclimation period for the whales, this time with a completely unfamiliar social group.
During Keiko’s almost six years in Marineland, Niagara, he was socially ostracized, physically displaced (picked on) and constituted the bottom of the hierarchy within his new social group. There were an estimated six killer whales in total at Marineland during Keiko’s stay in Canada.
After being sold and moved to Reino Aventura Park in Mexico, he developed a skin disease called cutaneous papillomatosis caused by a novel papillomavirus and associated with immune suppression (which is a potentially contagious disease to other whales). The condition formed an unsightly cauliflower-like growth of the skin where affected. Keiko quickly gained a stigma as the ugly duckling among those who cared for him. Even so, he was the marquee attraction at Reino Aventura for nearly eight years before achieving Hollywood stardom.
Free Willy
In 1993 Keiko became the star of the Warner Bros. blockbuster movie Free Willy and, as a result, inarguably the most famous killer whale in history. The movie depicted a killer whale (Willy) as languishing, neglected in a small pool at a theme park. In the movie, Willy is befriended by a lone boy and eventually spirited away back to the wild where Willy swims off into the sunset and lives happily ever after (including Hollywood’s production of three sequels).
After the movie, the nonprofit animal rights organization Earth Island Institute began lobbying for a real-life release program for Keiko, intending to have him follow in the footsteps of his fictitious counterpart. In 1994 Warner Bros. contributed $4 million to the movement, and Earth Island Institute formed the Free Willy/Keiko Foundation (FWKF) to spearhead the release effort. Reino Aventura, under public pressure, donated Keiko to the Free Willy/Keiko Foundation. In 1996, as the first step of a program to return Keiko to the wild, he was transported to a newly constructed facility at Oregon Coast Aquarium in Newport, Oregon. The facility cost nearly $8 million to build.
According to the formal “Reintroduction Protocols” from the Keiko Release Project permit:
In January 1996 Keiko was transferred from Mexico City to the Oregon Coast Aquarium (OCA) in Newport, Oregon. Objectives for this period were to improve general health and quality of life by providing a high-quality environment and structured rehabilitation program and to provide for appropriate public display opportunities. Following two and a half years of successful medical rehabilitation, on 9 September 1998 Keiko was transported from Newport to an open-water bay pen facility in Vestmannaeyjar, Iceland. The transport was conducted, pursuant to the transfer provisions of section 104(c)(2) of the Marine Mammal Protection Act, under an authorized National Marine Fisheries Service (NMFS) public display permit and an export permit issued under the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Flora and Fauna. Iceland was chosen as the site for potential reintroduction due to the fact that he was originally captured in Icelandic waters. As part of the transfer operation, a public display program was established and carried out.
From September 1998 to February 1999 in his Icelandic bay pen, Keiko did little more than continue to gain weight. Theories and ideas about how to move forward with the release were abundant and diverse, but mostly the Free Willy/Keiko Foundation expected Keiko to take the initiative toward his freedom once in native waters. Some expected him to call to his brethren; some envisioned Keiko’s mother swimming up to the bay pen and coaxing him to follow; and still others imagined Keiko would be fattened up and taken to sea to be dropped off with wild whales, where he would obediently swim off into the sunset.
These were not only the ideas of the children who broke their piggy banks to contribute to Keiko’s release; these were the machinations of the board of directors, the founders of Earth Island Institute and the head veterinarian of the FWKF. Despite the numerous and idealized visions of release, no concrete plan of reintroduction was ever established beyond his relocation to Newport and later transfer to Iceland. The FWKF lit
erally did not know what to do next. Keiko adjusted to the climate and waters of Klettsvik Bay, Iceland, where his bay pen was located. Beyond his weight gain and developing an unhealthy attachment to a large Boomer Ball (a three-foot diameter hard plastic ball, his sole companion at the time), Keiko achieved little in his preparation for the wild during his first five months in Iceland. The program managers and the board of the FWKF were at an impasse. They had inherited an iconic whale and an extremely expensive operation to maintain, but no forward progress materialized.
To begin to understand the challenges facing Keiko and the team of people charged with his reintroduction, any comparison to Hollywood’s version of Free Willy must be cast aside. Releasing an animal, any animal that has spent considerable time in the care of man, is a complex process to say the least. In the case of Keiko, it was analogous to putting the first man on the moon. If a candidate for release were imagined, many experts agreed, it would not be Keiko. An adult male killer whale, dependent on social acceptance for his survival, was the least likely to be accepted by his wild counterparts. Chances were other males would view him as a competitor. But this aspect was only the tip of the iceberg challenging Keiko’s survival. After nearly twenty years in the care of man, much greater threats lurked undetected in Keiko’s chances of survival.
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