Killing Keiko

by Mark A. Simmons

  Even so, Iceland is not unlike any other earthbound continent. Here we were also blessed with seasons of milder weather. As the long dark days of winter edged toward summer and seemingly eternal daylight, workable weather became more frequent and an extremely valuable commodity. Summer was our chance to make good on many things, from Keiko’s conditioning goals to bay pen repairs to the ultimate challenge of erecting the barrier net. All of this was painted with the urgency to exploit the mild weather-window that would close on us again all too quickly.

  Mr. Iceland

  Many colorful characters frequented the Keiko release effort. Beyond the affable locals who we grew to know so well, the project had no small compliment of native Icelandic staff. Among them was an unforgettable couple, Smári and Lina. Smári Harðarson, was a former “Mr. Iceland,” an imposing six-foot-tall Viking with shoulders wide enough to seat two adults and muscles enough to easily carry them.

  Sigurlína, or “Lina” as we called her, represented the more refined member of the soon-to-be Harðarson family. She, like so many native Icelanders, was blonde and fair skinned. A good bit shorter than Smari, Lina commanded his world nonetheless. The Harðarson family was a fitness family all around. On the feminine scale, Lina’s physique paralleled that of the remarkable Mr. Iceland. We didn’t interact with Lina on a daily basis, but she was always a welcome replacement for Smari on the occasional bay pen assignment.

  The Harðarsons ran a small company that provided the security detail for Keiko’s bay pen facility. Well known and respected in the community, Smari’s position as the security provider was all that was needed to deter any local’s thoughts of tampering with the operation. Smari himself did not cover much of the security detail on the pen. His brute strength and certification as a commercial diver were too valuable not to utilize in marine operations. In every case where the pen was under threat of destruction by the wind and surge currents, Smari was the brawn and the experience to deal with whatever was needed, regardless of the conditions.

  Following a particularly menacing storm, I’ll never forget watching him complete his maintenance dive to inspect the pen’s anchor system. The ledge was easily one-and-a-half feet, if not two, above the water’s surface. After completing his dives, Smari pulled himself out of the water, fully clad in dry suit, roughly fifty pounds of lead weight around his waist, two dive tanks on his back and any other equipment he routinely carried. Smari was the only one we knew who could accomplish this feat.

  He had quite the sense of humor and was also fond of his morning routines. One such practice involved the dreaded bathroom break on the bay pen following the morning “jo.” Grinning ear to ear, Mr. Iceland would arrive to the bay pen exactly on schedule and promptly report to the “Incinolet” or incinerator toilet (very environmentally friendly for the ocean; as for the atmosphere … not so much). One need not spend too much time contemplating the inner workings taking place deep within the bowels of the Incinolet.

  The bay pen’s only “head,” the incinerator’s vent stack rose from the top of the research shack where another morning routine was taking place: the ethogram, a twice-daily collection of research data. (Later the ethogram became an hourly duty.) The lucky individual charged with taking the morning ethogram recordings would perch atop the research shack gaining a bird’s-eye view of Keiko and his activity. He or she was sequestered there, clipboard in hand, until the fifteen-minute observation period expired—no excuses, no change of venue. Consistency is important in data collection. The observer would record numerical values representing various activity levels, time of the observation, any unusual behavior and multiple other raw data points.

  Smari’s ability to synchronize his morning ritual with the somewhat varying schedule of the ethogram was uncanny. We often theorized that a “mole” was in our midst reporting the day’s plan to Smari in advance. Somehow I was always “busy” and skirted the responsibility of recording ethogram data. I was therefore spared the eye-watering cloud bank of smoke coughing out of the vent, assaulting and insulting our beloved researchers engulfed aloft.

  Equally endearing, and less likely to prank, was the Icelandic business manager for all on-site operations, one Guðmundur Eyjólfsson. No one called him by anything other than simply “Gummi.” Another blond and fair-skinned Icelander, Gummi wore his hair shaved very close to his head which produced a white-halo effect that went nicely with his role. Not a small man, larger than average build and slightly barrel-chested, Gummi looked the part of a very capable and sturdy Icelandic male.

  Gummi was in his forties, somewhat older and more mature than the average age onboard the release team. He provided a much-needed keel of competence and seriousness in the otherwise constantly mischievous seas that battered the project atmosphere. Whenever we needed something administrative, had complications with media scheduling or required replacement gear, Gummi was our savior. Gummi was also one of the few that recognized the improvements in Keiko’s disposition and believed in the experience that Robin and I brought to the project. His support was unflappable throughout the most trying conflicts within the organization.

  Some of my fondest memories of Iceland and the project took place at Gummi’s home. Away and apart from our normal surroundings, the contrasting warmth of the quaint Icelandic dwelling was ever inviting. Dark-paneled wooden walls and built-in shelving adorned with collectibles of a northern flair framed each adjoining room from the kitchen to the dining area. A fireplace centered the family room where we sat on an assortment of rocking chairs, a big leather chair, velvet padded armchairs and couches festooned with ornate coverings and piled high with a variety of accenting pillows. Following a meal, Gummi often pulled aside some of the mismatched chairs in the dining room where a few of us savored a cigar and brandy. Gummi and his wife never shied from offering the welcome escape in the heartwarming surroundings of their traditional Icelandic home.

  Given the sheer concentration of time together, a few months on the project was all it took to forge lifelong friendships. Ingunn and Siti, security employees for Smari, were frequently stationed on the bay pen for night watch. It took a goodly while for Ingunn to become comfortable around me. I did not know at the time, but she was spoon-fed a certain perception long before she and I ever had the chance to get to know one another. In the ever-changing progression of the release plan, Behavior Team members rotated shifts throughout day and night in order to implement the shaping of Keiko’s behavior around the clock. It was during a handful of night shifts together on the pen that Ingunn finally realized I was not the devil incarnate.

  Ingunn stood out in a crowd of Icelandic women, and men for that matter. She was taller than average and a redhead, the only person with ginger hair I ever met in Iceland. The quiet type, Ingunn would have been a challenge to befriend were it not for the seclusion on the pen in close quarters with myself and Siti. Raising the degree of difficulty, neither Siti nor Ingunn spoke much English, or they were shy about using the language. I was never sure which. Either way, it was hard to resist the stupefied comedy that has a way of seeping out in the earliest hours of the morning after a long night without sleep.

  At first it was Siti and I, looking for things to pass the time, inventing physical challenges that made us both look quite silly. Outwardly, Siti appeared like a rugged old-school father figure. His unassuming quiet nature lent a great deal to this perception. But the more we spent time together, the more I realized his inner goof gave my own a run for its money. It didn’t take long to entice Ingunn’s participation in our games. Heck, there wasn’t much else of interest competing for her attentions. One night in particular it was unusually cold and damp. We alternated racing around the perimeter of the south pool and timing each other, Ingunn officiated. Somewhere between challenge and boast, Siti ended up running the course in nothing but a pair of whitey tighties. It had to do with a bet. A bet that Ingunn instigated.

  Thereafter, we shared some pretty silly exchanges. We often found ourselves
in stitches and barely able to breathe for laughing. Never at a loss for being the class clown, I had a great audience in Ingunn. Laughter was the great equalizer, the best medicine for many hours spent isolated on the bay pen, often in weather that kept us in a constant giddy high-adrenaline state.

  One of the most reliable people on the project, Siti was not only part of the security detail, he was also an accomplished boat captain and often assisted in the open ocean boat formations piloting one of our support vessels. Siti might have been in his late forties. But it was difficult at best to be sure sometimes with the hard-weathered men of Heimaey, who might easily appear older than their age. We were charmed by his durable sense of integrity and tickled when he often referred to his father as “Daddy.”

  On the other end of the scale was Hai. Along with his boyishly mussed hair and equally youthful mannerisms he had the energy of a teenager, despite being well into his late thirties. Hai was an exercise in frustration tempered by a healthy dose of dependency. We would have been lost without Hai, but at the same time he was capable of doing something out of left field at any given time. Mostly this trait was a source of levity as Hai was truly harmless, even when he did throw us the occasional curveball. More often than not, it was his enthusiasm of starting new projects long before we had decided they would be needed.

  Our Icelandic troops were one of the true highlights of the project; unforgettable characters and experiences that resulted in a lifelong affection for Vestmannaeyjar. Despite many other negatives that haunted us and Keiko during those fateful few years in the Land of Fire and Ice, these relationships would leave a positive memory in their wake that would not be undone.

  Target Practice

  Though we forged many friendships in Heimaey, there were those that did not want the Keiko Release Project in their hometown and wanted nothing more than to see us, as well as Keiko, go away for good. Sometimes the sentiment translated to bold threats, such as shooting Keiko and turning him into dog food. Most were directed at Keiko, but a few also involved the staff. Initially this concerned us as there were too many vantage points surrounding Klettsvik Bay; hundreds of locations on all sides from which a rifleman could easily pick his target. Our reaction: to increase watch from the bay pen and sometimes the overlook opposite the bay.

  Those of us on the bay pen joked about the intelligence behind this strategy. We effectively put ourselves in plain view of any would-be assassin. Stephen Claussen made great fodder with the arrangement, putting a handmade bull’s-eye on his chest and acting out the “human target.” The threats never turned serious and no one (to my knowledge) was ever caught snooping about the hilltops with malicious intent. In fact, the most dangerous suspects were the mountain lambs that grazed along the sheer cliffs of Klettsvik Bay. The occasional lamb, when it lost footing, plummeted into the bay near the rock face. This was a rare occurrence, but should one get “lambed,” it would undoubtedly constitute a life-threatening event. More bark than bite, the threats were nonetheless a telltale barometer of negative sentiments that eventually led to real danger for Keiko.

  All things considered, June through August 1999 yielded net positive results. Progress continued with Keiko in terms of his physical exercise and the initial steps of the reintroduction plan we were systematically pushing along.

  If any chance remained of capitalizing on the relative calmness and extended daylight of the summer season, it was time for a bold step. It was time to conquer the largest operational challenge facing the project to date. It was time to move Keiko from the small pen to the expansive surroundings of Klettsvik Bay and begin the next phase of reintroduction conditioning. For the first time since Keiko’s arrival in Iceland, real progress was about to happen.

  All too quickly we found ourselves in the middle of August, days and weeks clicking by at an increasing tempo. Though a concept and design had been agreed upon, much was left to be done before actual work could begin, not least of which included an estimated cost of the enclosure and the board’s approval of same. But it quickly became apparent that no matter how hard we all worked or how perfect our efficiency, we were now facing a winter install. More than a few questioned the plausibility, even suggesting that we wait another season. But those of us on-site knew Keiko couldn’t afford another year sequestered inside the restrictive bay pen. Somehow we had to find a way.

  Overcoming the challenges posed by weather and currents and installing what equated to a giant underwater sail took extensive planning … and time. More of the latter than we cared admit. Thus far, the barrier net was no more than a gleam in the eye of the release team. Our excitement and anticipation would have to keep us motivated through the long winter ahead.

  6

  The Surge

  Solarium

  At the end of summer we received news that our lease was up with the fire department hostel. Our familiar makeshift home was at end. Thankfully, Robin was the manager at the time, and he hit a home run in landing a rapid solution. No more than a few short blocks away from the hostel sat a newly renovated four-story hotel (actually, still in the throes of final renovation). Despite the ongoing work, our new abode was filled with comforts and accommodations far surpassing the more utilitarian rawness of the hostel. Each staff member got his or her own private room (shared between rotations) complete with private bath. No more locker room showers shared by the same sex. A small but welcome adjustment, even if the “kit” showers of the hotel were, as my father used to say, “so small you couldn’t cuss a cat without getting fur in your mouth.”

  The first level was primarily an entry foyer from the main street. A spiral staircase just inside led to the second, third and fourth floors. The upper floors consisted mostly of individual rooms, although the second floor also had a large kitchen and staff dining area toward the back-street side of the building. On the top floor were two spacious penthouse suites, complete with bathroom, mini-kitchen, bedroom, sitting area, private balconies and an advantageous view of the town. One could even get a small glimpse of the channel leading into the harbor standing on the north-facing balcony, which became a valuable “crow’s nest” for assessing conditions in the bay. Given our positions on the release team, Robin and I, and Jeff and Jen shared the two penthouse suites. Typically on opposite rotations, Jeff or Jen occupied the larger of the two while Robin and I split our time in the other. Although I spent the vast majority of my time on the bay pen itself, when schedules allowed, the luxury of the penthouse rooms lent much to maintaining sanity and composure during the more trying times.

  The privacy afforded by the rooms also allowed each of us opportunities to escape each other’s company, a healthy benefit when working in such close quarters with even the most pro-social compatriots. Other features conducive to group social activity and increasingly frequent meetings provided the perfect balance for a harmonious living environment. The “solarium,” a large common area occupying nearly half of the third floor, quickly became our favorite place to congregate. The room’s marquee feature—a third of the ceiling and back wall—was comprised of glass panels creating an atrium with unbelievable views of the skyline, complete with surreal northern lights in the dark of winter. Comfortable sitting chairs, sofas and a pool table completed the solarium’s creature comforts. This space would be filled with lasting memories, from holiday parties to hard-fought battles over project obstacles. It was second only to the bay pen in providing a backdrop to the ongoing release effort.

  The timing of our move to the hotel was, in retrospect, immaculate. Beyond features conducive to the mental health of the team, it also provided momentary distraction to the staff, wearied from the barrage of operational change that had become the norm. Equally as valuable, it provided room for growth.

  Battle Lines

  On the frontlines in Vestmannaeyjar, the project appeared to be moving in all the right directions. Acceptance of the barrier net plan gained steam. Staff settled into the hotel and their new rotational schedules. Keiko sustaine
d ever-increasing levels of exercise just as his activity levels outside of human directed interaction continued to improve. Were it not for the conflict building with Dr. Lanny Cornell on the subject of the release plan, all would have seemed right for once. But it wasn’t to be. Jen and I had outlined the formal release plan, forensically describing each aspect of the reintroduction strategy in writing. The final document was to be submitted for peer review and eventually become the permit submission for formal release approval from the Icelandic Ministry of Fisheries. Disagreement between Lanny, and Robin and I escalated with every detail put to paper.

  E-mail Excerpt: August 20, 1999

  To: Charles Vinick

  Subject: Re: Lanny

  From: Robin B. Friday, Sr.

  Charles, I appreciate your intuitive understanding of our frustrations. Speaking only for myself, I realize Lanny’s grasp within the board structure. Jeff and I are constantly throwing ideas at each other with respect to this scenario. Should we gather for a presentation to the board, no matter what Lanny may say to you privately, he will unload in an open forum. He has put his feelings in front of them before and he is not an individual to defer to “incompetence.”

  My impression is Lanny is making a stand. Why? I wish I knew. Charles, anyone, from a first year apprentice, would consider his theory totally irresponsible and at the brink of blatantly violating his professional ethical standards.