Killing Keiko

by Mark A. Simmons

  “Oh my God, what a freak’n baby!” I said as we both laughed. The progress was good. We could eliminate the tedious scuba step, but expecting that Keiko would “break the barrier” and come fully into the med pool was overly optimistic. Instead, he showed us that he was comfortable with eighty percent of his body inside the med pool, but not so much that he would actually come fully through the gate.

  “I can’t believe he’d rather back out than just come through and turn around. It takes him almost a minute to get his body out of the gate backwards. He looks ridiculous,” Tom said.

  “No kidding. And here’s the whale we’re going to release, can’t cope with a simple gate. Watching him paddle his pecs back out of the gate while trying to avoid touching the gate frame, as if it’s going to bite him, is pretty damn funny. I’ve never seen a killer whale act so chicken-shit.” One of the benefits of my solitude with a trusted friend is that I could speak openly, even if a bit dramatically for effect.

  Without a word, Tom stepped back up to the same spot at the med pool, just to the side and about six feet from the gate. He was taking advantage of momentum. Keiko responded to his slap and came partway through the gate, gingerly twisting up through the opening to ever so slowly touch Tom’s outstretched hand. The bridge was given, and again Keiko sat up above the surface with his mouth gaping wide. He literally looked as if a child expecting great praise for his little accomplishment Ta-da! I had to remind myself this was a killer whale.

  The day was closing fast. We completed a few more repetitions, each time requiring just a frog’s-hair more of Keiko. Tom worked his way down to the right of the adjacent med pool wall, never once repeating the previous step and stretching Keiko’s limit on remaining in the gate. By our last session of the first day, Keiko was in the med pool with only his flukes hanging through the gate, yet each time he still chose to back himself all the way out. At this point, backing out was a process that took him considerable effort, contorting and twisting this way and that. Amazing how this enormous lug of an animal could navigate backwards through the gate without even coming close to touching the gate itself.

  On the second day, Tracy accompanied Tom and me to the pen. Knowing them both, I knew this was going to be a fun trio. Tom and Tracy were fast friends. There was the usual formal exchange here and there, probing questions shrouded within small talk, but very soon thereafter they were chiding one another as if old compatriots. Of course I didn’t hesitate to encourage such behavior. After filling Tracy in on prior successes, we jumped right to where we had ended the previous day.

  Regression is a normal part of learning. Often such a bold attempt to pick up where we left off would only be met with failure. Failure, however, is also an important component of learning, providing a juxtaposition to success. But we were fortunate this day because Keiko was up for the challenge. He came right to Tom’s position in the med pool on the first try. Likewise, he also continued to hook his flukes back through the gate reversing himself out at the end of each attempt.

  Following a brief discussion, we agreed it was time to deliberately create failure. In the next approximation, we were going to ask Keiko to come so far that he would be unable to keep his flukes in the gate. A mere two or so feet further down the med wall would do the trick. This time, Tom surprised Keiko by picking him up in the north pool, the first time we had acknowledged Keiko’s presence in the north pool in the last thirty-six hours. Tom got exactly the reaction he was looking for: Keiko popped up with greater-than-usual energy and attentiveness. After all, coming over to Tom in the preferred pool was fall-off-a-log easy. Taking advantage of Keiko’s five tons of momentum, Tom didn’t wait for the Big Man to come to a complete stop. As soon as he had eye contact, he immediately pointed to the med pool, turning and scaling the eighteen-inch step. He ran posthaste to the receiving position in the med pool. Without giving so much as a glance back at Keiko, Tom “acted” as if there was no question Keiko would follow.

  It was not to be this time. Keiko came through the gate but stopped short of meeting Tom’s position further down the wall. As we expected, this would require him to fully commit to the separation. Tom gave him longer than necessary but finally stepped away from the poolside unsuccessful. The three of us moved away from the pools while Keiko danced his way backwards out of the gate.

  Part of the day’s plan, we reduced the number of opportunities we gave Keiko to succeed. For the most part, his successes by the afternoon of the previous day were plentiful; he didn’t need the high-frequency micro-sessions as in the beginning. Also, it allowed us to put much more of Keiko’s primary reinforcement into each progressive step forward. It was time to let him sit for a while and let the failure of the previous attempt take effect. In the simplest form, the more he succeeded, the more he got and vice versa.

  This exercise was essentially a balancing act. Waiting too long was also detrimental in that we could lose the momentum of both success and failure. After twenty minutes, we stepped back up to the pools. It was only one p.m., and we had a long way to go. Tom stepped first to the north pool to call Keiko, again pointing him to the med pool at the instance of eye contact. Tracy and I waited near the research shack and med pool, arms crossed and silently watching the new guy work his trade. I enjoyed watching Tom. His bent and expectant stance was a trademark quality from his prior work with the ocean’s top predator.

  Keiko disappeared beneath the surface, as he had done on each occasion, to enter the submerged gateway. Tom crouched as if a tiger ready to spring, poised to react to Keiko’s position and encourage the extra distance. Surprising all of us, Keiko popped up fully in front of Tom, completely inside the medical pool, as if he’d done this his entire life! Tracy nearly burst my eardrums screeching in excitement. Tom was pounding herring into Keiko’s open mouth.

  “Tom, point him out, point him out!” I yelled.

  Tom did precisely that, and Keiko turned slowly but in the wrong direction. He had turned to his right and thus into the smallest corner of the med pool. There was not sufficient room for him to turn his dump-truck sized body. He eventually made his way out but with some whitewater included. It wasn’t a pretty exit and risked creating aversion on his first breakthrough into the medical pool.

  The three of us made quick adjustment. On the next go-round, Tom received Keiko at the same position, but this time when he pointed him out of the med, he led Keiko to his right—Keiko’s left—and the larger expanse of the pool. Tracy stood ready on the opposite side slapping the surface to provide a backup to Tom’s guidance. This time Keiko turned smoothly, swimming back through the gate to the north pool. In both instances of these first full separations, it was important that Tom point Keiko back out of the medical pool quickly, before he split of his own accord, gaining his trust that it was not a trap. As he entered the gateway from the med-pool side, Tom bridged again and tossed a single herring in his path, reinforcement for a well-executed departure. We broke from that session and rejoiced. It had been less than forty-eight hours, and Keiko had finally faced his demons.

  For the remainder of that day and the following week, we continued to incorporate the gateway into every session, providing the bulk of Keiko’s food and fun in the medical pool. Within a few short days we could ask Keiko to the med pool and shut the gate for extended periods with consistent results. We finally had the practical means to gain access to the bay and the North Atlantic beyond. Keiko was ready for Klettsvik.

  Although no one person ever gave voice or affirmation, the accomplishment went a long way in fostering relationships with the original staff. In my simple estimation, it was proof positive that we knew what we were doing and could produce results; the testament so desperately needed and timely. Those forty-eight hours achieved so much more than simply reshaping a single whale’s dismal history with gates. On the extended eve of the barrier net’s installation and a plan forward, it marked the emergence of the true Behavior Team.

  Tom Sanders atop the cliff overlook
ing Klettsvik Bay. Keiko’s bay pen is shown here after the south pool was shortened due to storm damage incurred in late 1999. A portion of the barrier net buoy line is visible in the middle of the picture. The North Atlantic lies beyond. Photo: Tracy Karmuza McLay.

  Keiko’s defining three dark spots are clearly seen as he spyhops to watch a cameraman just out of view while the marine operations team in the background repairs a section of the bay pen. Photo: Mark Simmons

  View of the town on Heimaey Island from the fourth floor of the staff hotel. The roof of the solarium is visible in the right foreground and a dormant volcano in the background. Photo: Mark Simmons

  From left to right: Brian O’Neill, Greg Schorr, Mark Simmons and Smari Harðarson enjoying morning coffee inside the research shack after training sessions with Keiko and a dive inspection of the bay pen. Photo: Robin B. Friday.

  Back row from left to right, Mark Simmons, Gudmundur “Gummi” Eyjolfsson, Charles Vinick, Smari Harðarson, Blair Mott, Keiko, Jean-Michel Cousteau, Stephen Claussen, Brian O’Neill, Jeff Foster, Tom Sanders and Robin Friday. Bottom row left to right, Michael Parks, Steve Sinelli, Tracy Karmuza McLay, Kelly Reed Gray, Jen Schorr, Greg Schorr and Hallur Hallsson.

  Mark Simmons and Kelly Reed Gray finish an exercise session with Keiko during strong winds and rain in the bay pen’s north pool. Photo: David M. Barron © Oxygen Group

  Keiko doing a side breach in the north pool. This picture was taken not long before bay access, after many months of physical conditioning work. Keiko had become lean and muscular by then. Photo: David M. Barron © Oxygen Group

  Tom Sanders and Mark Simmons on top of the research shack reinforcing Keiko for exploring the bay. Tom is pulling back on the Herring Delivery System (HDS) slingshot preparing to release a barrage of “Herring from Heaven.” Photo: Alyssa Simmons

  Left to right: Stephen Claussen, Kelly Reed Gray and Mark Simmons take Keiko’s routine body measurements. Photo: David M. Barron © Oxygen Group

  Keiko’s bay pen is shown here during a mild windstorm in Klettsvik Bay. The barrier net buoy line is visible in the foreground. Photo: David M. Barron © Oxygen Group

  Mark Simmons and Keiko. Keiko enjoys water spray on his tongue as a form of reinforcement during an exercise session in the bay pen. Photo: David M. Barron © Oxygen Group

  Tracy Karmuza stands on the Draupnir’s sponson as Mark Simmons works with Keiko during boat-walk training in Klettsvik Bay. Photo: Robin B. Friday.

  Keiko and the Draupnir at sea during a boat-walk. Kelly Reed Gray sits on the engine cowling aft, Stephen Claussen and Jen Schorr observe from on top of the pilothouse, and Charles Vinick and Robin Friday are positioned near the bow of the boat while Mark Simmons works with Keiko from the walk platform. Photo: Steve Sinelli

  Keiko looks at author Mark Simmons during an ocean walk in the North Atlantic. The photo was taken from the deck of the Draupnir. Heppin is visible in the background. Photo: Steve Sinelli.

  Keiko, severely cut and scraped, is shown here approximately a week after his first encounter with ice floes in the fjords of Norway. Photo: Zsolt Halapi

  Children in Halsa, Norway get into the water with Keiko. Photo: Per-Tormod Nilsen

  Keiko’s burial site in Taknes Bay, Norway, photographed not long after his death. Photo: Jan Vimme

  7

  Phase II, Klettsvik Bay

  The entirety of the Marine Operations team was on-site for the first time since the bay pen was constructed nearing two years prior. Some of them had become so accustomed to working apart from each other on opposite rotations that getting together under one roof, so to speak, became as uncomfortable as a family reunion. Both excitement and uneasiness hung over the water.

  Among the mild contentions, Greg Schorr and Michael Parks each vied for lead dog of Marine Operations. Normally, they served on opposite rotations. Greg was so affable by nature one would have to make a considerable effort to alienate him. Michael, on the other hand, had a way of getting under the skin of his workmates. Nonetheless, Michael was the senior of the two and boasted easily twenty years on Greg. Despite his offenses, unintended as they were, Michael’s experience was highly respected. He was “captain of the ship.”

  Somewhere in his early forties, Michael’s full head of boyish black hair, easy smile and frequent “knowing” smirk, along with a drawl when he spoke, set forth the traits of a western rancher. But it didn’t take long working with Michael to recognize the salty dog sea captain underneath. He had wisdom in his eyes, the product of seasoned experience gained on the decks of Alaskan trawlers. On-site in Iceland he lived by himself, apart from the other expatriates on the team. In his own distinctive way Michael was a loner.

  During the installation of the barrier net, activity surrounding Keiko’s bay pen abounded. Our challenge was to take advantage of the downtime in between work hours, the limited windows where we could avoid direct association with so much human activity. As weather was the antagonist to Mighty Mo, so too was the constant presence of Mighty Mo to Keiko’s conditioning goals.

  Hell Hounds

  The following provides perhaps the most succinct description of the barrier net particulars: High performance polyethylene netting technology, 283 meters long, sixteen meters deep. More than forty rock helical or spiral anchors embedded, grouted into rock and epoxied. “Big ass” chain running the length of the bottom-line from east to west, eight to eleven deadweight anchors on the northern and southern sides and nearly 200 individual 350 kgs lift-capacity buoys affixed along the surface line.

  The concept of putting a “gag” on the mouth of Klettsvik Bay and her gusty, wild temperament was laughable to most every engineer interviewed during the pursuit of the outlandish solution. Nonetheless, an animal need dispossessed by technical challenge was a combination Robin could not resist. His stubborn persistence that it could be done transported the barrier net from concept to reality. Through Woods Hole ingenuity and a host of hardened Nordic contractors, installation of the net finally began in earnest late December 1999.

  Over the course of eight weeks, Mighty Mo labored. Under pressure of limited weather windows, availability of working vessels—in some cases makeshift equipment—and back-to-back–to-back dives, the team struggled forward.

  Certainly the mathematics of the barrier net’s design was of paramount importance, but no amount of immaculate engineering could replace the dedication of Mighty Mo to effect its installation in the predictably unpredictable conditions. This crew of Marine Operations personnel had been through hell and back, compliments of Klettsvik’s vile temper. More than anyone, they truly understood the extreme tests the barrier net would have to endure. They also took to the task of its installation without pause. There was no shortage of the impossible, improbable and downright ludicrous tasks thrown at the team day, night (mostly night) and amidst the worst of conditions. At times it seemed Hell Hounds mercilessly terrorized the effort as if we were attempting to close the gates of hell itself.

  Proud or stubborn, perhaps both, Mighty Mo wasted no time on conjecture about whether the job could be done, only how it would be done. They had become so adept at the art of problem solving; not one of them realized how well they worked through myriad issues facing the installation. Only a bystander could appreciate the tenacity with which they erected this giant underwater sail.

  Much of the work was made possible from the favorable deck of a commercial catamaran called the Hamar. Her aft deck almost the size of a tennis court, she was well equipped for the task. Heavy lift davits, wenches and air compressors lined her gunnels in the working area. The cabin and pilothouse were reminiscent of a well-used machine shop, a grimy luxury after the team completed long nitrox dives and took the occasional break to thaw their bones. (Nitrox is a gas mixture of nitrogen and oxygen used to extend dive time, usually in commercial diving operations.)

  Winter water temperatures reached as low as thirty-six degrees Fahrenheit. Even their dry suits thickly layered underneath could not r
esist the sieging cold for long. Each of the Mighty Mo team members took his turn, each pushing himself too far. No one wanted to be “that guy,” even though the weight heaped on his shoulders was far from reasonable. The deadness of cold seeped into their bodies so slowly, so surely, that when their hands stopped bending to their will, the exposure had already taken its toll. The core of the body becomes so desperately frigid that it literally takes days to recover.

  Such were the ongoing conditions throughout the installation of the barrier net. Affixing the net to the rock walls and sea floor was finally completed in early February 2000, but the barrier was not yet functional. Much like the construction of a building or house, the big work completed left behind a tedious list of finishing touches.

  The surface line of the net spanning almost 800 feet across the bay had to have a visual barrier above the surface. This meager addition announced the presence of the net to unsuspecting boat traffic. As importantly, it would deter Keiko from pushing the top line down and swimming over the net, a skill he had learned long ago. Another significant modification, authorized boats needed to be able to traverse the net for passage to the bay pen and the almost daily task of bay pen maintenance. The solution involved a boat gate consisting of several solid foam core cylinders conjoined at each end with eyebolts. Their centers spun on an axis, thus permitting boats to power up and over the buoyant black Caterpillar gate, as they gently rolled beneath conveying a rather peculiar waterborne “speed bump.”

  Over the course of the barrier net’s existence, this boat gate would hold up marvelously, working almost to perfection. But not every boat in our collection was fit for the crossing. Mastering the entrance to the bay in the smaller and lighter Sili, equipped with a single outboard motor, was a spectacle to observe. Getting it right required an exact amount of ramming speed timed with lifting the prop clear of the water just before hitting the boat gate. Too little momentum and the boat ran aground on the black cylinders, bow down and prop impotently clear of the water. In weather, this routine was at times welcome entertainment for spectators on the bay pen awaiting their replacements (and no less so for Keiko).