Killing Keiko

by Mark A. Simmons

  The operations team made their repairs, and fortified the weaker points of attachment that had been pinpointed by the fierce currents. Throughout its existence, despite redoubled efforts, maintenance of the barrier net was a constantly raging battle. On one side a frail human contraption hopelessly reliant on mending and cleaning. On the other, a relentless Klettsvik determined to throw off her involuntary muzzle.

  Apart from dominating operational struggles, subtle changes in Keiko began to take form. Silently, in the shadow of Klettsvik’s looming rock walls, Keiko turned a corner.

  8

  The Mean Season

  Settling into April, operations became firmly rooted in the expansive bay. Now, more than ever, we focused laser-like attention to Keiko’s choice of location. Though we often asked him out of the pen at our direction, Keiko’s voluntary investigation of the bay was the prize we sought. At first these golden moments were scarce. But like baby steps, Keiko gradually gained interest through repeated trials and, by no small measure, through our efforts to encourage his exploration of the bay.

  The monotony of watching sometimes hours for an opportunity to “catch” Keiko acting the part of a wild bull killer whale were no more. Now, we found ourselves hiding in packs around the bay pen, each of us interested in when he would come out again, where he would go, how far he might venture. We each wanted to be the one that might stretch his territory to new heights in space and time. Day by day, Keiko gave us more material with which to work. Eventually it became commonplace for him to travel so far from the pen that he appeared as if a small dolphin in the distance. The sight was intoxicating.

  Ultimately Keiko adapted to the enormous bay more quickly than we did. At times, three of us would station ourselves on three distant corners of the bay pen, and yet it could take fifteen minutes or more to locate Keiko within the bay. Truthfully, our inability to supervise Keiko in the bay was the root of much discomfort on our part and therefore we continued to separate him back into the small area of the bay pen each night.

  We overcame this insecurity once we recognized that Keiko’s happenstance run-ins with the anchor lines were minimal and decreasing. The irony of our own fear of the unknown paralleling with that of Keiko’s seemed a fitting reminder of the complex forces at work on both Keiko and the release team. As we finally relaxed into our role, Keiko began spending almost all of his available time in the relative vastness of the bay. He only came into the pen when called in or during heavy storms.

  HDS

  Delivering Keiko’s reinforcement in the bay was a logistical challenge that required a creative solution. It also proved to be immensely enjoyable for the Behavior Team. Recall that at this stage, our principal tool for reinforcing or rewarding appropriate behavior was food, nearly 100 pounds of herring and capelin per day. But even the most amazing pitcher in the major leagues could throw a herring only so far. Many of us developed painful “pitcher’s arm” in the pursuit of competitive fish-throwing. If we didn’t find a way to deliver herring to any part of the bay, we would only teach Keiko to swim within an “arm’s throw” of the bay pen.

  We entertained ideas of CO2 powered “fish cannons,” stationing “pitchers” around the cliffs of Klettsvik and even seeding the environment with disguised herring-boxes throughout the bay. Most proved to be impractical either due to physics or operational limits. Ultimately, we decided on a favorite of many third-grade sharpshooters, a whale-sized version of the wrist rocket: a slingshot.

  In no time, Mighty Mo had a local metallurgist fabricate what looked like a giant fork missing the center prongs. They attached several bands of rubber surgical tubing to each side of the slingshot frame and looped them through a funnel situated in the middle. We dubbed our proud creation the Herring Delivery System or HDS for short. We found the obvious attempt to disguise the toy in a formal title to be quite humorous. The HDS was affixed on top of the research shack, firmly rooted in a larger pipe bolted to the roof. This way we could pivot the slingshot in any direction. If the boyish backyard wars of childhood were carried through to an adult version, the HDS was the unbridled result, equivalent to a.50-caliber mounted machine gun.

  It was more powerful than we anticipated. On its first use, the HDS nearly obliterated the funnel that acted as the sling. True of many prototype devices, we had to go through a bit of testing, and though we worked out the kinks pretty quickly, the HDS still required no small amount of skill. The operator had to lean back at a precise angle, gauge the wind and “hold his tongue just so” … but once released—THWHAAAP—the HDS would unleash a violent barrage of North Atlantic herring high into the air and well distanced. As we each became proficient, we could launch five or six individual herring simultaneously and up to 500 feet in almost any direction (further when we had the wind at our backs). We could also put the fish where we wanted with precision. As for Keiko, he now encountered “fish from heaven” seemingly at random and in all corners of the bay.

  There were a few unanticipated benefits of the HDS. For starters, it made DRA conditioning fun and therefore increased the amount of time individual team members spent looking for appropriate behavior to shape. Also, the result of herring floating at the surface and spread in random fashion was not unlike the aftermath of wild whales stunning a biomass of herring with their flukes. Icelandic killer whales often forage this way. When observed from a boat, the feeding grounds of wild whales feasting on herring were left riddled with immobile fish scattered and floating at the surface.

  The birds of Klettsvik quickly learned that the telltale THWAP of the HDS meant free food. When the herring hit the water near Keiko, sea gulls the size Christmas turkeys would swoop down and steal the fish right from under Keiko’s nose. On a few rare occasions, the most talented gulls would grab the herring in mid flight at the peak of its trajectory. When the ricocheting winds of Klettsvik were at their most disorganized, the wild and random paths our flying fish could take never ceased to amaze us, their final destination no less confounding. Often this increased the level of difficulty for both whale and birds.

  It didn’t take any time for Keiko to learn there was competition for his food. Soon he was reacting to the herring much like a predator would react to an opportunistic prey. I was thrilled. As hard as we tried, I had never witnessed even the best of trainers produce predatory reflex reactions like those imposed by the live-or-die ultimatums demanded in nature. The HDS provided food for all that lived in the bay, and the winner was determined by who wanted it the most. That competition sometimes frustrated Keiko, but his apathy quickly turned to aggression directed at the occasional seabird. In the momentary pandemonium at the water’s surface, there were more than a few chances for Keiko to add waterfowl to his menu, which he quite nearly did, once or twice ending up with tail feathers instead. The frenzy created by the HDS sharpened Keiko in ways that nothing else could.

  FLASH REPORT

  Staff Update, April 1, 2000

  Latest information regarding Iceland operations: Keiko

  Who’d thunk it! In an extremely spellbinding moment … Stephen Claussen was left speechless after Kelly “the Funnel Queen” Reed nailed a Great Northern Diver (a bird) with the HDS (Herring Delivery System) on live television. In a statement following the incident, Kelly eloquently side stepped the issue by drawing attention to Greg’s accidental marriage to a local Icelander late last night.

  So many wild whales have entered the area that DR with Keiko has become increasingly difficult. Yesterday alone, seven other whales took over 40 pounds of Keiko’s base when he reacted too slowly to retrieve the fish. Steve Sinelli was seen later that evening shooing the wild whales away during a husbandry session.

  Marine Operations has been missing for several days now. If anyone has any information … there is a 30,000 Kr. reward for information leading to their arrest.

  The barrier net continues to spend more and more time in the bay while Keiko holds fast. As long as the weather remains calm we expect to have all th
e kelp cleaned off of Keiko this week.

  Ocean Futures latest press release was extremely successful. Jeff Foster conducted the interviews which captured the community’s attention with a colorful description of Keiko’s attraction to the Draupnir.

  Our main office instituted a new policy regarding residence at the hotel here on-site. Firearms of any kind will no longer be allowed in your rooms. Sorry, Blair.

  We have recently had to reduce Keiko’s exercises to one behavior only when in the bay. This was decided in a group discussion after a perimeter lob-tail that Steve sent took 32 minutes to complete.

  April Fools

  The Iceland Team

  Boat Etiquette 101

  Another sweeping change in Keiko’s life during Phase II was to introduce his newly acquired high-seas escort, the Draupnir. I was beside myself with anticipation to get started on boat walk conditioning, training Keiko to “heel “alongside the Draupnir. Initially, we labored through tedious planning and communication separating Keiko into the bay pen when boats entered the bay. We were not sure yet how he would react. Still, it was an inevitable encounter that could not be avoided, so it had to be conditioned.

  Through time and repeated exposure to these boats, making sure that they offered little in the way of interest, we knew he would eventually tire of them and move on to more interesting stimulation in his environment. This is how the process of desensitization works. When something becomes so mundane and offers no value, that object or stimulus slowly and surely fades from our awareness as if invisible. But this process takes time. It also requires some degree of counteracting the boat as a naturally appealing break in an otherwise monotonous bay. To do this, we would randomly provide reinforcement for the chance few times that Keiko ignored the boats, then build on that foundation.

  The first few times we allowed Keiko to have access to a boat was when the Sili made her way to and from the bay pen. The close encounters were largely uneventful, although he shadowed the Sili’s every movement from the curious crossing of the boat gate, to the pen, and back out again. Always right on her port or starboard beam, he would cock his head to one side and eyeball the occupants as if to say, Hey there, what-cha doin’? The staff was well instructed (warned … okay, maybe threatened) not to give one ounce of attention to this silent but humorous inquiry. So clear were the protocols of desensitizing Keiko’s interest in boats that even eye contact was forbidden when he was soliciting attention from any boat, even the Draupnir. During the course of these first steps, we changed up the schedule and the boats, as well as where they went and how they went with great creativity. Much like training a police horse to ignore almost any unpredictable event that might occur in a crowded public park, we were exposing Keiko to as many versions of a boat as possible. We even recruited the occasional third-party boat in order to expose him to unfamiliar craft. In every case, beyond that of providing something to watch, he received no direct form of response or reinforcement from the waterborne citizens of Klettsvik.

  The next step in the process of conditioning the walk-boat was to create something very distinctive about the Draupnir and when Keiko was allowed to approach her. It’s important to note here that conditioning and desensitization are, in simple description, opposite forms of shaping behavior. Conditioning (also shaping or modifying behavior) is an active process and involves creating reinforcing consequences. Desensitization seeks to eliminate any form of reinforcement—for that matter, any form of stimulation—associated with the event or object. An object can also have distinctive characteristics that determine when it has value. The absence of those same distinguishing traits can likewise render the object useless or having no value. Sometimes we see it, sometimes we don’t. A phone that sits on the wall is invisible to us, until it rings. We tune out innumerable things in our background, until something changes, something unusual in appearance or sound or a combination thereof that alters the item’s meaning for us. Although a crude description, this basic premise marked how Keiko’s walk-boat was set apart from other boats.

  Transferring his familiar platform was the first and most obvious of the distinguishing factors that set the stage for Draupnir’s special attributes as the walk-boat. Over the recent two months in the bay pen, and even on his first weeks in the bay, we introduced the platforms as Keiko’s only means to receive human interaction. Simple in their design, these platforms were approximately two by four feet, consisting of a continuous aluminum tube about three inches in diameter forming the rectangle of the platform. Nylon straps were cross-woven through the length and width of the rectangle and formed the surface where the staff stood or sat. Light, hydrodynamic and impervious to the water, they were intended to be an easy adaptation to Keiko’s tailored and peculiar walk-boat. The platform was attached, much as they had been on the bay pen itself, to the outside pontoon or the sponson of the boat. The long side of the trampoline-like fixture hinged against the Draupnir’s starboard beam, the outside corners supported by guide ropes tied off to the top of the pilothouse. This allowed us to retract the platform to an upright stowed position or “present” the platform by putting it in a down position resting nearly flat on the water’s surface.

  Next she was equipped with a small underwater transmitter fabricated by Woods Hole Oceanographic. The transmitter was used to create a short burst signal set to a frequency well within Keiko’s upper hearing range. The combination of the call tone followed by the deployment of the platform defined the conditions by which Keiko was allowed to approach the walk-boat. Outside of the bay pen, the tone recall and platform were limited to the Draupnir and the Draupnir only. Like the platform, we had introduced the call tone months prior to bay access and the kickoff of boat-walk training. Both variables were well-rehearsed.

  Such was the setting on Keiko’s maiden “steps” with his escort walk-boat. First he would learn to ignore the boat; then, by design, he was taught to approach her, and to eventually follow her faithfully. During the first approximation, we began by having the Draupnir within the compass of the bay, milling about at random and without consequence to Keiko. Starting with our morning session, we dropped the west-side platform on the outside of the pen, triggering the call tone just as the platform hit the water’s surface. At Keiko’s arrival, a routine body exam ensued while the Draupnir motored by, only thirty feet off. On her second pass, the Draupnir stopped at much the same distance, this time holding her position and presenting her starboard platform.

  “Bay pen—Draupnir, copy?” Even amid the best of conditions within Klettsvik, radio communication was necessary. Distances, birds, and wind all stole away any attempt at oral instruction. This day it was the birds. The high decibel disharmony of chirps and whistles squelched any chance of conversation even within close quarters.

  “Bay pen, go ahead, Draupnir,” Tracy replied. She was standing just behind Brian who was working with Keiko on the pen’s west platform.

  “I’m going to drop the platform then let’s go right to the A to B. Okay?”

  Located on the Draupnir, I took personal responsibility for Keiko’s walk conditioning. Some within the Behavior Team took offense at this, having had more “time in” with Keiko and the project. I was keenly aware of the sentiment, but also willingly sacrificed what equity I might have had with the more slighted team members. To me, the ever-increasing need for precision in the steps toward re-introduction was palpable. I wasn’t about to take any chances with this important part of Keiko’s training.

  Brian waited until I had the Draupnir’s platform in position. I sat ten meters directly opposite Brian, kneeling on the nylon trampoline suspended from the starboard sponson. As Brian stood and pointed directly toward the Draupnir with his arm fully extended, Tracy popped over the radio.

  “Pointed.”

  “Copy,” I replied, simultaneously hitting the call tone.

  Keiko arrived in front of me as if he’d done this a thousand times, head cocked to one side and body trailing to aft in the slig
ht current. He had never been quite this close to the boat. His length was nearly two-thirds that of the Draupnir. Michael had her in gear, idling to hold position, and leaned out of the pilothouse.

  “He-hey, there he is!” Michael voiced the excitement we all shared.

  I bridged Keiko and offered him a couple herring, which he took without pause.

  “Bay pen—Draupnir. I’m going to point him back … let’s repeat the same, then we’ll start moving,” I advised Tracy through the mini-shoulder mic on my radio. Brian and I exchanged Keiko in the same way one more time, to the pen platform and then back again to Draupnir.

  Keeping my eyes on Keiko, I yelled to Michael who had now opened the side window of the wheelhouse.

  “Okay, Michael, let’s start at a very slow pace and see how it goes.”

  Michael throttled up, creeping the Draupnir forward. Keiko stayed in much the same position, head slightly aside and watching me on the platform. The movement required little to no effort on his part.

  “Michael … a little faster.”

  The sound of Draupnir’s twin engines pitched up as Michael applied slightly more throttle.

  Keiko began swimming, now having to put his head down in a more natural position to keep pace beside the boat.

  “How’s that?” Michael tested. Three feet away, I struggled to figure out the best position on the platform, now awash with water. Standing and holding fast to the guide ropes was the only solution.

  “Perfect … just hold right there … keep as wide as you can, no sharp turns,” I said. The instruction was unnecessary. Michael and I had thoroughly vetted the plan earlier that morning.