Killing Keiko

by Mark A. Simmons

Approaching our first lap around the bay pen, Keiko began drifting off position, going deep and slightly beneath the platform. Having a short target pole with me, I tapped the surface with the buoy just to the front and outside the platform. Keiko came to the surface swimming with his nose just above the water and touched the target. I blew my whistle and yelled at Michael. “All stop!”

  I wanted to reinforce Keiko and needed to stop the boat so Keiko could sit up in his customary position at the platform. As the session and the day wore on, the process became much more fluid. In the first few laps around the bay pen, Keiko frequently drifted beneath the Draupnir, perhaps taking advantage of the hydrodynamic slipstream created by the hull. (Slipstream is an area of reduced air pressure and forward suction created by the hull when a boat is moving fast.)

  At an early pit stop, Tracy joined me on the Draupnir to assist, handing me the occasional herring and/or the target pole. Anticipating and correcting Keiko’s position, I prompted him with the target from time to time, but rather than stop the boat, Keiko and I both became proficient at the exchange. I tossed herring out to my left, speed dependent, two or three meters ahead of Keiko. He quickly learned to fast-grab the fish lest it disappear in both our wakes. Once or twice he missed the grab and turned back to retrieve the fish. This, of course, required the Draupnir to slow, allowing Keiko to rejoin the walk. As my aim at positioning the tossed fish became better, so too Keiko improved at snatching the morsel while keeping stride.

  His best grabs were addictive. At higher speeds it was necessary to throw the fish at just the right angle and with force. Otherwise it would skip off the surface and well out of Keiko’s path. But when I got it just right, not too close and not too far, Keiko would surface like a charging beast, water gushing from both sides of his open mouth as he snapped down on the fish. Once or twice I threw the fish in rapid succession, and although I made every attempt to put the herring in exactly the right spot, more than a few missed the mark. Astonishingly, Keiko quickly became skilled at moving his head to one side or the other to compensate, almost as if he had a neck. The “game” seemed motivating for Keiko. Watching him grab and dive as he did was certainly exhilarating for us.

  By the afternoon, we had completed nearly two nautical miles in the first round practice walks. Fun for both the crew and Keiko, we all rapidly became adept at the rhythms of the slow dance. Yet the level of communication and skill at handling the Draupnir was vital. Only Michael or Greg would captain the walk-boat during these pivotal rehearsals.

  Within a few short weeks, we were routinely practicing boat-follow training and increasing the distance Keiko traveled in company with the Draupnir. At first, we set up only two or three short walks each day. We practiced not only the walk itself, but we also taught Keiko when to leave the Draupnir. At random intervals we stopped the walk, retracted the platform and went into a neutral position. The first few of these breaks Keiko remained at the side of the Draupnir. He peered up at her inhabitants and waited patiently. When he finally lost interest and moved away, the team on the bay pen threw herring. To the best of their ability, they aimed for Keiko’s path away from the Draupnir.

  Initially, the need to directly reinforce Keiko for leaving the Draupnir in her neutral position was frequent. But the practice became much more random and intermittent as rehearsals wore on. Eventually Keiko came to understand the clear signs of the Draupnir’s distinctive walk stance. He also began to recognize when it was time to explore away from the boat. Platform down and recall tone meant “let’s go.” Platform up and a deck void of humans meant “go play.” It wasn’t long before Keiko became an expert at discerning the difference. An added benefit, his learning with the Draupnir in walk-mode helped to further desensitize his interest in other boats. By the end of the month, Keiko was no longer shadowing the random passage of waterborne vessels in and out of the bay.

  It seemed no time at all, and the first baby steps had morphed into full-blown April walks. As the walk rehearsals increased in distance, they decreased in frequency. In time it became fairly routine to do only two walks per day; weather permitting, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. At our peak, we were knocking down over fifteen nautical miles a day comprised of circles and figure eights inside the bay.

  Not bad, but still nothing compared to the travel Keiko would have to endure in company with wild whales. Traveling alongside the Draupnir during walk sessions was not, however, Keiko’s only means of exercise. After more than a month in the bay, we had successfully pushed his activity level to extremes.

  The use of DRA conditioning techniques was not unique by any measure, but the sheer intensity with which we applied DRA conditioning in this setting was indeed rare. Nearly ninety percent of Keiko’s food was delivered covertly, away from human contact, and in response to active swimming. Any form of activity well-away from the bay pen and the presence of man-made items (i.e., boats, docks, the barrier net and the pen itself) were subject to random reinforcement. In addition, we were now watching for opportunities to encourage activity almost twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. There was no predictable time off in Keiko’s new world.

  Bump in the Night

  Late April 2000: Daylight now extended from five a.m. through ten p.m. Our opportunities to conduct walks or other forms of conditioning at almost any time had likewise expanded. Now proficient at walk rehearsals, Keiko was routinely circling and weaving alongside the Draupnir an average of ten nautical miles each day, most times in one continuous trek. Longer walks now made the bay seem confining. Going in circles for eight or ten miles was uninspiring to say the least. That being said, it was nonetheless vital to ensure that Keiko could sustain extended distances and at varying speeds.

  During one idle afternoon, we stopped the Draupnir and assumed a neutral position, permitting Keiko to venture away from the boat. Greg was captain; Stephen Claussen and I were working with Keiko. By this time it was common to have two of the Behavior Team members on the boat. I worked with Keiko directly from the platform. Stephen assisted by managing the target pole and tossing Keiko the occasional herring. He would also periodically stand by our second HDS, mounted on the bow of the Draupnir, giving us a much improved range for providing reinforcement when Keiko explored the bay. At each stop, the platform was pulled up and tied off, communicating the “closed for business” stature of the Draupnir. Any crew on the boat immediately retreated to the interior of the pilothouse, thus completing the distinction.

  In the close quarters of the cabin, the three of us exchanged small talk. Mostly we listened and watched for Keiko’s usual departure to some other portion of the bay. But this time he didn’t leave right away. Keiko remained just off the starboard side of the boat looking for any signs of life. Finally he moved off but returned just as quickly on the opposite beam, again lifting one eye above the surface toward the empty deck of the walk-boat. We continued to ignore the solicitation, expecting Keiko to go about his way as he had done so many times before. Stephen and I entertained each other with our usual witty banter. Then, without warning, the Draupnir swiftly lifted from the water. Instinctively, we each grabbed hold of various fixtures in the cabin to steady ourselves.

  “Holy shit!” Greg reacted. “Did he just hit the boat?”

  It felt as if the Draupnir had lifted a foot from the waterline and was held there floating. In reality it was mere inches and just a fleeting moment. As the boat settled back to her footing, a loud thud sent a shudder throughout the entire vessel providing exclamation to the surprise levitation.

  We began shifting about the pilothouse and crowding around the small windows to get a glimpse of what was going on, hoping to locate Keiko.

  Before any of us could offer a response, a second hit rocked the boat. This time it was much sharper; a blunt force crack.

  “That’s not good,” Greg stated to no one in particular. Now he looked very concerned. “Should I move?” It was a determined suggestion more than a question.

 
“No, let’s just wait a minute,” I didn’t want to react to this new behavior. Instinctively I knew that a reaction would only entice Keiko to continue or worse, increase the intensity of his assault on the boat.

  “It sounds like he’s going to crack the hull,” Stephen said dryly, not at all helping to calm Greg’s concern for the Draupnir.

  Again, another CRACK followed by the momentary rise of the boat.

  “Ohmygawd!” Stephen bellowed. “That was hard!”

  This time Greg was beside himself. He wanted to take action. “I don’t know how much of this she can take. We should move or call him over … we can’t just let him keep hitting the boat.”

  “We have to wait. We’re only going to make it worse if we react. We need to wait until he leaves the vicinity for at least a minute or so,” I repeated.

  No one was on the pen this time, so we had no way to get a bird’s eye perspective of what Keiko was doing. Even worse, we couldn’t see Keiko from within the pilothouse unless he was away from the side of the boat. So far, he had largely stayed underneath the Draupnir, only passing from side to side as he struck the hull. From the unnatural movement of the boat, we could tell that he was also remaining beneath, rubbing or pushing his back up against the hull.

  “Do you think he’s doing that with his head or is it like his flukes or something?” Stephen was testing the various theories we were all visualizing. As if just occurring to him, he added, “He can’t tip the boat can he?”

  “I have no idea.” And I didn’t. “I’m guessing it’s his head, although I can’t imagine how he can hit it that hard without cracking his skull.”

  The thought given voice did not help Greg. His concern for the integrity of the hull now convinced me that damage was likely if not certain.

  Draupnir rose again as if on a small swell, followed by yet another thundering CRACK!

  “Jeez!” Stephen exclaimed. “Five feet. I think that was about five, no, maybe eight feet. Yeah, about eight feet out of the water.”

  “Thanks, Stephen, that helps,” I retorted.

  “Okay, that’s enough … we’ve got to do something,” Greg urged.

  I knew Greg’s patience was just about gone. Regardless, I was just as stubbornly holding fast to providing no reaction to whatever this was. As I strained to find Keiko out the window of the pilothouse I tried to convince Greg to stay put for just a few more minutes.

  “Just hang on a second. As soon as he moves away we’ll head to the pen.” Crammed inside the pilothouse I was keenly aware of the stagnant smell of grease and maybe a little mildew. Turning to look out the opposite window I almost stumbled over Stephen, who was on his butt, knees pulled up to his chest and rocking back and forth as he pretended to suck his thumb. I couldn’t help myself; involuntarily I let a short chuckle escape.

  “Guys,” Greg’s one-word warning was stern enough.

  “Stephen you’re killing me here,” I said trying to realign with a serious atmosphere. “At the least let’s make sure we know where he is before we do anything.”

  In a perfect world, I wanted to wait until Keiko left the area and not just by a little. I wanted to be convinced he had lost interest in the assault and moved on to other things. As it was, I couldn’t afford to wait that long or be that certain. Clearly Greg wasn’t willing to chance it much longer. Thankfully, Keiko finally gave us the small window we needed. Only a short time had passed. At the time it seemed like an hour. Keiko moved away from the Draupnir and was, for the moment, swimming directly away from our position.

  “Okay, let’s get to the pen. Drop Stephen and me off, and then you can take the boat in,” I said.

  Greg quickly engaged the engines and moved to the west side of the pen. Responding to her movement, Keiko turned and headed back toward the walk-boat. He swam slowly at the surface in no apparent hurry. Greg had the Draupnir in reverse almost as quickly as her bow touched the pen, allowing just enough contact for Stephen and I to leap onto the pen. Although Keiko stalked the Draupnir on her exit from the bay, he did not strike her again that morning.

  In the following days, Keiko repeated the strange behavior unpredictably, but almost exclusively during walk rehearsals when the Draupnir assumed her neutral position. He seldom hit the boat when she was transporting crew to or from the bay pen before walks began and not every time during walks. I began calling the behavior “love taps” in an effort to diffuse the heightened concern. Following the initial event and in a staff update, I made light of the situation, grossly exaggerating Greg’s concerns for humorous effect. Though Stephen and I shared a bellyful of laughs in drafting the update, Greg didn’t appreciate the embellishment in the slightest. Of course, this only served to fuel a more colorful tale at each telling.

  The Wrong Way

  Thus far I had been successful in preventing any direct or immediate reaction to the hits. But the need to fix the issue eventually led to an all-hands staff meeting to examine the problem and figure out how to address it. We congregated in the hotel solarium, our favored spot for any form of communal exchange. It was late enough that the starry sky was visible through the glass panels transforming the room into a nightly planetarium of sorts. Every soul on-site gathered to one side of the solarium, some in the few chairs that scattered the room, most on the floor or leaning against the half-wall leading down to the kitchen. As the discussion wore on, more and more creative ideas were offered in hopes of redirecting or stopping Keiko’s beating of the Draupnir.

  My frustration was blatantly obvious early on. Beyond describing the hits and the circumstances when it most often occurred, I largely listened to the speculation on potential damage to the Draupnir or Keiko self-inflicting injuries. There was no shortage of wild and some rational solutions.

  Greg led the volley of alternatives. “Why don’t we just keep the boat moving instead of sitting idle? Maybe that will keep him from hitting the boat.”

  Charles approached the subject from a logical point of view, seeking to break down the events. By now, he was becoming practiced in behavior analysis he had participated in with Robin and me. “Why do you think he’s doing it in the first place?

  “I have ideas, but the main thing is that we don’t react to him hitting the boat once it’s started,” I couldn’t disguise my impatience. I had already said as much in response to some of the more colorful solutions voiced earlier.

  “If he keeps hitting the boat that hard, he’s going to either crack the hull or hurt himself or both,” Greg pressed.

  “I understand. I’m not suggesting that I don’t care about the boat or Keiko. I’m simply saying that changing what we’re doing in response is only going to make matters worse,” I said.

  “It’s like he thinks it’s a toy … like he wants to play,” Stephen suggested.

  Again I didn’t respond. I was tired and describing the “why” behind the odd behavior was completely useless at this point. No matter what the reason, it had happened, and we couldn’t start guessing what might be going through Keiko’s head. I knew that was a natural reaction but also a dangerous one. In my world, events that prompted the behavior and the immediate consequences that increased it were the pivotal points of any solution. That and focusing on what we wanted Keiko to do instead of hit the boat.

  “Look, at this point we know he’s most likely to start hitting the boat when we’re neutral and usually during the middle of a walk session. He’s only done it once or twice outside of that, and even then they were halfhearted bumps, not nearly the intensity as during walks.”

  I was trying to explain what we could predict rather than guessing at motive. “I’ve seen similar behavior before, although the outlet is different. It’s basically frustration.”

  “Frustration from what?” Jen asked.

  “Schedule-induced frustration,” I answered. “We’ve been doing the walks now for almost two months. We’ve eliminated almost every other form of stimulation that he’s used to.” This all seemed so obvious, “The on
ly time he gets ‘us’ is during the walks.”

  “So you’re saying we need to go back to more other types of interaction?” Charles was probing for next steps.

  Stephen jumped in, “He used to have a blue raft in Newport. He liked to push it up and knock us off of it. It was a game. Maybe he thinks it’s like the blue raft.”

  Again the guesswork. My weariness got the best of me.

  “Guys, I’m telling you this is frustration. We can’t react to him hitting the boat no matter what the reason. If we do, he’ll just start hitting the boat anytime he wants our attention.” I couldn’t resist and went there. “I’ve worked with over twenty-six other killer whales. I’m telling you I know what I’m talking about. I’ve seen the exact same thing before, it’s frustration. We have to stick to the consistency and look for more opportunities when he doesn’t hit the boat, especially during the times we’ve gone neutral.”

  I knew when I said it that I’d crossed an unspoken line. One cannot force agreement by imposing the “experience card.” I had gone out of my way throughout the entire project, often in turbulent interactions with the more inexperienced staff, to avoid pulling the holier-than-thou punch. Until then. Stupid. I regretted it as soon as the words left my mouth.

  Robin knew I was right. I knew I was right. For the love of God I couldn’t figure out who couldn’t understand this basic concept. If I had been surrounded by senior trainers from the SeaWorld of Florida park, these topics would never even enter the fray. It was exhausting and seemed such a baseless waste of time.

  What we needed was to be sure there would be no knee-jerk reaction out on the water. This was critical and was foremost in my mind. Supporting that, we needed to monitor how we were reinforcing the “right” behavior of leaving the Draupnir, when Keiko was swimming away or exploring throughout the bay. One of a trainer’s favorite cliché phrases, “rehearse is worse,” beautifully describes the proactive need to anticipate conditions that lead to misbehavior and avoid allowing it to occur in the first place. We also needed to identify any behavior other than hitting the boat or even those incompatible with hitting the boat and invest our time and attentions there.