Killing Keiko

by Mark A. Simmons

  Like a seasoned referee, Jeff interrupted the exchange offering an alternative. “I think I can get it. I think I can get a better angle from the water.” It seemed obvious that he and Robin had somehow already conversed on the topic. That, or Jeff was thinking along the same lines as Robin.

  He continued, “It’s hard to get the angle right from where Lanny is, but I can get a much better view from where I’m at. I think we can make it work. I just might need Brian or someone to hold me up when I’m working the drill.”

  There it was. Jeff skillfully and diplomatically took over the surgery. He had given Lanny an easy out, inasmuch taking the gun right out of his hand in one fell swoop. Agreement settled, I preached my bit on the approach and crowd control. Immediately after, those of us charged with control of the session started out of the shack. As we shuffled through the crowd and back out onto the bay pen, I mumbled under my breath to Brian, Tracy and Tom, “Make sure there are no buckets within Lanny’s reach.”

  The morning wore on, and we completed the attachment in only two additional sessions, each of which far surpassed the first in efficiency, accuracy and all-around behavioral correctness. Not much else was shared between Lanny and me that day. For the most part, I remained quietly on the fringe. Though admittedly, I kept a careful eye out and almost hoped he would cross a line.

  Perhaps my shortened fuse with Lanny was largely vested in his tainted reputation. Just the same, there was no lack of present offenses with which to find fault either. I knew what dedication to the animal looked and felt like. I witnessed nothing redeeming in Lanny’s skillsets that granted him the grace and favor of his self-appointed title as Patriarchal Asshole.

  The following morning Lanny left the island. As quickly as he came, he went. The whirlwind nature and term of his visit did nothing to assuage already deeply ingrained perceptions of him among the staff. Mercifully, he had been nothing more than a passing inconvenience, rarely on-site and seldom affecting any true influence. Still, more than a few of us breathed a welcome sigh of relief at his departure.

  Glimpse

  Finally, dangerously close to the ill-fated blast date, Charles reached a compromise with Icelandic Fisheries. It was a brilliant move on his part, offering the reluctant officials an olive branch. Rather than a blanket approval, a stipulation was introduced such that Keiko could go to the open ocean but with limitations. He could not be introduced to other killer whales, at least not until other components of his release criteria could be objectively measured and proven.

  As the summer season brought with it extended days and often calmer waters at sea, so too did it bring the migration and nearby presence of many whales. The approval meant we now had the means to escape dangers in the harbor, but it also meant excursions to sea could develop into a dodgy game of cat and mouse.

  It was agreed, we would evade the blasting in the harbor by taking Keiko to sea and in doing so, move the project purposefully into the next phase of reintroduction. It seemed we had only yesterday been sequestered in the bay pen struggling to overcome limitless obstacles, and yet here we were: Keiko a different animal, the staff getting comfortable with the reality of “letting go” and the imposing threat of nearby blasting. This was the unexpected plot that would see us off to the next adventure in Keiko’s journey to freedom.

  Just days before the blast date, we had our tempered approval to take Keiko out of the bay fast in hand. He would be free from any manageable form of confinement for the first time in twenty years. Though the goal of the project was indeed release to the wild, the prospect of Keiko outside the bay initially caused much uneasiness among the staff. After all, none of us expected him to just swim off, but we also didn’t know what to expect. For starters, we didn’t know with any certainty that he would stay with the walk-boat. There was also concern that he might become disoriented in the new surroundings and go directly into the harbor, closer still to the dangers we sought to avoid. Reflecting on the tribulations of his first access out of the bay pen itself, a very real possibility existed that he would not even follow his familiar escort, refusing to leave the bay altogether.

  No time was wasted. Only two days remained before the blasting would take place. Upon confirmation of the staged permit, we immediately set up a practice session. Before attempting to take Keiko far out to sea, we would simply take him outside the bay by sending him from the bay pen platform through the unfamiliar barrier net gate and to the Draupnir waiting in the shipping channel; a onetime dress rehearsal. The test was important to calm our own anxieties more so than anything else.

  On the day of the preliminary test, suppressing summer light and resulting warmth helped to calm the otherwise fitful elements. We had enjoyed a run of agreeable weather. It almost felt as if the Nordic gods were sympathetic to our circumstance and welcomed the next baby steps in Keiko’s heightened adventure.

  The Draupnir idled a hundred or so meters outside the barrier net gateway, starboard platform facing the direction of the gate. Onboard Heppin, Greg and Smari positioned on the seaward side of the channel to run interference should a third-party vessel unknowingly motor into the peculiar scene. Likewise, they were ready to move about and intercept boats coming from the harbor side. Sili was tied up to the barrier net itself, prepared to open the underwater guillotine-style gate. Tom and Brian were on the bay pen. They prepared to send Keiko to the awaiting Draupnir.

  On the receiving side, Draupnir carried a full crew. We had to be prepared for any possible outcome. Jen was stationed atop the pilothouse, recording gear in hand and wearing a red helmet mounted with camera to capture data for Keiko’s first miniature exposure to the open sea beyond. Michael captained the walk-boat and was accompanied by Charles inside the cabin. Robin positioned himself directly behind my usual stance on the already extended platform. He conducted the sequence of events from his handheld radio.

  “I think we’re ready,” he said almost to himself, as he scanned across all boats and positions. Like many of us during our rotations to the remote island, he had let his beard grow out. The fully gray scruff lent itself to a salty seafarer guise.

  “I’m ready here whenever they are,” I offered in response. Tracy was beside Robin, there to assist me with whatever I might need from my perch on the platform. One hand was always holding fast to the platform. Every movement of the boat was exaggerated on the artificial appendage.

  “Draupnir—Bay Pen,” Robin called over his radio.

  “Bay Pen. Go ahead, Draupnir.” It was Tom who responded, which meant that Brian would be working Keiko.

  Robin continued, “Call him over when you’re ready. You guys will have to call the gate.”

  Robin was reminding them that the gate movement was always dictated by whoever was working with Keiko.

  “Robin, Blair and Dane know to leave the gate open, right?” I asked of no one in particular. Dane Richards, Lanny’s nephew was part of the operation. We’d been over and over the sequence back at the dock, but one could never be too careful when it came to undiscovered country. Even the slightest mistake could cause an avalanche of unwanted results.

  “They know,” Robin replied.

  “Bay Pen—Sili,” Tom called over the radio. “Open the gate.”

  Keiko was sitting up in front of Brian, who was kneeling on the matching platform extended from the south ring of the pen.

  “Copy that, Bay Pen, gate opening,” Blair responded.

  We watched as Blair and Dane unlashed the lines holding the net gate in its closed position and slowly lowered the invisible gate panel, feeding out the line hand over hand.

  Moments later the “gate’s open” call came from the Sili.

  “Draupnir—Bay Pen. Send ‘em,” Robin instructed.

  Even before Tom responded with the confirmation, we could see that Brian was standing and pointing Keiko directly toward the barrier net gate, one arm extended straight out from his chest. I waited just a moment, to be sure Keiko’s head and thus his ears were subme
rged.

  “Tracy, recall.”

  “Recall,” Tracy repeated, confirming that she had hit the tone.

  I immediately followed her tone with a slap of the target, hitting the water like I was trying to knock a baseball out of the park. I wanted to be sure Keiko could discern our bizarre position outside the bay. I waited until I thought Keiko would be close to the gate and slapped with the target a second time, just as forceful as the first. Keiko was nowhere to be seen, although this was to be expected. After all he had to submerge to pass through the gate which was located a few feet below the surface.

  Robin radioed, “Call it if you see him.”

  No response came and still no sign of Keiko.

  “Hit the recall again,” I asked Tracy, preparing to follow her acknowledgment with a third slap of the target. As I rounded up to strike the surface, I had to pull back at the last second nearly hitting Keiko in the head, who had come from nowhere and popped up in front of me. He was completely at ease. As far as he was concerned, it was nothing more than another walk rehearsal. Exaggerated by our anxiety, it had seemed an interminable wait before Keiko finally reached the Draupnir, though he actually covered the expanse in less than a minute. Outside the sanctity of the bay, we were all one interconnected ball of nerves. Keiko was happily oblivious. Change had become his norm. To him it was likely just another odd game his human friends dreamt up.

  I offered him two or three herring by placing them below the surface of the water. In over two months, we had no longer given Keiko food directly in his mouth or for sitting up above the surface with his mouth open. A small but logical step, all food of any kind was given beneath the surface, even when it came from human hands.

  “I’m ready to point him back,” I said as I stood and looked down at Keiko. We had purposely set the rehearsal up for mid-tide. As expected and hoped, the water was near flat calm requiring little effort from Keiko to stay at position off the Draupnir’s walk platform.

  “Draupnir—Bay Pen. We’re pointing him back.” At Robin’s call, I pointed my left arm in the direction of the bay pen. Keiko lifted his head exposing his white underside and slowly rolled back and away from the platform.

  “Slap!” Robin called on the radio.

  Repeating the exact same sequence, Tom and Brian hit the recall tone at the bay pen and followed it with a target slap. After roughly the same passing of time, Keiko showed up in front of Brian at the bay pen.

  “Awesome … that was excellent!” I couldn’t contain my momentary relief.

  “Good boy!” Tracy shared in the moment.

  “Draupnir—Bay Pen,” Robin was moving on already. “Hold off on your food. We’re going to do one more, this time we’ll move a little. Save the majority for the last sep to the pen.”

  It was Tom’s voice again over the radio, “Copy that, Draupnir.”

  Turning to Michael but touching my shoulder as if to include me in the audience, Robin said, “Michael, once we get him, we’ll poke our head outside the mouth of the channel, then come back to this same position and point him back inside the bay.”

  “Got it, boss,” Michael replied, referring to Robin in his customary way.

  “Robin, I think we should end from the Draupnir inside the bay,” I said. I didn’t want to keep asking him to go away from his favorite toy. I felt the best reinforcement for returning to the bay was to get his walk-boat back, even if just a touch-and-go.

  “Agreed.” Then turning back to Michael, who was splitting his nervous attentions between the shipping channel and Robin, he said, “After we point him back into the bay, we’ll close the gate and take the Draupnir into the bay.”

  “Whatever you say. Just let me know when.”

  By now, Michael knew well not to move the Draupnir without clear direction from the training staff. At times our demands on the captains of the formation were at best unusual, at worst completely mystifying. They each knew better than to try anticipating what would come next.

  Keiko was pointed back out to his walk-boat. A mirror of the first “A-to-B” exchange, he arrived at the Draupnir, following our lead with seemingly blind faith. This time Jen spotted him on his approach from her position in the makeshift crow’s nest above the pilothouse.

  Advancing the plan, we motored ahead toward the mouth of the channel bordering the wide open North Atlantic. Closer to the mouth, the surface swells of the bay amplified into actual waves, nearly three or four feet at their caps. Sitting on the platform was no longer possible. I had to stand, holding tight to the forward guide rope secured high on the Draupnir’s pilothouse. Keeping my knees slightly bent, I flexed my legs in rhythm with the rise and fall of the platform over each wave and contrasting pitch of the boat.

  Keiko followed in his typical position and except for the embellished porpoising required to clear the waves for each breath, he gave no indication of anything out of the ordinary. We followed a wide arching circle tempting the open expanse of the northern seas, then were quickly back in calmer water at our original position off the bay gate. Less than ten minutes had passed.

  “Piece of cake,” Tracy piped triumphantly.

  “Watch it, sister, we’ve still got to get him back to the bay.”

  “He’ll be fine,” she countered, energized from the brief exercise.

  “Draupnir—Sili,” Robin radioed. “We’re going to point him back to the bay pen. This time we’ll close the gate. Bay pen will call the gate.” He knew that Brian and Tom were listening to the transmission.

  Blair acknowledged, “Sili—Draupnir, copy.”

  Keiko arrived at the bay pen platform without incident. Not realizing it, I took a larger than normal breath. Tracy heard my involuntary relief.

  “What’d I tell you? See, you need me here to keep you from going crazy.”

  “You’re the one that makes me crazy.”

  Our verbal joust was evidence of a relaxing posture onboard the Draupnir. Amidst our exchange, we heard the familiar call of the gate and watched as Blair and Dane pulled the guillotine gate back into closed position, tying off the leads when they were done. Keiko didn’t so much as cast a glance in the direction of the rattling gate.

  “Sili—Bay Pen. Gate secured.”

  “Affirmative, Sili. Thanks,” Tom replied from the pen.

  “Michael, let’s move the Draupnir inside,” Robin voiced. Then from the radio, “Draupnir—Bay Pen, we’re coming over the boat gate. Inside the bay we’ll do a short walk once or twice around the pen and call it a day.”

  “Copy that, Draupnir,” crackled back over the radio.

  We concluded the approximation with a routine walk within the bay. This time we delivered the majority of Keiko’s primary reinforcement—food—back in the bay enclosure. For now, it was important that we insure his reliable return. In the very near future, this balance would deliberately be reversed.

  The dry run had gone almost perfectly. From Charles down, we were full of ourselves at the success of the day’s trial. At least for this one brief night we would not have a care in the world. That evening, the red wine flowed in abundance.

  Eight Nautical Miles

  As the saying goes, “Time flies when you’re having fun.” It’s even faster when bookended by mounting pressures and looming deadlines. Our short night of celebration quickly faded to a fleeting memory. The following day we had much to prepare for the full-scale walk to sea. Blasting in the harbor was set to take place in less than thirty-six hours. The next walk was not a rehearsal. We would go much farther than the mouth of the channel and be at sea for an unknown length of time. It was one thing to circle around within the shipping lane and another entirely to circumnavigate the island. Literally and figuratively, the farther we got from the relatively predictable bay, the more variables we could encounter. Any concern over Keiko was upstaged by apprehension of third-party vessels, weather and currents. Added to these somewhat unmanageable variables was the overriding directive to not expose Keiko to other killer whale
s.

  May marked the beginning of the seasonal presence of many black-and-whites in and around the chain of islands, and no one knew how far away from other whales was far enough. It would take all of our man power and constant communication to ensure that we didn’t stumble unexpectedly into a pod of orca as we rounded Heimaey away from the blasting site.

  May 25, 2000: Weather continued to hold in our favor. Shortly after first light, everyone met at the harbor. A few were clinging to their morning coffee mugs to warm their hands. Others were fast at work transporting pelican cases. And our tired little red truck was making busy trips to and from the hotel and the fish warehouse. The uncharacteristic early morning hustle and bustle of loading boats, delegating assignments and last-minute checks created an atmosphere uncommon on the project.

  Stubbornly, the inspired vision of Keiko swimming off at his first chance of escape lingered. The unspoken insinuation was tangibly evident by the determined resolve to document every element of the day, and more so, by sentimental reflections and bold wagers shared in hushed sidebar conversations. Dispelling everything that had preceded this bold new day in the project, some scant few still believed more in the Hollywood adaptation than that of the storied life which lay before them.

  It was 0830 hours: The Sili set out of the harbor first. She would transport Brian and Tom to the bay pen, then exit the bay and assume her position on the barrier gate as she had done just two days before. Next out was Heppin, piloted by Greg and crewed by Smari, our fearless Icelandic head of security. Any third-party interference at sea was his responsibility.

  Onboard Draupnir, packed to the gills, were Robin, myself, Tracy, Charles, Jeff, Jen and Michael. Keiko’s food for the day occupied almost the entire aft deck space, crowded around the engine compartment in several well-iced buckets. Outside of the amidships cabin, the aft deck constituted the driest portion of the boat. Emptied “pelican” cases left from camera and recording gear were nestled inside the pilothouse and on the foredeck. Navigating the length of the Draupnir was made possible only by walking on her sponson while gripping the pilothouse, lest we be thrown overboard in the pronounced pitching of the boat while at sea. No matter the weather, this was the North Atlantic and her vast depths translated into a highly articulate surface even in the best of conditions.