Ship to Shore
On the glassy swells the Draupnir rode well, allowing Robin to stay perched on the bow, one leg up on the pontoon to steady himself, his right hand grasping a line tied off to the bow stanchion. There was a tapping on the pilothouse window. Michael motioned for Robin to come back to the cabin.
Back at the hotel the crew overheard the helicopter’s report on the base radio. “Robin, Charles on the ship-to-shore wants to talk to you.” Michael had to shout through the cutting wind and roar of the engines.
Robin navigated his way around the pilothouse taking care to maintain a grip on the cabin’s support rails. At this speed even a small “bump in the road” could throw him from the boat.
Inside the pilothouse Robin took the phone from Michael. “Hello?”
“Hi, Robin, it’s Charles…. I have Jeff and Lanny here.”
“Okay,” Robin replied, adding under his breath, “This should be interesting.”
Lanny spoke first “What are you guys doing?”
“We’re going to get this whale back.”
“Why?” Lanny challenged. In his signature condescending tone, he stepped up the attack, “That’s against the protocols that we set in place—because he didn’t go with those whales doesn’t mean he won’t inadvertently go with other whales. He may be heading home, and you guys are calling him back. You talk about going against the protocols. Our protocols were always that if he decided to go off on his own to let him go!”
The conflict of interest behind Lanny’s motivation was crystal clear to Robin. He muttered, “The bastard just wants his success fee.” In the midst of this desperate mess, Robin’s patience with him vanished.
“Lanny, you’re wrong! That was never the protocol! From day one, in our first meeting at the hostel, we all agreed successful reintroduction would be only in the case of his successful integration with other killer whales. Right now he’s alone, he’s traumatized, confused, and he doesn’t know where he’s going!”
Not willing to back down, Lanny pressed, “But we said we wouldn’t immediately intervene—that we would allow time to observe his disposition and then make a decision whether to recall him to the boat.”
“We are already approaching fifteen miles from the island,” Robin snapped back. “If we allow him to go any further away, we will be too far from our base of operations to be able to monitor his disposition and/or intervene should that become necessary. In my opinion, the bottom line is that he is not successfully integrated. The initial introduction was a fiasco, and Keiko is simply running scared! My intention at this point is to find him—make an observation—recall him—and bring him back to Vestmannaeyjar. If the final decision is to allow him to go off on his own, then that decision can be made after we bring him back—and that’s a decision that you gentlemen will have to make on your own … without me.”
Before Lanny could speak again, Charles interjected in a calm reassuring voice: “Robin, we have talked to members of the board, advised them of the situation, they want us to make the decision about what needs to be done. I think Jeff and I agree that you should bring him back—once you locate him—you should bring him back.”
Lanny wouldn’t let it go, “Well, I think it’s wrong, and I disagree.”
Only Michael and I overheard the conversation. It didn’t matter anyway. The crew was already decided and in unanimous agreement that Keiko could not be left alone. Despite any varying opinions on the actual introduction to the wild pod, it was clear that Keiko was not with the wild whales. Everyone on the project, including Lanny, knew that he would not survive if left on his own.
Recall
It felt like almost an hour before we finally spotted the helicopter; in reality it was probably only minutes. Zero-Nine-Zulu passed us overhead in an instant, roughly two-hundred feet off the deck. The helicopter’s crew pushed the limits of its fuel reserves and were heading back to base with their own sense of urgency. Another indeterminate while passed as Draupnir held her pace relentlessly. Still we saw no sign of Keiko.
According to the reports from the helicopter, Keiko appeared confused or disoriented, swimming with the current for short spells and then turning abruptly and swimming in a small circle. He had continued this pattern for the brief period the helicopter was able to observe him. We could only guess at what this might indicate. At best, he was lost and simply following the prevailing current. At worst he may have sustained an injury from the wild whales or something else we could not have predicted.
Finally, approximately forty minutes after the aerial sighting, we approached the stated coordinates of Keiko’s last-known position. Michael slowed the Draupnir roughly a quarter nautical mile from the exact location given. Brad climbed atop the pilothouse with the tracking gear. Headphones on, he held the television-like antenna out in front of him and aimed it ahead of the Draupnir’s bow. He swept the antenna side to side very slowly, listening intently. In order to keep her steady and minimize engine noise, Michael again slowed the Draupnir, this time to a crawl.
Again, an eternity seemed to pass. Besides the low rumble of the engines, it was silent as each of us looked at the horizon trying not to blink, then at Brad, searching his expression as he listened for a signal. The sky was darkening and made it highly unlikely that anyone would be able to actually see Keiko, but we stared at the sea just the same and strained our ears for the familiar blow of his exhale we wanted desperately to hear.
The Icelandic summer never really gets completely dark. Instead, evenings become blanketed in a surreal backlight trapping the world in what feels like eternal twilight. Most times it proves to be a curious change from the routine, but this night it only served to augment the already ominous mood onboard Draupnir.
Robin motioned me to the bow where he had remained for the last hour. “Put the platform out. I want you to try the recall.”
I jumped to the pilothouse and poked my head inside. “Michael, all stop. I’m dropping the platform. Can you kill the engines?”
Michael grimaced and said, “I’d rather not. We’re too far out, and if she doesn’t start back up … “He left the thought unfinished.
“Yeah, bad idea. Just go neutral then.”
Without hesitation, I untied the platform and asked Blair to grab the recall tone transmitter. Once the platform was extended I submerged the transmitter. I looked at Robin, and he nodded. I hit the recall tone, holding the button down longer than usual for good measure. We waited.
Atop the pilothouse, Brad was scanning all directions for a signal from Keiko’s radio tag.
Nothing.
The surface of the ocean was black, as the evening light had almost completely faded. In the calm swell, we waited for Keiko to break the surface near the platform as he always did in response to the recall tone.
Still nothing.
After ten minutes or so, we began to lose confidence. Surely he must be within hearing distance of the recall? After all, it had not been that long between the helicopter’s sighting and our arrival at the coordinates. Michael began motoring at about five knots to prevent drifting in the current. We kept the platform extended, and I remained by the recall.
“I have something!” Brad blurted from the pilothouse roof. “It was faint but in this direction.” He was holding the antenna facing due north, one side of the headphones behind one ear, the other he pressed tight against his head listening intently. All eyes turned towards the direction in which Brad steadily held the antenna. In the distance, roughly two miles off, all we could see was Iceland’s mainland shore, a faint line on the horizon just slightly lighter in color than the black surface of the ocean. God, no … Likely we all thought it, but no one dared say it aloud. Michael immediately turned Draupnir to port and followed Brad’s lead.
The radio tracking tag only worked when the antenna attached to Keiko’s dorsal was above the surface of the water. Even if he was close, the signal would be intermittent, and in order to receive it, the antenna had to be point
ed almost directly at the radio tag with “line of sight.” This meant that the rise and fall of ocean swells could interrupt reception. It was very easy to miss an opportunity. Brad continued to scan in the direction of the last faint beep heard through his headphones.
I couldn’t contain my worst fear any longer.
“Robin, do you think he could be on the beach?”
“I don’t know … I hope not. Try the recall again.”
Robin didn’t seem to need or want to talk about eventualities or speculation. He was determined to work with whatever we were dealt. At least it was a good sign that Brad wasn’t getting a constant signal from the tag. That seemed to indicate that Keiko was unlikely to have beached.
“Michael,” I called, “can you turn the platform toward the direction of the signal?”
Michael turned the Draupnir to port another ninety degrees and exposed her starboard side to the distant shoreline. I immediately hit the recall tone, this time following it with a slap on the surface of the water with the palm of my hand as hard and flat as I could muster. We waited … silently looking and listening, willing Keiko to appear.
Out of the black abyss and with no warning, Keiko surfaced almost within reach of the platform. I will never forget his eyes. His eyes were bugged out of his head; he looked out of his mind. Robin saw it too and quickly reacted.
“Mark, get off the platform. He’s wigged out. I wouldn’t get too close!” Robin’s deft assessment was made all the more dire by the fact that he used my name. He never uses my name.
I didn’t argue the point. The sea was an immense black oblivion granting zero visibility beneath the surface. Even above the water everything melted together beyond just a few feet. There was no way I was taking any chances. Keiko was a big marshmallow at heart, but animals and people alike are capable of anything under the right circumstances. We had never seen Keiko like this before, and it was instantly unsettling, if not frightening.
I leapt to my feet and stepped back over the pontoon as the reality of the situation washed over me. Lanny could give a shit about this animal, his only concern was getting rid of Keiko and claiming a swift and decisive victory. I turned and faced Robin, who by now had stern look. More prone to reaction than Robin, I let my anger fly unfettered, “I’m sick of this shit. Keiko’s totally freaked. And that dumbass claims he’s ‘swimming home.’ For God’s sake look at him. He has no clue where he is!”
That moment would become pivotal, intensifying our resolve. Immediately I felt an overwhelming need to protect him—to get the Big Man back to Klettsvik Bay and to confront the decisions that led to this disaster. Every protocol had been broken; protocols that were clearly outlined and all had agreed to; protocols that upheld humane animal treatment far more than the crass dictates of Lanny and those to whom he sold his bag of cheap talk. Lanny had blatantly disregarded everything. He had forced the exposure.
In those moments following recovery, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Keiko had suffered a tremendous setback. Not only was first contact with his wild brethren an enormously negative experience, it was also clearly evident to everyone onboard Draupnir that Keiko was completely disoriented, exhausted and unprepared to make it on his own. As much as I was hurt by the vision of Keiko before me, I was also furious.
Dr. Lanny Cornell had just unraveled everything we spent the last sixteen months working to build. Keiko’s first exposure should have been a process—a series of approximations, slow and calm, positive encounters. It should have happened over time and at a pace set by the wild whales and Keiko, not forced on each other in one staged introduction. Again this ill-conceived Hollywood vision of release being a singular “event” derailed the path that might have ensured his survival. This day had put cold human interests laced with ignorance first, and once again the victim was Keiko—always Keiko.
12
Limping Home
One cannot work with an animal, especially one as exceptional as Keiko and in as surreal a setting, without falling hopelessly in love with that animal. This is not to be confused with possessiveness, which all too often is a hallmark of any animal-related field. As it goes with affection, the singular drive to provide for and protect becomes deeply rooted in every waking thought and action. The distressing venture to locate Keiko, and his condition once reunited with the Draupnir, left in its wake a violent storm of emotions for each of us intimately involved in the project.
Forged by the task of release to a foreign wild, our devotion to Keiko manifested itself in the tireless execution of his rehabilitation. If release was the mandate, then we would give him every conceivable advantage to thrive in the North Atlantic. We, a society, brought Keiko among us, and for that he deserved the best; the sharpest minds, and the most attentive to the tasks he had to bear out. And if he could not make his own way, he deserved the careful, thoughtful decision to guide him daily, to provide for his needs without fail.
We gave him a life with mankind and now, the same society to whom his presence had fostered value for his species, sentenced him to the greatest of challenges for his survival. This was a responsibility no one could carry lightly. This plot was human society’s own fantasy-based creation, whether or not Keiko was more or less worthy than any other cause did not matter. Here he was and here we were, agendas and politics be damned. Yet, at this acutely vital turning point in the project, human greed and arrogance had unyieldingly levied an immeasurable toll on Keiko’s future; a toll that would likely not be undone.
Aftermath
In the moments after Keiko’s reunion with the Draupnir, everyone on the boat crowded the port beam taking in the scene. Normally the eyes of a killer whale, even those of an alert animal, are a penetrating black orb. But here, the red extents of his eyes were apparent from any position on the boat. I had never witnessed such a stirring disposition in a killer whale. In those moments, I was moved first by relief at finding Keiko, and then by caution at what appeared to be an animal in shock. Both of which quickly gave way to anger coursing through my entire being. This vision before us steeled my resolve producing sharp clarity unlike any other time in the project thus far.
No matter what twisted form of reality was held by Lanny or anyone else for that matter, I decided then and there we would not do this again. My vision was magnified by the intensity of an unblinking stare as I locked my jaw, lost in thought.
Over and over I measured the toll amassed by the blown effort. I imagined the next days, weeks even. What would be the next steps? How would we resurrect from this disaster? Walking back through familiar territory I broke the process down to the basics, and then envisioned what the ideal introduction should look like. I toyed with each concept, rolling scenes around in my mind, then reordering them, then changing them again. Finally, clarity settled in my thoughts, and I could see our near future in focus. Scant few boats on the water, almost a footnote to the presence of whales. That’s it. We would need to find a large gathering, a mix of varied pods. A group of that size would most definitely be socializing or in a feeding frenzy … not traveling. The presence of a strange whale would mean nothing to them. Once in their vicinity the boats would linger, allow Keiko to experience the sights and sounds. No pressure. He’d have all the time in the world. We would take two boats, that’s all we needed. When we find this ideal communion of whales, we’ll go neutral and stay neutral, we’ll drift as far as the wind or current takes us if we have to. After this first explosive introduction, we’ll need lots of repetition, but I’m sure of it—this is how we will go forward. This is how we must repair the damage done here.
As heartbreaking as the setback was, I had growing determination that we would not be fooled again. This was not the first, but it would be the last time the introduction plan and its prime benefactor would be so blatantly ignored.
“Let’s go ahead and put the platform out and see what he does.” Robin startled me out of my trance. “If you think he’ll do it, I’d like to take a close look at him
.” He was referring to a body exam. Robin wanted to look him over to check for injury or hot spots that might indicate severe bruising.
Keiko was floating so close to the Draupnir I had to ease the platform down, allowing the line to slip ever so slowly through my grip as I lowered the drawbridge-like appendage to the water. Keiko reluctantly moved ducking beneath the black surface, adjusting and then resuming position in front of the platform. Thus far, he had yet to lift his head above the surface, the customary and familiar acknowledgment typical in human-whale relationships. His breathing was frequent, but no longer erratic. This and his increasing stillness calmed my nerves enough that I stepped back onto the platform. Despite Keiko’s reputation as an unusually docile animal, I remained ready to spring back, subconsciously assessing the less obvious traits of an animal I did not recognize.
I extended my arm, distally giving the signal for a ventral roll and fluke present (also the safest position in which to protect myself). Keiko took a breath and very slowly complied, moving to my left and toward the bow. Rolling ventral and exposing his white belly, he continued to drift out of the behavior well beyond my reach. Keiko only remained in a ventral position for a few moments, rolling back to a dorsal drift and moving away from the starboard beam of the Draupnir. A complete divergence from the whale we knew so well, he was unwilling or unable to acquiesce to my request. In a long slow arch, he returned to the previous position in front of me. The sluggish circle took more than a minute. We tried once or twice more, but each time it was the same. Robin finally said he’d seen enough, taking survey during the slow swim-by of each attempt. It was time to start our trek back to the base of operations in Klettsvik.
The water’s surface was abnormally glass-like; the blackness of depth undulating with long slow swells, rising and then passing beneath us in drawn out intervals. I remained on the platform giving Keiko a point of focus as Michael dropped the engines into gear and started to edge the Draupnir forward. Keiko took a full breath, pausing between the exhale and voluminous inhale. He began to follow his escort as he had so many times before. However, this time it was different. This time, after only a few meters, he dropped back behind the Draupnir, finally coming to a stop and floating at the surface.
Killing Keiko Page 33