“Robin.” I didn’t need to say more.
“Michael, all-stop,” Robin called to the pilothouse.
We held our position. Our stopping prompted Keiko. He made his way back to the platform. Still he did not lift his head, only continuing forward in a restful position at the surface, the unusually calm sea afforded him the opportunity to relax much the same.
We tried again, motoring forward at no more than two knots. This time he stayed with us a little longer. After maybe a hundred meters he began trailing off to aft once more. We could almost see the damp air filling the space between the boat and the retreating whale. Michael slowed but did not stop. At this, Keiko gained ground on the Draupnir, finally making his way back to the usual position off the starboard platform. We held this pace and continued the journey back to the bay.
But it was not to be. Once again Keiko began slipping behind. Obvious that he was not able or willing to stay with us, we again stopped the boat. Thus far, we had covered less than a quarter mile.
“I think we’re just going to have to let him rest a while,” I said.
Robin had been at my left shoulder, just inside the sponson and behind the platform. He didn’t respond but rather chewed the inside of his bottom lip in thought, staring at Keiko.
“What do you think?” Michael had stepped outside the pilot-house and was standing to my right opposite Robin.
“I don’t know, but we can’t keep going. Let’s just give him an hour or so and see what that does.”
Robin sounded as if he was talking to himself more so than anyone in particular. He avoided using the word “rest” from my proffered assessment, not yet willing to accept the diagnosis. But for the time being, we would stay put just the same. Keiko gave us no other option.
So it was; the five of us got ourselves situated, looking for pseudo-comfortable nooks and crannies around the boat to wedge ourselves into; maybe even catch some shut-eye if we were lucky. The night sky only faintly lighter than the ocean’s surface, we could see well enough on the boat, though distant forms blended into dark outlines framing the watery world on which we waited. Keiko remained faithfully at his surface resting position just off the starboard aft beam. Beyond his periodic, whale-sized breaths, all was eerily silent.
Not yet able to consider sleep or any attempt thereof, both Michael and I began messing about with the coffeepot we had commandeered from the hotel on our brief crew change back at base earlier in the evening. There are likely few cases in the annals of history whereby the attainment of a single cup of coffee was so obstinately pursued. By the time our makeshift rig reluctantly surrendered its first cup of black gold, we had taken apart the entire guts of the Draupnir’s pilothouse. Upending the floor, pulling batteries and creating an improvised converter, we powered up the coffeepot and waited eagerly as our contraption heated up and spread the calming aroma of hot fresh java throughout the small cabin. If they hadn’t known us better, our three mates would have thought we’d lost our minds; though no one shunned the communion when offered. It was probably no more than the commodity of hot coffee under such spartan conditions that inspired our streak of ingenuity. Regardless of purpose, it passed the time.
One hour flattened into the next. Eventually it was more tomorrow than yesterday, a new dawn rising in the distance. As shadows faded, fatigue gave way to restlessness. The fog of early morning without sleep made everything seem more than real; gravity heavier, air thicker and thoughts harder to hold onto. Wit no longer colored what remained of our conversations onboard. We were all business. It was time to make another push to home base.
I approached the platform flatfooted and grudgingly. Straddling the Draupnir’s orange pontoon I looked for a comfortable middle-ground. There was no certainty that Keiko was going to do any better this time, despite several hours of rest gracefully permitted by the lingering calmness of the North Atlantic. I knew before we started that it was going to be a long slow ride and mine was not a restful place for the journey.
Morning was marked by the arrival of the sun peeking above the horizon. But progress was insufferably drawn out, each mile accompanied with the uncertainty of how long Keiko could persist. Throughout the wee hours of morning and into the day we crept across the watery landscape covering half the distance, almost fifteen nautical miles. The trek thus far had taken half as many hours. At intervals we made attempt to build to the normal walk pace of four or five knots. In each case Keiko eventually lingered back forcing us to drop once again to barely more than an idling crawl. Thus far the only benefit was that we did not altogether stop. So long as we stayed just above idle, Keiko remained reliably by our side.
Ignorance Suffered
Nearing the afternoon almost thirty-six hours after the botched introduction, we could finally clearly see the detailed outlines of Heimaey directly off our bow. Almost there. During the drawn-out walk, Robin had periodically relieved me on the platform, allowing me to stretch my legs or lie flat-out on the engine cowling for a spell. It was during one of these breaks that the radio crackled to life.
“Viking II—Draupnir.” The familiar jarring English of Siti’s voice made the request.
“Yeaaah, Siti. Go ahead,” Michael offered in his usual drawl, an uptick in the middle of “yeah.”
“What is your position?” Siti continued.
“Ahhh … we’re about four miles due east-southeast of Klettsvik,” Michael replied as he studied the radar screen for more detail. Then added, “Moving slow. What’cha got?” Michael knew something was afoot. That Viking II was back at sea was not lost on him.
“We have whales. Can you come?” came Siti’s broken answer.
At this I sat up from the cowling. “What … where are they?”
Robin too had turned and was more on the boat than the platform, listening to the exchange.
“Draupnir—Viking II. What’s your location?” Michael relayed my question, although mine had been more a rhetorical statement than any real desire to know.
“Two miles from Heimaey, south.”
“They’re on more whales, about two or three miles from us,” Michael explained. Using radar, he had guessed their precise location.
“Robin, we’re not doing another introduction now are we?” I pleaded more than asked.
“No, we’re going back to the bay. Michael tell them we’re staying on course for the bay.”
Michael relayed the information, but rather than silent acceptance, an unfamiliar voice came across the radio.
“We have a pod of mostly females here, and they seem to be foraging. This would be a good group to bring Keiko to,” the voice said.
I grabbed the handheld radio from its charging cradle. I was standing in the cabin door, between Michael and Robin.
“Viking, this is Mark. Keiko can barely keep pace with the Draupnir as it stands. He’s completely worn out.” I assumed the education would be all that was needed.
“I think you need to bring Keiko this way. This is a good group … much better makeup than the whales yesterday. This is a good group for introduction, and we’re not that far.”
Giving the benefit of the doubt, I repeated the description, “Keiko is in no condition for another introduction. We were lucky to get him back this far.”
The voice became more insistent. “He can make it. We’re only just south of the island.” The anonymous voice never stated his name, but I knew it must be Robin Baird, because it wasn’t anyone I recognized from the release team.
To Robin onboard Draupnir I pleaded for support. “Robin, there’s no way! There’s no way we can take Keiko into another pod … talk about setting him up for failure!” Lack of sleep and the freshness of Keiko’s traumatic first exposure was all it took to revive my anger.
Robin nodded agreement.
“Negative Viking, we’re heading to base,” the response was as sharp as I intended. “Keiko is in no condition for another introduction.”
At that I set the radio down and left the
cabin, not waiting for the response or any form of acceptance. There was a reply, but I didn’t listen to the details. This time Michael answered, adding his own descriptions to the state of affairs.
Neither Robin nor I cared to engage the discussion further. The prospect of taking Keiko back to another pod in his current condition was baseless, absurd, and impossible, really. Their ignorance was to be expected. Those in charge had not seen Keiko’s condition, nor did they know how disoriented he had appeared just twelve hours earlier. It was the intransigence that was most offensive, that they debated our explanation on the subject as if the decision belonged to the voice on the radio.
The insistent call bordered on an order, arrogantly snubbing our firsthand accounting much as the introduction plan itself was so brazen. Never again. I locked my jaw in defiance as I heard the exchange, now muffled inside the pilothouse, finally come to a close. Who was this jackass anyway, who clearly believed taking a fatigued and potentially traumatized animal into a new pod would be humane, logical or even possible? Not one ounce of investigation into the previous day’s events had been allowed to surface. There were too many people involved, each with a personal agenda, and too few of whom based their trajectory on the needs of Keiko.
The Decision
The sun still high on the horizon gave the illusion of early afternoon, though it was officially evening by the time we made our way into Klettsvik Bay. It seemed the longest day we had suffered in recent memory. Thankfully, Keiko followed through the barrier net without incident. There was no effort to hide our relief when he surfaced inside the bay after Draupnir had crossed the boat gate in her customary leading way. To a man and whale, we were all exhausted.
Following our arrival, we tied the Draupnir up to the bay pen and off-loaded some small gear while waiting for the night shift to arrive. It seemed unusual for the pen to be so void of activity. For the first time since the whale’s arrival to Iceland, the bay had been emptied of her famous inhabitant for very near two days; there had been no need for staffing the pen in Keiko’s absence.
Closing out the unexpected journey was a blur as we made our way to the harbor and finally back to the comforts of the hotel. Charles met us at the docks and advised that the staff would be meeting in the solarium. Recognizing the worn-out state of the crew, he offered that the meeting could wait; that we get some hot food first. Dog tired and still engrossed in the unending fiasco, none of us realized that we hadn’t eaten in two days. Hunger overcame us at the suggestion.
I was scarcely conscious of the brief reunion at the hotel or changing from our splash suits and wet gear. What resonated was our discussion with Charles as we walked to Café Maria, the town’s only pizza joint.
During the short hike, Charles mostly inquired about Keiko, what we thought of the introduction, how he looked after we found him, and what had transpired on the return walk. Robin provided the only narrative necessary. Although I seldom lacked interest in offering my own observations, weariness coupled with acute alignment with Robin’s descriptions stilled my urge to speak. Blanketed in the comfortable fog of fatigue, I merely listened. I watched Charles intently. He offered no indication of a direction moving forward, nor did he allow any discourse on the topic. That aspect, in and of itself, was unnerving; so uncharacteristic of the relationship between the three of us.
Charles did not stay with us at the café. He seemed aware of our need to recharge and left us temporarily free from the heavier topic. Any form of evaluation or decisions left to be made would be addressed at the staff meeting upon our return, though we never made it to the fateful meeting.
On our return to the hotel, Charles met us on the penthouse level in our shared room. With razor-like precision, the pinnacle of the issue was laid before us. The meeting had already begun. It was apparent from the start that some direction was already set in motion. They, with no real definition offered on exactly who “they” were, intended to continue the introductions as originally planned, with the full complement of boats and helicopter, tracking and tagging. Everything would be replicated. We were dumbfounded, frozen in disbelief. In a million years we had not anticipated a return to the same mistakes. We assumed that everyone recognized the need to modify the plan. We expected some debate on what those changes would be, but not this, not a complete reprise of the same mangled and reckless approach.
“Well, that’s disappointing. You’re telling me that no one recognizes the fiasco this introduction turned into?” Robin was clearly irritated, but he never raised his voice. Instead his calmness carried with it a grave overtone that commanded attention at every spoken word.
“No one’s suggesting that we don’t need to change the approach. I’m saying that the protocols will be followed. We all recognize what happened out there, and we cannot allow that to happen again.” Charles was sure of himself.
“We can’t go back out there on another introduction with all those boats and all the activity leading up to it. It has to be controlled. We have to minimize the number of boats and personnel involved,” said Robin.
“Robin, I understand why you’re saying that, but you have to remember that we agreed to this process for specific reasons. You agreed to the approach. I know that protocol was not followed. That’s all we’re saying, that we keep the same formation, but follow the protocols as they were outlined.”
“Charles, there’s no way we can have that many boats and a helicopter out there harassing the wild whales and causing who-knows-what kinda distraction to Keiko. It’s too late now. We’ve already created a situation that’s probably negative to Keiko anyway.” Robin touched on the heart of the issue, but didn’t satisfy my obsessive need for behavioral detail.
Interjecting, I expounded on Robin’s point. “Charles, we need the introductions to be as low-key as humanly possible, especially now. We’ve just created a negative association for both Keiko and at least the one pod of whales. There’s no question in my mind that introduction was traumatic for Keiko. We can’t force his acceptance. This has to be a process, and it has to be passive on our part.”
I was repeating what we had argued in heated debate long before the first introduction, but this time we had the advantage of outcome on our side. Keiko did not swim off into the sunset. The Hollywood vision of what release looked like had been vaporized. I hoped that our earlier premonitions would now gain footing where before they had failed.
“Then what are you proposing we do?” Charles opened the door and Robin stepped decidedly through.
“We take him out with one or two boats. That’s it. I know the board won’t like it, but that’s what it’s got to be. This is going to be a series of introductions, a slow process that could take several seasons.”
Charles wasn’t happy with the response or Robin’s conviction. After an extended pause, he replied, “Okay, let me talk to the team—get some thoughts and feedback.”
Charles’ words indicated a possible compromise, but his tone said otherwise. He seemed defeated. He left the room and headed back down to the solarium.
Tom had joined us just before Charles’ departure. We summarized what parts of the conversation Tom had missed. The three of us continued debating the finer points of our insistence at minimizing the formation involved in the next series of introductions.
For the present, the issue was eliminating the extraneous man-made presence during the next introduction, creating as calm and nonthreatening an environment for Keiko as we could practically achieve. As importantly, nothing could be done to unsettle the prospective pod targeted for introduction prior to Keiko’s arrival. That meant we needed nothing more than the Draupnir, the Heppin on perimeter guard and one small tracking vessel or the helicopter to spot the wild whales. That was it. Anything more was not practical to maintain over a long-haul and would only excite the environment as had already been proven.
It wasn’t thirty minutes before Charles returned, and the conversation continued. For the better part of two hours it went on i
n much the same fashion: we, unwavering in our demands, Charles unrelenting in his assertion that “they” would not agree.
In the last short absence afforded by Charles’ back-and-forth, Robin, Tom, Kelly and I deliberated, hoping to find a possible angle of compromise. Then we reached unanimous agreement. We would not continue to participate if they insisted on maintaining the heavy-handed approach to the introductions. Our ultimatum was absolute. Robin carried the flag when Charles returned.
Charles spoke first. “We’ll follow the protocols exactly as they have been laid out, but the consensus is to continue the introduction as it is.” He communicated the verdict as if passed down from a higher power.
For a brief moment there was silence. Then Robin responded, his words now softened, though not apologetic. “Charles, you can’t ask a man to do a thing that he knows is not right. I will not take part in what I believe to be negligent or that’s not in Keiko’s best interest.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t agree that it’s compromising, but I respect your position, Robin. Is there any chance that Tom or Kelly is willing to stay?” He didn’t include me in the offer. My involvement thus far placed me clearly by Robin’s side.
“You’re welcome to ask them directly, Charles, but we’ve all discussed it and I know they are in agreement with Mark and me.”
“Okay.”
Charles expression was hardened and serious, but his eyes showed compassion.
His one word acceptance carried with it a timeless weight reflecting many hard-fought battles we had shared over the past many months. The outcome resulting in our departure from the project was surreal. Silence filled the room as Charles descended the stairs for the last time.
Killing Keiko Page 34