I couldn’t think of Keiko. The wound just inflicted was far too fresh. Every thought was a struggle to form. Each attempt to make sense of their decision evaporated and became something else entirely. Aside from murky daze, what I knew above all else was that we had to hold our ground. We had never deviated from our insistence that this was a process, even though we had compromised greatly at times. There was no more room for compromise. Not when it came to Keiko. We had given up enough already, and that which we allowed had changed everything. Never again.
That night, I had hoped that the finality of our commitment would resonate, that somehow the morning would bring a new alternative or willingness to consider our proposed modifications. But nothing more came of it. Early the next day, the remaining crew departed for the harbor just as we left for the small island airport and our final journey home from the Land of Fire and Ice.
Reflection
In the years following, I reconnected with most of the staff of the release team. Regardless of the treacherous footing we often found ourselves upon during the project, the experiences and the trials forged lifelong friendships not so easily undone. No matter our diverse backgrounds or what our experiences taught us, we each committed ourselves fully and for that cared deeply for Keiko, his plight and one another. In our own ways, we all wanted the best for the Big Man. That shared vision ultimately bound us in ways we were scarcely aware of at the time.
Those I knew and worked with, and others who were yet to come were eventually exposed to ultimatums levied by the project. Some manufactured by the organizations in charge, and others that slowly emerged from the fog created by passionate commitment to an animal. As the project continued and even years beyond its conclusion, I maintained communication with many of those who dedicated an important period of their lives to Keiko. It is from firsthand testimony of those who carried on that Keiko’s story becomes complete.
13
Keiko in the Wild
The morning of July 20, 2000, the portion of the team consisting of Robin, myself, Tom and Kelly departed the island. At the same time, the remaining staff prepared to take Keiko out to sea once again. It was summer and not only was it a time of high-value weather conducive to the task, it was also the only season in which the wild whales frequented the area. A day could not be wasted.
As the captains each prepared the Draupnir, Viking II and supporting vessels, the Behavior Team on the bay pen was just realizing that Keiko would be unable to endure another introduction so soon. Physically depleted, his lethargy was immediately apparent and stifled any plans to guide him once again to a pod of wild whales. It was three more days before the team was able to get Keiko to the vicinity of his wild brethren.
Nonetheless the remaining release team eventually took Keiko to sea and to more whales. Between July and October of 2000, the team continued numerous tours surrounding the island chains of Vestmannaeyjar. During these walks they encountered many more and varied pods of wild killer whales.
The expeditions were led by Jeff and Jen, following the established protocols from the original plan. In each chance encounter with conspecifics, the Draupnir led Keiko to a position in the path of the intended family, then released Keiko from his position at the side of the vessel and assumed the practiced neutral stance. Following the fateful first exchange, Keiko continued to exhibit clear avoidance of the wild whales, clinging to the immediate vicinity and safe haven of the Draupnir’s company.
Keiko’s reactions to the wild whales on these particular outings evidenced an underlying trauma resulting from the first botched introduction. In both animals and humans, learning that occurs in conjunction with adrenal activity becomes almost “hardwired.” Under the stress of aversive conditions, adrenaline coursing through the bloodstream and chemical cocktails taking place in the brain, our predetermined design for survival locks these events firmly in place lest we not forget the circumstances that may threaten life itself. So it went with Keiko’s first foray among his kind, the learning taking place and the association with wild killer whales occurred under supremely distressed conditions, the results of which became a defining factor in Keiko’s quest for freedom.
Animal Magnetism
That the Draupnir represented a calculated risk in Keiko’s indoctrination to sea was, by and large, grossly underestimated. We often argued that she must play a static role. By design the Draupnir was indeed Keiko’s means to gain open water access. As such, she was an increasingly magnetic force in Keiko’s life. Robin and I insisted that every voyage to sea alongside the Draupnir would create an association, if not a dependence, counterproductive to the aim of social integration. We had expected that introductions to the wild whales would take time and repeated rehearsals. We knew that the Draupnir’s life cycle in the release progression must be limited and that those limits would be dictated by how and when Keiko’s interest in his wild cousins evolved.
It is of vital importance to recognize that food, although instrumental, is not by itself an all-powerful force capable of trumping other and varied forms of positive stimulation. In this regard, the most dangerous form of influence shaping Keiko’s choices was people; the enriching human companionship that he had known all his life. At this intersection in the project, the value of human interaction had vastly increased by the sheer purposeful deprivation of same throughout the mean season. Any occasion where Keiko now gained the reward of acknowledgment from his past family was intoxicating to him.
But the notion that Keiko and the wild whales would naturally take to one another proved too difficult to root out. The belief that Keiko would choose his wild counterparts over his treasured escort maligned priorities. As a result, the counterpoising effects of the Draupnir were unwittingly increased.
By mid-July, less than a month following our departure, additional activities were assigned to the walk-boat during ventures to sea. For starters, interest in dive data on Keiko led to the novel practice of pointing him down to a submerged buoy that was set at varying depths. To ensure that Keiko would in fact touch the deep target, a camera was mounted on his back by a suction cup apparatus. Via the camera, the training staff could confirm that Keiko had touched the target before acknowledging a correct response and providing reinforcement. Herein, contradictions existed on many levels, not the least of which was the positive experience of learning a new behavior in association with the Draupnir.
Deep-dive training was not the only interference introduced during the first season at sea. For reasons not entirely known or worthy of analysis, Keiko returned to the destructive behavior of hitting the walk-boat. Again and again contacting the boat’s hull, the satellite tag affixed to Keiko began to damage his dorsal fin where the pins penetrated through tissue. In an effort to minimize the resulting damage, the original titanium pins were replaced with more flexible nylon ones. Against the beating, the weaker nylon pins didn’t last and the tag was occasionally found flopping backward after the forward pin snapped in half. In numerous instances, lacking any other practical means, the staff got into the water with Keiko while at sea in order to patch the expensive tag. Getting into the water directly with Keiko in the context of the open ocean broke yet another seal, transferring a long history of human water play to the new world.
Still more alluring research opportunities increased the use of the suction-cup camera, gathering visual data on Keiko’s pursuits amid explorations away from the walk-boat. All of these things transferred Keiko’s old-world with humans to his new environment. The walk-boat became a veritable center of stimulation and a source of continued reinforcement in the very environment where release would require exacting elimination of man and man-made things.
Jeff and Jen had long maintained a persuasive research orientation toward every decision encompassing their involvement in the release. During our term on the project, the often times conflicting emphasis between research and behavioral necessities offset one another. The foursome worked. Where data was required, Robin and I provi
ded the means to achieve collection in line with strict guidelines shielding Keiko from any damaging influence. Lacking this check and balance, what had previously become a well-orchestrated decision matrix now teetered precariously away from the foundational importance of behavior in Keiko’s journey to independence. Bit by bit, albeit unintentionally, the Draupnir became a formidable obstruction in Keiko’s choice between two worlds.
The team continued on this course of introduction throughout the remainder of the summer season, taking advantage of each nearby presence of whales posthaste. By October, sightings of whales dwindled and opportunities became scarce. Coupled with inhospitable weather typical in the later months, operations on the high seas had to be suspended for the winter. Between late October and until approximately May, Keiko remained in his static bay enclosure.
Throughout the winter the staff maintained much the same program routines as established during the initial rehabilitation leading up to ocean walks. Days consisted of exercise sessions, required husbandry and walk rehearsals within the confines of Klettsvik Bay. But there were differences, and those differences clashed with the long-term goals of release. Preexisting directives we had fashioned to reduce human contact while not discarded, were greatly relaxed. Among the changes in continued and varied human relationships was a return to playful waterwork, enriching both staff members and Keiko during the monotonous long dark days of winter. Although the impact of these practices cannot be accurately measured, the activities would nonetheless levy a toll to be paid later.
Much like a drug addict falling off the wagon, the pendulum swing of a return to increasing human interaction and activity only served to strengthen Keiko’s lifelong reliance on man.
A foundational shift in the project now laid to waste all prior designs. Expressly, the return to Klettsvik Bay and all that was required to keep a solitary whale healthy for a prolonged winter of confinement. Though the prevailing idea of release focused on a single season, multiple years were later considered and always included the prospect of relocating our base of operations. In stark contrast to the shipping channel of Klettsvik Bay, the prospect involved a location in which Keiko could be granted consistent ocean access without the need (and pairing) of a walk-boat.
The back and forth of ocean access followed by confinement for the winter placed unrealistic demands on a staff ill-equipped to navigate such a jarring juxtaposition in Keiko’s life. Each season that Keiko failed to integrate with his own kind was met with a return to the known; a return to the security of familiar things void of challenge. If the qualities of an explorer can be isolated, brought forth as a way of life, it is without question that this fluctuation between worlds would not constitute the means by which such a lofty goal could be achieved with any hope of permanence.
Jimmy
As they customarily did, Jeff and Jen headed stateside for a few months during the ocean walk blackout season, leaving a skeleton crew behind to see Keiko through the winter. This time they left a new addition to the team. Jim Horton had well over fifteen years’ experience in zoological care. A former SeaWorld employee, he had been a respected senior among his colleagues in the Animal Care Department. Jim had nearly seen it all. He was an ideal candidate brought into the mix at a time that presented specific challenges to sustaining Keiko’s health and well-being, an area of expertise right up Jim’s alley.
It wasn’t long before Jim’s talents were called upon. Keiko, as he had done before, began to slow. None of the usual interactions or attempts to stimulate interest bore fruit. Where Jim recognized the telltale signs of a system under duress, countless others might have missed the more subtle clues or mistaken them for simple disinterest or lethargy. He knew this animal’s immune system was fighting. It wasn’t Jim’s experience with Keiko in particular that allowed his timely diagnosis. In fact, knowledge of the historically lazy whale might have only dissuaded his better judgment. Instead Jim saw only physiological struggle.
A lifetime of trusting his gut taught Jim that hesitation can mean the difference between life and death. There are those who would scowl at such a dramatic claim, yet Keiko’s past demonstrated that the condition was indeed life threatening. His swift assessment and action were instrumental in saving Keiko’s life. Immediate clinical samples were taken and revealed an elevated white blood cell count. Early detection and rapid treatment kept what might outwardly appear a common cold from prospering into something that could overwhelm Keiko’s immune system.
By the end of Jim’s first winter on the project, Keiko had suffered two distinct bouts of illness. He learned better than to regard Keiko’s health casually. Sharing a nearly identical background with Robin, Jim was not a trained veterinarian, but he had treated more fragile survivors than ten vets combined. His analysis was not educated in any lab; it was the product of intuition gained along the hardened road of many rescues and rehabilitations, successes and failures.
Jim believed that Keiko suffered a chronic respiratory infection. Not unlike walking pneumonia, the condition was likely concealed during times of peak activity when Keiko would clear his lungs through the exertion of ocean walks and fighting currents. Back in the bay for the sustained period of winter, during periods of prolonged inactivity the infecting bacterium was allowed to flourish, rapidly gaining steam against the whale’s dependent immune system.
Jim shared his evaluations with Lanny, but the ramifications of such a prognosis were immeasurably menacing to everything the project set out to achieve. The idea alone would mandate permanent care. Jim’s analysis was scoffed at, ignored. Nothing of Keiko’s condition ever went further than the internal communications lobbed between the two continents.
Enter the Daniel
Over the first season of escorted walks and introductions the crew and Keiko’s time at sea redoubled. The need to keep their charge in close proximity to wild whales often required the walk formation to remain at sea for days on end. Under pressure of foul weather, bucking seas and extended distances from Heimaey, the Draupnir’s limitations were quickly exposed. She was poorly equipped to offer comfort during drawn-out voyages in the North Atlantic. That had never been part of her criteria in the first place. Now obvious that adventures to sea would involve unknown spans of time, Jeff began lobbying for a more suitable vessel to take the Draupnir’s place. The search did not take long.
The Daniel, a larger and more recent model of a Coast Guard rescue vessel was located on the mainland. OFS leased the vessel that would become Keiko’s new walk-boat in the coming season. They did not discard the Draupnir, rather, she was demoted to a support role and continued to accompany the small band to sea on the next series of introductions in the beginning of 2001.
Daniel was everything the Draupnir was not. Where Draupnir was worn, Daniel was shiny and new. Where Draupnir’s lines evinced an older model, Daniel carried the sleek thoroughbred lines similar to that of the indefatigable Thor. Her cabin gave ample room to a sizable crew, affording them protection from the worst conditions when needed. Her deck space both fore and aft dwarfed that of the Draupnir. Piloting the Daniel, Michael or Greg would have nearly a 360-degree view through the larger windows wrapping around almost two-thirds of the Daniel’s pilothouse. Where Jen could scarcely fit herself in Draupnir’s crow’s nest, the Daniel comfortably made room for three. The vantage point became a favored spot for Jeff and Blair and the latter often filmed Keiko’s introductions from the bird’s-eye perch.
For Keiko’s benefit, the all-familiar and welcoming platform extended from her starboard side, suspended by lines tied off to the platform’s outer corners, the shipside anchored to Daniel’s sponson. Yet another difference was the presence of convenient hand-rails that bordered her aft section. The railing proved to be a handy location by which the crew could secure a food bucket, allowing the person working Keiko from the platform easy access without assistance. Every advantage the Daniel offered was put to task as voyages to sea began extending well beyond the daily walks of the fir
st season.
Seasons
Summer 2001 began much the same as the previous season ended. Although during the course of this season, the new escort Daniel introduced Keiko to wild whales on nearly 100 separate and distinct occasions. The outcome was always unpredictable. The Daniel’s crew could never anticipate how Keiko or the wild whales would react.
Sometimes Keiko would hastily porpoise away from the wild pod, other times the wild pod porpoised away from him. The interactions were never close enough for physical contact, at least not from the observation standpoint of the walk crew. No close encounter within reach of the pods lasted more than fifteen to twenty seconds before one or another form of erratic retreat took place. Still other times, Keiko quickly moved away from his kind only to stop 200 or 300 meters on the periphery of the pod, floating at the surface, and facing in their direction as if watching, listening. Usually he continued his departure, but always in random directions.
In the first meeting of wild whales, Keiko had bolted from the scene on a north, northeasterly heading. Lanny had proclaimed that Keiko was heading “home.” In that season and the one following, it became abundantly clear to the crew that there was no discernible pattern to Keiko’s withdrawal. On varied and arbitrary departures from the wild whales, they once found him trailing a cruise ship dumping trash in its wake, and on another he was found alone heading due south. They could never foresee which way he would go or what he might get himself into. On the more convenient outings, Keiko simply returned to the familiar setting of the escorting Daniel.
Killing Keiko Page 35