Killing Keiko

by Mark A. Simmons

  The seasonal presence of other whales around the island chain was finite. They knew that continued returns to Klettsvik Bay only limited Keiko’s exposure to wild pods. In the short season not a single opportunity could be missed. At each failure, the solutions stemmed toward logistical improvements. Surely more time at sea would benefit his tenuous social experience?

  It was in this season of 2001 that the Gandi was introduced to the release effort. A 130-foot, nearly 300-ton fishing vessel, the Gandi greatly enhanced the team’s ability to remain at sea, day and night, under almost any weather pattern.

  Utilizing the Gandi as a mother ship and the Draupnir to ferry crew to and from the base of operations in Heimaey; trips to sea stretched from days into weeks. Daniel remained the designated walk-boat, the only boat by which Keiko received direct attention. In company with the Gandi, the crew completed multiple trips for sustained periods, the longest of which was forty-five consecutive days at sea.

  Gaining comfort in their ability to locate Keiko in the aftermath of ever-unpredictable encounters with wild whales, they often allowed him to venture nearly sixty miles distant before they intervened, seeking him out and recalling him to the Daniel. No matter the particulars of each exposure, in every case Keiko ended up back with the walk formation or on his own, apart from whale or human. On the occasions where he left the area of whales and support vessels, his trajectory remained sporadic. On at least one protracted voyage, long separated from the walk crew, Keiko returned to the harbor in Heimaey. But this is as far as he would go. That he did not stay with the wild ones was the only foreseeable ending to each social encounter.

  During these adventures on the high seas of the North Atlantic, Keiko’s food was limited. What food that was provided by the walk crew amounted to only a scant portion of his normal diet, nothing that would be considered his full requirement. The applied theory: that an increased hunger drive would embolden him to take part in the opportunistic foraging of wild whales. But even those occasions where the crew of the walk formation had witnessed the wild whales engrossed in feeding, Keiko never joined in the activity, merely staying in the distance appearing reluctantly interested in the unfamiliar sights and sounds. At times he exhibited clear signs of hunger evident to the staff that knew him so well. Even still, on the outskirts of a wild pod engaged in feeding behavior, gannets diving the water in pursuit of scraps, Keiko did not take advantage.

  In the aftermath of these feeding frenzies, and once the wild pod moved on, Jeff often yearned for Keiko to pick up the scraps left behind, and floating on the surface. On one such occasion Keiko duped the crew into short-lived hopefulness having returned to the Daniel with a very small fish in his mouth. Unfortunately, he did not eat the fish; rather, he merely carried the trophy as if to show his shipboard mates. This was the only time Jeff or the walk crew ever witnessed Keiko with fish that they had not provided.

  Fashioned from prolonged absences from the walk formation and a minimalist diet, he once went nearly three weeks without receiving sustenance. Jeff knew intuitively that Keiko was not filling the gap elsewhere. Evidence abounded from the simple observation of Keiko’s behavior and activity level, increased interest in the Daniel and soliciting for his trainer’s attentions. More prolonged absences of nourishment produced a stated lethargy. Following the most extreme fasting periods, Keiko would eventually stop swimming altogether, only logging at the surface near the flotilla as if he had lost the energy to move.

  Back in the “office” Charles Vinick continued to prop up the operation, and convincing the FWKF board, Humane Society of the United States (HSUS) and even Jean-Michel that Keiko would go free at any time … that it was merely a matter of days. A report that Keiko was often seen competing with the wild whales for food was spoon-fed to the media. This version of Keiko perverted actual events taking place around the island chain over 4,000 miles away. Charles assurances—intended to bolster ongoing financial support—when they continually fell short, only augmented the impatience of those bracing up the prolonged release effort.

  Onboard the Daniel or the Gandi, the crew was often accompanied by a variety of videographers pressing for material. Obtaining footage of Keiko’s exploits was of paramount importance within the organization, after all, documentaries had been promised. Footage was shot from the helicopter, the Daniel, the support boats and nearly every conceivable platform available. Under the dictates of this unrelenting effort, the crew was often required to forcibly lead Keiko, even herding his path, into and among pods of wild orca. Results were so contrived that distaste for the Santa Barbara-based leadership began to take hold among a handful of the more field-tested crew. Still, idyllic clips of the scenes playing out on the high seas would go a long way to garnering much needed financial support back home. But few within the ranks of animal fieldwork have a stomach for such making of the sausage. Indeed, the practice slowly began to erode confidences within the ranks of the release team in Iceland.

  On the stage of the North Atlantic, Jeff knew the release was stalled. Unless a change in approach was made, Keiko’s moderate interest in the wild whales would go no further. His premonition was only compounded by Keiko’s persistent returns to the Daniel and stagnant winter’s spent in Klettsvik. As fate would have it, an opportunity presented itself, one that Jeff saw as a one-in-a million chance that they had to take. The very prospect of it drove a wedge in the enduring friendship between Jeff and Jen.

  Friendly Whale

  The walk formation normally consisted of three key vessels: the walk-boat Daniel and the supporting observation boats Draupnir and Heppin. During the encounters, the formation was often spread out by 1,000 meters and more between boats, frequently out of sight from one another. One typical morning, after escorting Keiko to the vicinity of a wild pod, the walk crews passed the time and like any other day, hoped for a breakthrough. One or two assumed the role of lookout, scanning the horizon and looking for additional whales or other marine species, alternately checking in on the wild pod and visually tracking Keiko’s whereabouts.

  Onboard other support vessels some listened to hydrophone sounds, straining to hear some form of “conversation” between Keiko and the group of animals. It was amidst this routine roundup of onboard ship activity and small talk when the Daniel’s radio sparked to life calling Jeff’s attention.

  “Jeff, Jeff, … this is Sammy!”

  Jeff responded with passing interest, “Yeah?” Sammy’s energy wasn’t unusual.

  “We have a friendly whale here,” Sammy offered excitedly, in his characteristic high-pitched voice smothered in French accent. He asked, “Can I go swimming with ‘em?”

  Sammy was a photographer hired by Jean-Michel to document the ongoing introductions. He was easily excited and commuted an unwavering fascination with the project and excursions in company with Keiko.

  Jeff didn’t hesitate. “Sure, go for it,” he crackled back across the radio.

  In the waters surrounding the Draupnir, a young whale had stopped nearby, curiously watching the odd assortment of humans. Sammy slipped into the water, already wearing the customary splash suit worn during ocean walks. Little preparation was required beyond that of zipping up the front of his suit. Jeff had coached Sammy on the proper etiquette at meeting a wild killer whale, chiefly, not to approach the animal but to allow it to approach him.

  At Sammy’s entrance, the young whale shifted this way and that moving its head as if probing the stranger, but did not leave the scene. Close behind the young whale’s assumed mother supervised the interaction. After just a few minutes watching Sammy the mother nervously moved to intervene, swimming between the animated human and her offspring. The two swam to a more comfortable distance keeping a watchful eye in Sammy’s direction. The encounter, brief as it was, offered a welcome reprieve from the aboard-ship monotony and generated lively conversation, albeit embellished bantering, on the shared fascination between Sammy and the “friendly whale.”

  Certainly Sammy’
s experience that day was exceptional, a story to be cherished as a trophy placed on the mantel of memories. But it was more than that for Jeff, who ceaselessly pondered the unexpected young whale that afternoon and for days following. What if we can get this whale interested and close to Keiko? Seemingly, the idea of a whale “meeting us halfway” offered the opportunity of a friend for Keiko, one willing to reach out … or at least interested. It was something, maybe only a fingerhold, but something.

  Two days later, again Sammy called to Jeff over the boat’s radio. “Jeff, Jeff, … the little friendly whale is here. Can I go swimming with him?” No one actually knew the sex of the young animal.

  Again Jeff encouraged the interaction. Turning to Jen, he said, “Ya know, what we need to do … is entice this whale, offer something interesting to look at or watch, I mean we’ve got a friendly whale, young animal … let’s encourage that.”

  Jeff knew that the whale would eventually get bored and they would lose the chance. Jen would have none of it. The very idea of interfering by influencing a wild animal flew in the face of research protocol. But Jeff went further, even suggesting that they offer the young animal a fish.

  “Jen, … ” Jeff pressed, “It’s not going to eat frozen herring, you have to teach them to eat dead fish … totally different taste. It’s more of an olive branch.” No matter, Jen was already enraged by the mere suggestion.

  The consummate researcher, Jen would have nothing to do with altering the wild whales behavior. Any researcher worth his salt knew that observer bias or worse, influencing the outcome, was the kind of recklessness that would make the Keiko Release Project the scourge of the research community. Jeff’s suggestion was a clear violation of the prime directive. So outraged was Jen, that she and Jeff, the parental leadership of the project, did not talk for a week following their confrontation. The overbearing silence between the two was unsettling to the entire team. It was as if Mom and Dad had their first serious fight.

  A week after their fallout, Jeff and Jen tired of the conflict. Civility and their longtime friendship allowed the conversation to continue.

  “Jen, the reason I got into the Keiko Project was to be able to try to learn something about the wild whales.” Jeff instinctively dropped his voice just above that of a whisper but with quiet intensity in his tone. He was very convincing. “If we have a friendly whale, that we can attach cameras to, or ya know, research equipment to that animal and we can get that animal to interact with Keiko … wild whales … that’s what we’re here for.”

  Jen finally capitulated, but with condition. She would agree to continue the occasional swim with the friendly whale, but no offer of herring masquerading as an “olive branch.”

  That’s all Jeff needed. If given a crack in the wall, he could skillfully drive a Mack truck through it.

  “So the next time the whale goes out—the next time we get a call that the friendly little whale is around, then you go in the water. I’ll let you go in the water.” His tone had become instructional, allowing a hint of urgency. “You go in, interact with that animal in a positive way. But I’ll tell ya, if it was up to me, I would offer that olive branch to that whale.”

  To Jeff, the herring was nothing more than a recognizable object; he knew the whale wouldn’t eat the fish. It was a means to further the relationship that Sammy had started.

  Just a handful of days later, “Jeff, Jeff, … the friendly whale is here!” Sammy’s excitement burst across the radio waves.

  Shortly after joining with the Draupnir, Jen was in the water. The friendly whale had become more comfortable by now. The interaction was going well. No physical contact took place, although there was much frolicking about the small area, as if two children showing off on the playground without actually playing “together,” eyeing each other and trading bodily expressions.

  During the odd exchange, the young whale abruptly dove down and disappeared for more than a minute. When it resurfaced, the friendly whale had a stunned herring hanging out of its mouth. Just as quickly, it spit out the herring in Jen’s direction, now only inches away.

  Standing on the port side of the Draupnir, Jeff was incredulous and pointing out his words with his finger toward the whale for emphasis. “Jen, that is exactly what I wanted you to do … offer the olive branch! That whale is giving you the olive branch!”

  Despite the fascination displayed by the young whale and shared by the crew, Jen was never truly comfortable with taking the relationship any further. They saw the friendly whale on and off again over the next ten days, but only twice more did they enter the water with the whale. Eventually the little whale stopped showing up altogether. They never offered the herring and never knew what might have happened if they had. During this incredible exchange, Keiko was always in the general vicinity of the walk formation, but seemingly oblivious to what was taking place in the lee of the Draupnir.

  Gradually and subconsciously, the staff was moved by the spirit of the friendly whale and that which the effort represented. Lacking any form of decisive intent, they began to consider alternatives, other ways outside the proverbial box that might entice Keiko’s interest in the whales.

  It was on one such occasion that Jim took advantage of circumstance hoping to encourage progress. They had been on the outskirts of a wild pod, watching Keiko watch the whales as they foraged on a biomass of herring. Nothing unusual took place with Keiko during the feeding, he did not engage the pod, nor did he partake of the buffet of herring. As he often did, Keiko merely dawdled on the periphery of the pod within sight of the Daniel. Shortly after the pod moved on Jim saw an opportunity. Left in the wake of the feeding frenzy, stunned herring scattered the area and were easily plucked from the surface. In close association with the excited feed and still in proximity of the wild pod, Jim grabbed one of the herring.

  Calling Keiko to the side of the Daniel, he played with the herring at the water’s surface, expecting that Keiko would take the fish, make the connection. Keiko showed little interest in the fish Jim offered, only mouthing the gift and only so long as Jim facilitated the exchange. The moment he left Keiko to his own devices, the herring which hung from his mouth was dropped. Jim tried again, with a second live, but disoriented herring. It didn’t happen. Keiko would only passively nudge the fish or momentarily hold it at the outermost extent of his mouth as he had done with the first. He wouldn’t eat the proffered food. Jim was befuddled. Come on buddy, it doesn’t get any easier than this, he thought.

  All things considered, this was the same herring that provided Keiko’s daily sustenance; the only difference that this herring was fresh, stunned but still alive. Keiko had eaten stunned fish before; in fact it was ever successful in the conditioning trials that involved haddock or cod. What made the difference now? Jim wondered.

  Stephen Claussen had been watching the attempt. “You’d think he would recognize the herring,” he said, assuming it was the type of fish that was the problem.

  “I don’t know. I doubt it has anything to do with the fish.” Jim shrugged as he spoke. “It’s almost like he’s just timid … ya know like when a dog won’t take a treat around a more dominant dog.” Jim had an unusual drawl, shaped by a very laid-back, almost Key West-style easiness. His tone was sympathetic.

  “He has to be hungry by now. Did you sit him up? Maybe toss it into the back of his throat?” Stephen asked.

  “Nah.” Jim sighed. With a defeated glance he added, “I asked him to target up, but he didn’t respond to my target. Like he’s still watching the pod more than me, so I didn’t push it.” Not much more could be said. Silence filled the air for a few moments. Jim stood where he had been leaning out across the sponson moments before, staring at Keiko who floated head down just a few feet away.

  “I just wish he would make the connection … here they are feeding and all, same fish and everything … and they don’t seem to care about him. If we could just get him to take some of the herring maybe the light would go on.”

&n
bsp; Jim’s spoken thoughts summarized what everyone craved, but on the heels of his direct attempts to feed Keiko the stunned fish it seemed there was nothing more clear they could offer the Big Man to get him beyond whatever it was that held him back.

  Klettsvik: Take Two

  October 2001: Once again winter approached. Night pushed back and day retreated. The seas grew angry. Alongside his escort, Keiko returned to Klettsvik.

  Limited financial resources strained the project on every level. Keiko had failed to go free. Another winter of operations in Iceland would have to be endured. What excitement or anticipation that existed at the start of the summer season now faded, leaving little more than administrative frustration behind. Charles undying insistence that Keiko “could go at any time” festered within the halls of the FWKF board. The project was hungrily consuming almost $300,000 a month. They were just coming to terms with yet another holding pattern and six months later, another series of walks. There seemed to be no end in sight.

  This, of course, placed the organizations supporting the project in a conundrum. It was the philanthropic euphoria of entrepreneur Craig McCaw that had given life to the release effort in Iceland. Following an enlightening private in-water interaction with Keiko at Oregon Coast Aquarium, he had promised that the project would not fail for a lack of funds.

  Every day has its end.

  From the start, it was McCaw’s wife who was the true impetus behind his support. Suffering a divorce during the course of the release campaign, ongoing financial support from the McCaw’s had continued only by legal requirement; this time with clearly defined limits. He would not abandon the project cold turkey, though pressure on the board to present an exit strategy quickly became all-consuming. At the administrative helm, the task fell heavily on Charles’ shoulders.

  Like any business under the duress of financial strain, a first survival tactic took aim at slowing the bleeding by cutting costs. Among the trio of FWKF, OFS and HSUS was an organizational culture of proclaimed humanitarianism. By default, and as likely for fear of negative publicity, they refused the cold, hard finality of termination. Rather than fire anyone, they changed the rules of the game. Rotational teams were eliminated. Individual members of the release team would have to agree to live in Heimaey year-round with only one paid trip home each year. Per diem was abolished and housing became the responsibility of the employee. A final blow, salaries were reduced. The measures proved effective.