Killing Keiko

by Mark A. Simmons

  The project has been designed and implemented as an experimental effort to determine the feasibility of reintroducing a long-term solitary captive killer whale to the natural environment. During each phase of the project, the welfare of the animal has been the highest priority and careful behavioral and physical conditioning steps have been taken to ensure the highest chances of success for reintroduction. As the project progresses towards open ocean access and potential reintroduction, the outcome will continue to be based on the welfare of the subject animal, as determined by positive physical and behavioral responses. Plans and protocols to increase chances of success, minimize risk, and conduct the effort in a responsible controlled manner have been developed and will be implemented throughout the reintroduction (pg 3).

  In closing, we feel that it is critical to closely monitor the animal via direct observations for an extended period and via remote tracking. We realize that the current location of the animal makes this more challenging, but given our concerns we feel it is even more important since he is in unfamiliar waters. Our hope is that as outlined in the original reintroduction protocols, direct monitoring will occur for a minimum of a month and the goal with the satellite/VHF tag is for remote monitoring for a period of one year. In addition, we feel it is important that Ocean Futures and The Humane Society are prepared to intervene on different levels including recapture if deemed necessary.

  Anyone every involved in this project (the Board and management included) have invested enormous amounts of time, work, and emotion in this project, and hope to see it succeed. We raise these issues in the spirit of providing the best possible long-term care for the animal. Our goal is to try to ensure the rest of the project is conducted in a safe, responsible manner that optimizes Keiko’s quality of life and minimizes risk to the animal.

  Landfall

  Back at the Icelandic base of operations, Michael continued to plot the satellite waypoints, day after day updating his maritime chart with more and more pins. Finally, twenty-two days after leaving his walk-boat, the last confirmed visual sighting, Keiko hit land-fall near Halsa, Norway. Alone.

  The information surrounding Keiko’s departure from Iceland and arrival in Halsa remained largely steeped in mystery and speculation. Although it appeared likely he initially followed a wild pod during the stormy departure, he did not remain with the pod. No eyewitness account existed to confirm whether or not Keiko was ever with his own kind during the missing three weeks. Regardless of what transpired in that time, the outcome defied speculation. Keiko returned to what he wanted or needed most.

  HSUS was officially at the helm during this last fateful season at sea, and thus Naomi Rose played a pivotal role in decision-making. Her perspective on the release stemmed from a foundation of observing behavior in order to define it. Evident in her outspoken animosity toward animal behaviorists, Naomi obstinately denied the very foundations of behavioral science as artificial, assigning them to the constructs of zoological parks alone. This isn’t a show. We don’t need trainers to release a whale, we need biologists. It was thoughts like these that likely colored Naomi’s view of what Keiko needed most.

  Offensive as the undervaluing of Keiko’s conditioning was, this aspect and other deficiencies were only symptoms of a far more Machiavellian undercurrent. The secretive and shared mandate between Earth Island Institute and HSUS of “release at all costs” ran counter to the decisions taking place on the high seas. Decisions that dictated Keiko’s lifelong devotion to man would prevail despite any contrary notion held by the organizational dynamic duo. Whispered within the halls of the FWKF, the phrase “better dead than fed” aptly described the intent and obsession that paradoxically led to Keiko’s absolute dependence on man.

  In the Presence of the People

  First to reach Keiko’s location near the small village of Halsa were Colin and a temporary addition to the release team, Fernando Ugarte. Fernando was there in place of Jen to carry on the collection of identification or ID data pertaining to the wild whales. He had worked alongside Colin with regularity over the past several months of the expeditions at sea.

  In their first sighting of Keiko, Friday, August 30, 2002, they merely assessed his condition. In an attempt to avoid reconnecting the broken chain of custody, they first observed from afar, hoping not to attract the pseudo-free whale. But Keiko’s interest in boats was too great. Investigating the lingering craft, Keiko eventually spotted Colin on her decks. He waited patiently, as he always did, to be acknowledged. Their presence discovered, Colin and Fernando accepted the momentary defeat and allowed the interaction, continuing with closer inspection of their long-lost friend. After three weeks missing, they did not know what to expect. Outwardly, the whale appeared much as he was when they had last seen him.

  Throughout this day, much to their liking, Keiko ignored the boating traffic in the area. On his second day in Norway, satisfied with the circumstances at hand, Colin decided to give Keiko a break, leaving him alone to his own devices. The mistake became apparent soon enough. In their absence, children from the small seaside town swam and played with the whale. Images of the encounter spread like wildfire, and soon the spectacle attracted the masses.

  All walks of people poured out from the small village, crowding the bay to witness the world-famous whale. Quickly gaining comfort with the storied celebrity, they boarded vessels from makeshift dinghies to small fishing boats making their way into his watery world. Encounters ranged from pats on the head to full body rubdowns rivaling those afforded by his past family of trainers. The boldest of his endearing visitors entered the water with Keiko on occasion, some even crawling onto his back. Keiko could not have been more entertained, swimming from hand to hand and boat to boat. The unanticipated entourage of fans provided Keiko his warmest welcome to a new home he had experienced in a long time.

  To Colin and Fernando, the scene before them was profoundly unsettling. Here was Keiko, the recipient of so much effort over so long a journey full of trial and tribulation, nestled snugly in the calm waters off Halsa and entertained endlessly with human affections. He was not with wild whales. Whatever had brought him across the Atlantic to Halsa, be it wild whales, shipping traffic or prevailing currents … none of that mattered now. Keiko was back with his human family and seemed perfectly content to remain just so. Colin and Fernando tried desperately to keep the mass of humanity away from Keiko, but no matter their efforts, the attraction could not be thwarted. Friendly Norwegians plastered themselves around Keiko and he, starved of such attentions for so long, accepted them unconditionally.

  The attraction went on for several days. At times Keiko seemed drained from the constancy of undying attention and swam away coming to rest in deeper water, only to find himself surrounded again by troops of Halsa citizens. The townspeople fed him on occasion. Keiko willingly took the offerings, at times swimming among the variety of watercraft with his head above the surface and mouth gaping wide.

  In the midst of the frenzied love affair, there was some encouragement to be found. When they could, the staff inspected Keiko’s outward condition, taking measurements of his girth at multiple locations. By this metric, Keiko had not lost even a centimeter of girth over the course of his three-week journey across the Atlantic. Anecdotally, the staff hypothesized that he must have eaten on his own. How else could he have maintained his weight?

  If only it were true. Unbeknownst to the inexperienced staff, measurements alone are not an adequate indicator of weight loss in an animal such as a killer whale. A whale of Keiko’s size can easily persist without food for more than six weeks without any measurable change in body condition. Furthermore, the appraisal failed to account that Keiko had been conditioned through similar fasting periods in the prior two seasons of open ocean walks.

  At this late hour, reliable evidence of feeding over the period could only be gained from blood samples, ultrasound measurements of his blubber layer, skilled evaluation of his post-nuchal fat stores (the area of his head
just behind the blowhole) and muscular condition. But even then, for such information to be useful, other comparable baseline information would have to exist from Keiko’s state during normal healthy periods. These metrics were not obtained, nor did the comparative data exist to substantiate the information even if they had been.

  The first responsibility at Keiko’s reemergence in Norway was to confirm that he was unharmed and otherwise healthy. Direction in assessing Keiko’s health fell under the purview of Dr. Cornell. Lanny knew any real evidence would fly in the face of assertions that Keiko had sustained his dietary needs for three weeks at sea. A common thread throughout the battle over the release permit itself, Lanny was skilled at avoiding the hangman’s noose. He had learned from decades of practice not to give the hangman a noose in the first place. In fact, one of the first actions taken by the misguided release staff was feeding Keiko, an act akin to driving a truck through a crime scene, thus spoiling any chance of clinical confirmation of foraging or the lack thereof.

  Conveniently, the post hoc reasoning worked seamlessly into the public relations spin proffered by HSUS. News of Keiko’s grand adventure across the North Atlantic reached the United States and with it, the idea that sustained body weight proved Keiko had successfully foraged. Across the States the widespread team of expats that had originated the release effort, now sentenced to the sidelines, watched as events unraveled. To a person they each knew Keiko was in jeopardy. They had predicted this outcome. Gnawing frustration, even outrage, ate away at their patience. Keiko had returned to human dependence and yet the vilest of the agenda-driven organizations dismissed this undeniable truth. Tied hopelessly to their mission, the dramatic retelling convinced an unsuspecting public that Keiko had frolicked at sea for three weeks with his own kind. They painted the event as a milestone in Keiko’s progress to freedom.

  Apart from the court of public opinion, the permit itself required intervention, which among other things mandated lifelong substantive care. By definition, Keiko had failed to integrate socially, failed to thrive. He had not demonstrated avoidance of humans or man-made things. He had purposefully and predictably chosen the only family he had ever known.

  Nonetheless and according to news sources, HSUS would continue to encourage Keiko’s journey to freedom. In so doing, avoiding the responsibility (and the cost) demanded by the uncomplicated outcome.

  Almost immediately, images of children interacting with Keiko and boat loads of people petting the star of Free Willy went viral across the Internet. The outcome never more clear, to even the most distanced reporter, Keiko’s homecoming and flopped release was aptly described by numerous news outlets. It seemed undeniable to all that Keiko’s release had failed, to all but HSUS, to all but Naomi. Reacting to the blitz of human affection, and to no small degree, Keiko’s obvious reciprocity, HSUS sought assistance from the Norwegian government in eliminating the entourage of public fondness running afoul.

  Honoring the organization’s plea, the king of Norway gracefully requested that his fellow citizens respect the needs of the famous whale, offering that their well-intended friendliness and interest in the star conflicted with his sojourn to freedom. The Norwegian public obediently withdrew, respecting their king’s wishes with astonishing solidarity.

  For nearly a week the first children had befriended Keiko, opening Pandora’s box. Then, in the blink of an eye they were gone. With the free-for-all bustle of boats and people subsided, Colin and Fernando could finally oversee Keiko with some semblance of normalcy. But the happenstance location proved inadequate for many reasons, not the least of which was close proximity to shipping traffic and the buzz of nearby townspeople. HSUS and their staff on-site decided to move Keiko to a location far from prying interests or extracurricular human activity.

  Taknes Bay

  Penetrating deeper still within the catacomb of a tentacled Norwegian coast, they found the serene cove of Taknes Bay a most suitable venue. Here, their surroundings on land were that of farmland and countryside. A languid bay formed their makeshift whale habitat along its way to a watery cul-de-sac further inland. Trips to and from open water were uncomplicated by interferences. Wild whales were known to frequent the area not far away from Keiko’s new home and unlike Iceland, their presence was less seasonal, more constant. The location offered more than a few meritorious features in meeting Keiko’s needs. What it lacked a great deal were creature comforts for the scant few staff posted in Taknes to oversee ongoing trials.

  Settling into the new accommodations was not without sacrifice. Housing for the staff amounted to a shared farmhouse atop a hill far above the water’s edge. By comparison to the Icelandic base of operations, they seemed ejected, cast into a bleak yet beautiful exile. Temperatures initially betrayed them; in Norway, the land cools quicker than the ocean. In the beginning Taknes presented unforgettable vistas set in a deceptively warm climate far above the averages experienced in Iceland. But nothing was easy; soon to be made harder still by the earth’s growing distance from the sun.

  September ever-so-slowly initiated winter. Winter painted most of the land in the white of a snow-laden paradise. Temperatures closer to year’s end dropped into the low twenties Fahrenheit. At times the wind channeling through the articulate landscape could whisk away body heat with great aptitude, but the most penetrating cold emanated from a humid seaside dampness. Steam rising from the bay’s surface in the still of frigid mornings often concealed Keiko from view. The vibrant palette of landscape, seascape and changing weather patterns presented them with a vision renewed on each dawning day, no two alike.

  As it pertained to Keiko’s dependent care, they had no infrastructure, nothing that afforded even the most basic conveniences. At the bottom of their daily trek from the hilltop, the only means by which to physically reach Keiko was tendered by a small floating dock extended outward from an ancient rock jetty dappled in blotches of grass. Behind the makeshift husbandry area sat a barn turned fish house. Everything had to be recreated. Supplies, frozen herring upon which Keiko’s very sustenance relied; even the rudimentary needs of the small staff demanded careful planning. A never-ending supply list, rich of both common and uncommon needs, accompanied each tedious trek to the nearby village of Liabøen, the administrative center of Halsa.

  Management of the ongoing release effort was entrusted to a band of three consisting of Colin, Tobba and Dane. The team was accompanied at times by a tag-team research pair following the project. After essentials of the land-based operations were established, only two of the small tribe remained in the farmstead on Taknes Bay.

  Routines with Keiko freely emerged, loosely resembling those of Klettsvik Bay operations. Exercise consisted of the occasional side breach or bow jump commingled with tail lobs (repeated slapping of his flukes on the water’s surface) and spinning fast swims selected from the small assortment of trained behaviors. Walks throughout the maze of fjords were implemented on a somewhat fixed schedule of three a week. Facilitated from both dock and boat, husbandry inspection comprised a static portion of Keiko’s human face-time. But lacking even the most basic of facilities, evaluation of Keiko’s physiological well-being was almost exclusively limited to dead-reckoning intuited through scattered observation and rudimentary lab sampling.

  October, November and then December blended together, distinguished only by dropping temperatures, more variable conditions and ice floes migrating outward from shallower waters. New Year’s slipped by in the biting teeth of winter. The year pressed ever forward as attempts to encourage Keiko’s departure continued unrewarded. Little defined one day from another, not even the usual and curtailed routines of the staff.

  In his new world, aside from the interactions decided by his caregivers, Keiko had little means of stimulation. But he had learned how to garner the attention he desperately needed. During prolonged periods absent human guidance, Keiko often wandered away from the drowsy bay. It was a behavior that gained his trainers attentions, often commanding the presenc
e of an accompanying walk-boat. Sometimes the prompted response involved food.

  In the dead of winter, on an evening not unlike many others, their monotony was rudely shattered. The coastline was riddled with encroaching ice floes. This was unfamiliar territory for Keiko. Accepting that the whale was prone to happenstance encounters with such things, Colin kept a more guarded and fretful watch on Keiko’s whereabouts. Early in the cycle of nightfall, he watched as Keiko swam off. Any other day there would have been nothing worthy of note in the whale’s leisurely departure. However, this time Keiko moved steadily in the direction of an ice-packed branch of the bay. It was a limb of the fjord that had no outlet, a dead end.

  Fearing Keiko’s inexperience with the ice, the project staff boarded the small single-outboard motor boat and followed in the direction of Keiko’s last heading. Darkness takes over more quickly on the water and that evening it had become pitch-black. From the sea level position on the small craft, Colin could not find Keiko. But as they approached the ice pack, relying almost solely on the tracking tag indicating Keiko’s direction, it became obvious that Keiko had gone beneath the seemingly impenetrable surface.

  Knowing that Keiko was in trouble, they used the tone recall to beckon the whale back to their location and clear of the ice pack. For some time they neither saw nor heard any sign of their charge. Without the benefit of sight amid the penetrating black surrounding them, their sense of hearing became intensely heightened. At long last, Keiko’s position was revealed, not by sight, but by the repeated sound of ice impacted, then fracturing.

  Keiko had navigated well under the field of ice, some 200 meters from the safety of open water. What they heard were the sounds of a frantic whale breaking through the frozen layer. The escape required no small amount of effort, evidenced by repeated dull strikes and muffled, partial exhales. Keiko was well distanced from the thinned edge. Isolated from clear water and thus life-giving oxygen, he had run out of time. He did the only thing he could do to survive. Keiko beat forcibly with his head and back against the overhead ice until at last he could claim a single crucial breath.