Killing Keiko (12 page)

7. No Behavioral Response to Acoustic or Visual Conditioned Stimuli: Keiko would have
to forget everything he was ever taught by his trainers. It would take considerable
time for forgetting to occur and likely only occur if Keiko had stimulation that replaced
his training, namely interaction with his wild counterparts.

8. Normal Physical Capabilities: Keiko would need to demonstrate normal hearing, eyesight
and sonar capabilities as well as normal immune response. He would have to show us
the ability to dive deep and react to hunting or foraging opportunities. This
criterion required that Keiko had no permanent disabilities and that all his natural
abilities were intact. It also meant that Keiko needed to know how to use them. For
example, echolocation (locating non-visible objects by reflected soundwaves) was something
that Keiko never truly needed in his life with man; he would now need to learn how
to utilize his echolocation skills. Going back to Keiko’s time spent in Oregon Coast
Aquarium, there had been some question about his ability to echolocate. On several
occasions Keiko had received deep gouges on his pectoral fins, flukes and his head
(melon) and nose (rostrum). These were due to run-ins that occurred during the night
with the underwater rockwork in the aquarium.

9. Social Experience with Conspecifics: This element was the capstone of them all.
Keiko needed to be with conspecifics, otherwise referred to as “his kind.” Beyond
his health, normal physical capabilities and his acceptance of tracking equipment,
many of the other requirements could theoretically be acquired from other whales through
observational learning and pro-social behavior. Considering all the tools that could
be employed in reducing Keiko’s dependence on man, social integration with wild whales
was the one criterion over which we had little or no influence. If Keiko was to be
accepted by wild whales and also chose to be with those same whales, it would likely
occur over time, after he and the wild whales developed a history together. In all
our experience with animals of every kind, integration of individual animals into
a new social group was tentative at best and often times treacherous. In short, it
was extremely improbable that this mutual acceptance would be instantaneous, as was
widely believed among the FWKF board and the millions of children who had emptied
their piggy banks in response to the movie.

According to the staff, Dr. Cornell’s masterminded release plan was a four-part venture
(once Keiko was relocated to Iceland). The plan went something like this:

1. Physically acclimate Keiko to the seawater in Klettsvik Bay via the bay pen by
exposure.

2. Stabilize Keiko’s health (i.e., get him off any remaining special medications).

3. Fatten him up so that he has excess blubber to sustain him during the learning
curve (whereby he spontaneously learns to hunt and forage on his own when hungry enough).

4. Literally fly Keiko out to sea in a sling suspended from a helicopter and drop
him with wild whales.

The plan was heavily based on logistics with little beyond medical preparation relating
to Keiko himself. Even the most inexperienced of the frontline staff knew this plan
was a death sentence. They affectionately called this the “AMF Release Plan,” short
for “Adios, Mother F—ker.” I don’t know with certainty but suspect that the contention
between Lanny’s management of the project and the staff’s unwillingness to do his
bidding is what ultimately led to our involvement.

Our initial proposal to OFS provided only a summary outline of our suggested methodology
but nonetheless departed from Lanny’s simplistic cowboy approach in infinite ways.
The plan was originally presented without detailed and up-to-date knowledge of Keiko
or the capabilities of the field personnel. After only a brief time on the project,
Robin, Dave and I had expounded on this initial outline adding immense complexity
to its design. It did not take long to recognize the mountain that lay before us if
Keiko was to be given any real chance at success. To even the most calloused, it was
obvious that Keiko was as different from a wild killer whale as they come (or any
killer whale for that matter).

At the most basic level, Keiko was a zoological animal. Throughout his life a dependency
on man was created, in fact deliberately conditioned. Keiko’s life with man was never
about teaching him to be a top predator or a predator at all. His twenty years in
a zoological environment were about building relationships with people. Keiko’s facility
in Mexico was substandard and affected his health negatively over time; however, that
fact had little to do with his learning history.

Think of Mother Nature as the ultimate survival trainer. She doesn’t give second chances
often. She is seldom just and is ever-harsh in the immediacy of her verdict. When
it comes to kill or be killed, there is no second place. In stark contrast, Keiko’s
life with man was a pampered one. His predatory skills were not necessary and therefore
dulled to nonexistence. His trainers did not exact
the same criteria as Mother Nature. If he had a bad day, he was loved or coddled,
and excuses were made for his lazy response or lack of interest. He never had to navigate
or find his food in order to survive. His life was never about what he
had
to do; it was always about what he was
willing
to do. He was fed enormous amounts and varieties of fish every day of his life through
many varied human interactions, but little to no effort was required on his part.

Keiko never developed social skills with his own kind. His brief history with other
killer whales often placed him at the bottom of the totem pole. In his early years
at Niagara, he was frequently picked on and became a social outcast among other whales.
After he moved to Mexico early in his adolescence, Keiko was never again with his
own species. At times he shared his pools with other types of marine mammals, but
he wouldn’t see or hear another killer whale for a decade and a half.

Keiko’s physiological development was also directly analogous to his behavioral upbringing.
His immune system never had to stand on its own. If he experienced infection or illness,
his system was bolstered by veterinary care and medication. Behaviorally and physically,
he lived in a bubble. His bubble was not threatening. In fact it was designed to provide
him with a carefree life—a life spent frolicking lovingly with humans. Yet Hollywood
would have the world believe that this animal could instantly overcome this lifelong
dependency, be whisked away on a flatbed trailer, plunked in the ocean and escorted
to freedom where he would swim off into the sunset and magically rise to meet the
challenges of a harsh and unforgiving world. No question, this notion was perhaps
one of the most detrimental components in Keiko’s actual release effort, and one that
would relentlessly erode the project through to its conclusion.

We were not training a single behavior; we were conditioning a way of life, one that
departed from everything Keiko had ever known. Keiko lived in the wild for no more
than two years of his existence. In those two years, he relied almost entirely on
his
mother for food and direction. What memory of that part of his life still existed
could not be measured, but whatever memory he might still possess was just as useless
as if it had been completely erased. He had never learned to survive on his own, even
before his 1978 capture. To be accurate, this was not a “reintroduction,” but an “introduction.”

Behavior is always in a state of change, always fluctuating, guided by the consequences
that follow. At any given time, there are many and varied forces working against the
intended goal. For example, people might learn to get off the couch and work out because
they feel good and/or others make positive comments about their physique. However,
if there is no direct recognition for their hard work, the relaxing state of staying
on the couch is intrinsically reinforcing. This is a grossly oversimplified example.
In reality there are dozens of factors influencing choices and actions.

For a new habit or behavior to take shape, encouraging reinforcement must initially
follow that behavior at a high ratio. The process of learning carries with it a memory
or reinforcement history, and the longer that history the greater the difficulty in
reshaping behavior or replacing it with alternative or incompatible behavior(s). In
the case of Keiko, we had two decades of learning history with which to contend. Consequently,
the deck was stacked against our famous couch potato.

Neither the FWKF nor OFS had any experience or even a basic knowledge of zoological
management. They did not have a grasp of the foundations that created Keiko, much
less how to begin the process of reprogramming him toward a life of independence.

At the start, our plan for approaching Keiko’s reconditioning was laid out in a progression
of several steps that would each be designed to meet a specific need or deficiency.
Some needed to be implemented immediately; others would follow along with more
material operational changes that would come only after Keiko had mastered the preceding
steps. The first series of changes focused on both Keiko and the staff.

Step One
: Eliminate all nonessential personnel and human activity around Keiko.

This step required the removal of as many ancillary associations with humans as possible.
This important shift in his focus would need to start without delay and be progressively
expanded through each stage of his rehabilitation.

This change was not well received by the staff or the FWKF. Prior to this suggested
modification, everyone and anyone on staff worked with Keiko almost at will and regardless
of their experience level or the presence of any program goals. This lack of focused
direction translated into a very loose atmosphere. Keiko had become not much more
than a team mascot. They failed to make the connection that this was supposed to be
a killer whale, somewhat “similar” to the ones that hunt, kill and eat other mammals.

Visitors came and went from the bay pen at will. Staff members proudly escorted guests
onto the pen to meet the famous whale. Even children were periodically brought onto
the pen to play with Keiko. Though we struggled somewhat to reduce media access to
the bay pen throughout the project, the “come as you will” policy was promptly ended.

As for the OFS staff or authorized access, we divided the teams into three different
job areas; Behavior Team, Marine Operations and Research. It meant that we would identify
a specific squad of people from each rotation, and only those individuals would work
with Keiko hands-on in his conditioning. We kept the Behavior Team extremely small
in order to minimize inconsistencies in individual training sessions. The first rotation
would include Stephen Claussen, Karen McRea and Steve Sinelli. From the second rotation
only Brian O’Neill and Tracy Karmuza would make the cut. Robin and I would split our
time on-site straddling the two Behavior Teams and providing oversight, continuity
and direction
specific to Keiko. The rest of the staff was rolled into Marine Operations or research-specific
duties.

Step Two
: Eliminate extraneous trained behavior.

We immediately eliminated any trained behavior that did not provide physical stimulation
or fulfill a specific husbandry need in the scope of the release program. For example,
the innovative signal whereby Keiko was encouraged to do something creative was forevermore
removed from the list of approved behaviors. It contributed nothing short of confusion
in his conditioning progress.

Unfortunately, Keiko did not have a very extensive repertoire of trained behaviors
(unlike whales at SeaWorld that learn and maintain more than 300 distinct behaviors).
This mandate left scant few learned behaviors that could be used in exercising Keiko
and keeping him mentally stimulated during the next phase of rehabilitation. More
would have to be trained. New learning would also serve to awaken Keiko’s sleeping
mind, providing mental challenge in addition to physical work.

One highly unpopular amendment fell into this category that was far more difficult
to implement than we ever anticipated: except for very specific medical or husbandry
needs, no one would be allowed to get into the water with Keiko.

Upon this dictate, one would have thought we had committed a cardinal sin. Exactly
why virtually everyone from the top levels down felt that long, in-water rubdowns
and playtimes contributed to Keiko’s progress toward independence was a mystery. What
was clear is the huge contribution it provided for the
staff’s
enrichment: FWKF board members, executive officers and others were allowed in the
water with Keiko. It boggled my mind that this animal was slated for introduction
to the wild and, yet, not one soul considered humans frolicking in the water with
Keiko as conflicting with that goal. I guessed that it must have been common for researchers
in the area to see wild whales swimming around the North Atlantic with Vikings on
their backs? Even Charles, who evaluated most issues rationally and analytically,
fought us on this
change. As a result, it took much longer than it should have to finally eliminate
in-water interactions from Keiko’s regimen.

Step Three
: Back to basics.

Establish and maintain consistency in Keiko’s training environment and push his limits
of higher energy behaviors and alert responses.

We would begin to concentrate sharply on Keiko’s response to trained signals and push
his threshold for active behavior in training sessions. In other words, we were going
to make him a lean, mean, fast machine. But to get there, it meant ensuring that everyone
who was left working with Keiko worked toward the same goals and communicated frequently.
It meant constant supervision.