Killing Keiko (19 page)

Some of my fondest memories of Iceland and the project took place at Gummi’s home.
Away and apart from our normal surroundings, the contrasting warmth of the quaint
Icelandic dwelling was ever inviting. Dark-paneled wooden walls and built-in shelving
adorned with collectibles of a northern flair framed each adjoining room from the
kitchen to the dining area. A fireplace centered the family room where we sat on an
assortment of rocking chairs,
a big leather chair, velvet padded armchairs and couches festooned with ornate coverings
and piled high with a variety of accenting pillows. Following a meal, Gummi often
pulled aside some of the mismatched chairs in the dining room where a few of us savored
a cigar and brandy. Gummi and his wife never shied from offering the welcome escape
in the heartwarming surroundings of their traditional Icelandic home.

Given the sheer concentration of time together, a few months on the project was all
it took to forge lifelong friendships. Ingunn and Siti, security employees for Smari,
were frequently stationed on the bay pen for night watch. It took a goodly while for
Ingunn to become comfortable around me. I did not know at the time, but she was spoon-fed
a certain perception long before she and I ever had the chance to get to know one
another. In the ever-changing progression of the release plan, Behavior Team members
rotated shifts throughout day and night in order to implement the shaping of Keiko’s
behavior around the clock. It was during a handful of night shifts together on the
pen that Ingunn finally realized I was not the devil incarnate.

Ingunn stood out in a crowd of Icelandic women, and men for that matter. She was taller
than average and a redhead, the only person with ginger hair I ever met in Iceland.
The quiet type, Ingunn would have been a challenge to befriend were it not for the
seclusion on the pen in close quarters with myself and Siti. Raising the degree of
difficulty, neither Siti nor Ingunn spoke much English, or they were shy about using
the language. I was never sure which. Either way, it was hard to resist the stupefied
comedy that has a way of seeping out in the earliest hours of the morning after a
long night without sleep.

At first it was Siti and I, looking for things to pass the time, inventing physical
challenges that made us both look quite silly. Outwardly, Siti appeared like a rugged
old-school father figure. His unassuming quiet nature lent a great deal to this perception.
But the more we spent time together, the more I realized his inner goof gave my own
a run for its money. It didn’t take long to entice
Ingunn’s participation in our games. Heck, there wasn’t much else of interest competing
for her attentions. One night in particular it was unusually cold and damp. We alternated
racing around the perimeter of the south pool and timing each other, Ingunn officiated.
Somewhere between challenge and boast, Siti ended up running the course in nothing
but a pair of whitey tighties. It had to do with a bet. A bet that Ingunn instigated.

Thereafter, we shared some pretty silly exchanges. We often found ourselves in stitches
and barely able to breathe for laughing. Never at a loss for being the class clown,
I had a great audience in Ingunn. Laughter was the great equalizer, the best medicine
for many hours spent isolated on the bay pen, often in weather that kept us in a constant
giddy high-adrenaline state.

One of the most reliable people on the project, Siti was not only part of the security
detail, he was also an accomplished boat captain and often assisted in the open ocean
boat formations piloting one of our support vessels. Siti might have been in his late
forties. But it was difficult at best to be sure sometimes with the hard-weathered
men of Heimaey, who might easily appear older than their age. We were charmed by his
durable sense of integrity and tickled when he often referred to his father as “Daddy.”

On the other end of the scale was Hai. Along with his boyishly mussed hair and equally
youthful mannerisms he had the energy of a teenager, despite being well into his late
thirties. Hai was an exercise in frustration tempered by a healthy dose of dependency.
We would have been lost without Hai, but at the same time he was capable of doing
something out of left field at any given time. Mostly this trait was a source of levity
as Hai was truly harmless, even when he did throw us the occasional curveball. More
often than not, it was his enthusiasm of starting new projects long before we had
decided they would be needed.

Our Icelandic troops were one of the true highlights of the project; unforgettable
characters and experiences that resulted in a lifelong affection for Vestmannaeyjar.
Despite many other negatives that haunted us and Keiko during those fateful few years
in
the Land of Fire and Ice, these relationships would leave a positive memory in their
wake that would not be undone.

Though we forged many friendships in Heimaey, there were those that did not want the
Keiko Release Project in their hometown and wanted nothing more than to see us, as
well as Keiko, go away for good. Sometimes the sentiment translated to bold threats,
such as shooting Keiko and turning him into dog food. Most were directed at Keiko,
but a few also involved the staff. Initially this concerned us as there were too many
vantage points surrounding Klettsvik Bay; hundreds of locations on all sides from
which a rifleman could easily pick his target. Our reaction: to increase watch from
the bay pen and sometimes the overlook opposite the bay.

Those of us on the bay pen joked about the intelligence behind this strategy. We effectively
put ourselves in plain view of any would-be assassin. Stephen Claussen made great
fodder with the arrangement, putting a handmade bull’s-eye on his chest and acting
out the “human target.” The threats never turned serious and no one (to my knowledge)
was ever caught snooping about the hilltops with malicious intent. In fact, the most
dangerous suspects were the mountain lambs that grazed along the sheer cliffs of Klettsvik
Bay. The occasional lamb, when it lost footing, plummeted into the bay near the rock
face. This was a rare occurrence, but should one get “lambed,” it would undoubtedly
constitute a life-threatening event. More bark than bite, the threats were nonetheless
a telltale barometer of negative sentiments that eventually led to real danger for
Keiko.

All things considered, June through August 1999 yielded net positive results. Progress
continued with Keiko in terms of his physical exercise and the initial steps of the
reintroduction plan we were systematically pushing along.

If any chance remained of capitalizing on the relative calmness and extended daylight
of the summer season, it was time for a bold step. It was time to conquer the largest
operational challenge
facing the project to date. It was time to move Keiko from the small pen to the expansive
surroundings of Klettsvik Bay and begin the next phase of reintroduction conditioning.
For the first time since Keiko’s arrival in Iceland, real progress was about to happen.

All too quickly we found ourselves in the middle of August, days and weeks clicking
by at an increasing tempo. Though a concept and design had been agreed upon, much
was left to be done before actual work could begin, not least of which included an
estimated cost of the enclosure and the board’s approval of same. But it quickly became
apparent that no matter how hard we all worked or how perfect our efficiency, we were
now facing a winter install. More than a few questioned the plausibility, even suggesting
that we wait another season. But those of us on-site knew Keiko couldn’t afford another
year sequestered inside the restrictive bay pen. Somehow we had to find a way.

Overcoming the challenges posed by weather and currents and installing what equated
to a giant underwater sail took extensive planning … and time. More of the latter
than we cared admit. Thus far, the barrier net was no more than a gleam in the eye
of the release team. Our excitement and anticipation would have to keep us motivated
through the long winter ahead.

At the end of summer we received news that our lease was up with the fire department
hostel. Our familiar makeshift home was at end. Thankfully, Robin was the manager
at the time, and he hit a home run in landing a rapid solution. No more than a few
short blocks away from the hostel sat a newly renovated four-story hotel (actually,
still in the throes of final renovation). Despite the ongoing work, our new abode
was filled with comforts and accommodations far surpassing the more utilitarian rawness
of the hostel. Each staff member got his or her own private room (shared between rotations)
complete with private bath. No more locker room showers shared by the same sex. A
small but welcome adjustment, even if the “kit” showers of the hotel were, as my father
used to say, “so small you couldn’t cuss a cat without getting fur in your mouth.”

The first level was primarily an entry foyer from the main street. A spiral staircase
just inside led to the second, third and fourth floors. The upper floors consisted
mostly of individual rooms, although the second floor also had a large kitchen and
staff dining area toward the back-street side of the building. On the top floor were
two spacious penthouse suites, complete with bathroom, mini-kitchen, bedroom, sitting
area, private balconies and an advantageous view of the town. One could even get a
small glimpse of the channel leading into the harbor standing on the north-facing
balcony, which became a valuable “crow’s nest” for assessing conditions in the bay.
Given our positions on the release team, Robin and I, and Jeff and Jen shared the
two penthouse suites. Typically on opposite rotations, Jeff or Jen occupied the larger
of the two while Robin and I split our time in the other. Although I spent the vast
majority of my time on the bay pen itself, when schedules allowed, the luxury of the
penthouse rooms lent much to maintaining sanity and composure during the more trying
times.

The privacy afforded by the rooms also allowed each of us opportunities to escape
each other’s company, a healthy benefit when working in such close quarters with even
the most pro-social compatriots. Other features conducive to group social activity
and increasingly frequent meetings provided the perfect balance for a harmonious living
environment. The “solarium,” a large common area occupying nearly half of the third
floor, quickly became our favorite place to congregate. The room’s marquee feature—a
third of the ceiling and back wall—was comprised of glass panels creating an atrium
with unbelievable views of the skyline, complete with surreal northern lights in the
dark of winter. Comfortable sitting chairs, sofas and a pool table completed the solarium’s
creature comforts. This space would be filled with lasting memories, from holiday
parties to hard-fought battles over project obstacles. It was second only to the bay
pen in providing a backdrop to the ongoing release effort.

The timing of our move to the hotel was, in retrospect, immaculate. Beyond features
conducive to the mental health of the team, it also provided momentary distraction
to the staff, wearied from the barrage of operational change that had become the norm.
Equally as valuable, it provided room for growth.

On the frontlines in Vestmannaeyjar, the project appeared to be moving in all the
right directions. Acceptance of the barrier net plan gained steam. Staff settled into
the hotel and their new rotational schedules. Keiko sustained ever-increasing levels
of exercise just
as his activity levels outside of human directed interaction continued to improve.
Were it not for the conflict building with Dr. Lanny Cornell on the subject of the
release plan, all would have seemed right for once. But it wasn’t to be. Jen and I
had outlined the formal release plan, forensically describing each aspect of the reintroduction
strategy in writing. The final document was to be submitted for peer review and eventually
become the permit submission for formal release approval from the Icelandic Ministry
of Fisheries. Disagreement between Lanny, and Robin and I escalated with every detail
put to paper.

E-mail Excerpt: August 20, 1999