Killing Keiko (22 page)

Fortunately Kelly’s misadventures were never dangerous, but they were colorful and
varied. Some of the more comical moments in our tour of Iceland were at her expense.
In its own strange way,
this hallmark trait of Kelly’s eventually endeared her to many of the staff. No matter,
Kelly was not hired to manhandle the obstacle course of the physical environment;
she was hired to bring much needed balance and expertise to Keiko’s behavioral rehabilitation,
and that she did.

September came and went, accelerated by the activity of the bay pen reconstruction
and the novelty of a new team member. At the same time, issues surrounding the formal
reintroduction protocols came to a head. This was an important milestone in the project
not to be underestimated. The document would constitute the first time the release
plan would be published and reviewed by peers within the scientific community. It
was a point of no return for the organization. By putting the plan in writing and
sharing it with professional colleagues, FWKF was committing to specific methods and
metrics for evaluating the viability of release.

Perhaps more impactful, this document would become the application for final approval
from the Icelandic Ministry of Fisheries for Keiko’s introduction to the ocean and
eventually wild whales. U.S. Fisheries also maintained a complimentary right of input
on the documented plan. The protocol document would have to detail what constituted
a successful release and define an intervention response plan in the event that Keiko
failed to thrive after release. Divergent positions from within project management
on every aspect of the process were steadily rising to the surface, driven by the
need to put consensus in black and white print. In every case, the most vocal opponent
to our plan (already well-under way) was Dr. Cornell.

Point by point throughout the draft document, Lanny attacked the plan. Never one to
lower himself to the actual work of correspondence, Lanny extorted his opinions through
Charles, who in turn relayed the most salient points of the doctor’s judgments through
e-mails that lobbed back and forth across the continents day and night.

Charles’ first volley from the High Court of Cornell denounced any and all behavioral
modification objectives and insisted that we “avoid tying the behavior modification
to very specific, clear objectives.” We were appalled. In the absence of defining
clear objectives, how then could Keiko’s readiness for release be measured? Further,
Keiko’s reintroduction had been veiled in the guise of a scientific undertaking, one
of great pomp and circumstance under diverse scrutiny. The scientific method, in its
most rudimentary form, requires the ability of an entire experiment to be reproduced
independent of the original study. In his customary straightforward way, Robin responded.

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Ultimately, the logistical and behavioral plan of approach would be mandated via the
official Keiko Reintroduction Protocol document, but it was not without a fight and
constant fringe battles. Lanny not only directly disagreed with most of the document,
but orchestrated a showdown at the FWKF board level regarding many of the issues.
By all outward indications, Lanny simply wanted to “cut the net.” The arduous process
of planning and sharing that plan with industry and professional colleagues appeared
to be beneath him. He had no patience for the process, and it showed in his comments.
Moreover, he took every opportunity to “simplify” the proffered plan. If the organization
would be forced into the responsibility of a formal plan, Lanny made every effort
to ensure that plan said nothing that could be criticized or overanalyzed by people
in the know.

In the annals of the marine mammal field, Lanny could undoubtedly stake claim to more
than a few advancements in the
management of zoological animals, especially killer whales. But the idea that he had
any conscience for Keiko’s plight was a fallacy. His disposition toward the animals
in his care repeatedly pointed to a man driven more by ego and personal advancement
than any altruistic intent.

In the folklore of SeaWorld, his alma mater and the setting of his ascension to notoriety
as a vet, one such story exemplified Lanny’s predilection, some would say, of self-preservation
over any ethical responsibility toward animal welfare. Following an animal death in
the park, the veterinary team reporting to Lanny completed a necropsy investigation
on the animal’s carcass, required by law and intended to identify the cause of death.
In the gross morphology, nothing overt was found. The next phase of the investigation
focused on pathology, microbiology and other microscopic means to identify the unseen
culprit. Lacking visible evidence, the final analysis would likely point to something
bacteriological or viral that had been in the environment.

Lanny joined the investigation only after the veterinary staff completed a thorough
dissection. Saying nothing, he reached into the midsection of the carcass and felt
around the animal’s adrenal gland. A few moments later he pulled a rifle bullet from
the body. Then and there he declared the cause of death an abscess infection resulting
from a fisherman’s vengeance suffered long before the animal belonged to SeaWorld.
The vet staff was stunned. Driven by the moral responsibility of their chosen profession
first and secondly by fear of Lanny’s hatred for incompetence, they had combed through
the corpse in painstaking detail. Yet in the hours they spent searching, nothing of
the sort was discovered. Sharing a common thread among the tales that have coursed
through the inner circle regarding Lanny’s fabled past, the
convenient
discovery effectively averted any personal responsibility for the animal’s death.

Now responsible for Keiko’s release, it was just as likely that Lanny would make sure
no one had a noose with which to hang him as the head vet on the project. If he could
stop the advancing
plan, it would be at the FWKF board level, before it reached outside colleagues in
the peer review process.

We struggled continuously to educate the managing members of the organization. The
board had Lanny in one ear—selling Keiko’s release as overly simplistic—and us (through
Charles) in the other ear presenting exactly the opposite, in agonizing detail. I
believe that Charles recognized the sense in our approach and thus valiantly represented
what he understood to be a responsible medium to Lanny and the board. But Charles
could only regurgitate so much on his own. In spite of his communicative talent, it
was not his area of expertise. Eventually it became evident that Robin would have
to meet with the board himself and address the most stubborn issues that continued
to impede progress.

Pressing on in his dissection of the formal release plan, Lanny further criticized
the plan’s intent to improve Keiko’s physical stamina. Moreover, he summarily dismissed
the idea as one of object threat. In his argument, afforded by his experience in similar
situations, he claimed that Keiko could “shut down” if too much effort was required.
Additionally, and in stark contrast to the stated goals of release, he wanted any
reference of complexity in Keiko’s transition to eating live fish removed from the
document. This time Robin took great pleasure in addressing the salient point on “too
much too fast.”

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Comfortably oblivious to the tyrannical exchange with Lanny, the Marine Operations
team continued in its own world moving toward the installation of the barrier net.
Michael Parks, our chief of Marine Operations heading up this process, was obsessive-compulsive
about safety. When working in a marine environment around boats, lines and the unpredictability
of the sea, a healthy respect for Mother Ocean can be of great value in keeping all
appendages intact. The last thing the project needed was a serious injury or, God
forbid, a death.

Everything about the barrier net was an exercise in overcoming obstacles. Nothing
came easy, and this was the prevailing challenge even before installation of the net
began. The first hurdle came in determining what material could withstand the forces
that would wreak havoc on the net itself. Woods Hole engineers had calculated that
the net would be subjected to force currents exceeding eighteen knots. Deciding what
the net should be made of was a critical decision. It would need to be stronger than
steel, but flexible and light.

Another important decision involved how large the “netting” had to be … in other words,
what size to make the “boxes” created
by the crisscrossing of the net material. The smaller the net’s mesh, the more material
and thus more drag on the net from currents in the bay. Too large and the net would
not be strong enough to hold together. Another incalculable factor was natural and
artificial debris. Any seaweed, kelp or trash that collected on the net would only
increase its drag coefficient and put additional stress on the net and anchoring system.
This had as much to do with maintaining a clean net, but in the design it was also
a factor in determining the size of the mesh.

If successful in getting the barrier net installed, it was abundantly clear that it
would become a maintenance nightmare to keep in place. Soon, our heroic Marine Ops
team, aptly nicknamed “Mighty Mo,” would redouble their efforts to maintain the tools
of reintroduction. They were well acquainted with a bay pen always on the verge of
ripping apart. Now they were inheriting an 800-foot monster net with an unknown appetite
competing for similar affections.

By the end of September, Michael, Robin and the Marine Ops team were working with
OFS marine technicians, Vestmannaeyjar net makers, and several local and international
experts in the art of marine construction to answer the unknowns. How could the net
be anchored, but allow for the tidal variance? What would be used to actually anchor
the net in the rock on each side of the bay? How were we to get boats across the net?
How would the net be visible to other boats? When ready, how was Keiko going to exit
through the barrier net?

In the following weeks, each question would be answered or at least theories would
prevail. Many of the solutions could not be tested until the net was physically in
place across the expanse. In all cases, the true test of the net would come under
the often extreme conditions particular to Klettsvik Bay. Designing and installing
a net of this size was not such a monumental task when the seas are calm, but in the
formidable surge currents that plagued Klettsvik, no one could truly know if their
theories would hold water until after the fact.

It was the eve of October and we had been on an uphill battle with Keiko’s diet for
six long weeks. While food alone is not a compelling motivator, the excess of food
(satiation) can be an overwhelming force in deterring motivation. Without question
we had been at a literal standstill in Keiko’s physical rehabilitation. Worse, we
were still feeding the rich, high-calorie herring, still awaiting the arrival of a
viable replacement.

During this satiated period, Keiko had no interest in food; therefore our only means
to alter his behavior came through other forms of reinforcement we could provide.
He had become so pigged-out on the “chocolate cake” herring that his old and lazy
pastime of boat watching rose to an all-time high. Still hopelessly locked within
the confines of the bay pen, our menu of reinforcement was narrowed to no more than
our relationship with the Big Man. We had to move him more to mitigate the fattening
barrage of calories that had nearly reversed the summer’s progress. But as the reality
of the barrier net came slowly into focus, this need for increased human interaction
was frustrating. It seemed the whole of August and September had been lost to stagnation
and Keiko’s backwards interest in boat traffic.

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