Killing Keiko (3 page)

Beyond a story about the invisible forces of nature and learning taking place on the
high seas of the North Atlantic, this is more so the tale of one killer whale and
his notorious journey to freedom. It is about a journey that spans four decades, encompasses
the zoological and animal rights communities and epitomizes the evolution of public
appreciation for the killer whale. Keiko’s story begins long before Hollywood uncovered
an icon in
Free Willy
, or before children around the world recognized compassion.

In order to understand the profound breadth of Keiko’s journey, it is necessary to
begin with an understanding of the industry that created him and, ultimately, how
philanthropists urged Keiko to follow in the footsteps of his fictitious counterpart,
“Willy.”

Fifty years ago, the general perception of killer whales was that of maniac predators
roaming the seas and ravaging anything in their path. Fisherman hated them for stealing
bounty from their nets. Whalers hated them for devouring their catch as it was towed
alongside their ships. The military used them for target practice from ships and in
aerial simulations. This loathing, along with the public’s false impressions of the
ocean’s top predator, vanished almost overnight following a series of unexpected events
that unfolded in the mid 1960s.

In 1964 a male killer whale named Moby Doll was harpooned by an expedition commissioned
by the Vancouver Aquarium. They intended to kill the whale for skeletal fabrication
and subsequent display in the aquarium. The whale was harpooned but did not die. Instead
Moby Doll lived for eighty-seven days in a temporary Vancouver-based sea pen. In that
short time, he became an international celebrity and attracted scientists and the
public alike.

In 1965 yet another encounter with a killer whale excited public attention. After
a male killer whale had been caught in a gill net near Namu, British Columbia, aquarium
owner Edward Griffin towed him over 450 miles in a makeshift sea pen to the Seattle
Public Aquarium. Songs were written, and a movie titled
Namu, the Killer Whale
was made. Namu died there after only eleven months, believed to have succumbed to
an infection from poor water quality. However, during this time he developed a relationship
of sorts with Griffin and became the first live orca to perform in front of the public.

Seemingly overnight, an industry was born. Killer whale collections for the purpose
of public display began in Puget Sound. But by 1976, due to opposition from environmental
factions and public sentiment promulgated by the death of five whales, collections
in the Northwest were halted. Thus Icelandic waters became the next frontier for killer
whale collection boasting larger populations, a capable shipping channel, and the
indifference of a whaling nation.

The ideal killer whale candidate for collection was usually between two and three
years of age. But determining age was less than precise. Many animals much younger
than two years old were taken. Following an initial acclimation period, graduate whales
were transported to zoos and aquaria around the world. By the 1980s, “themed” animal
parks were located on virtually every continent. Due in large part to unparalleled
intimate exposure, the general public quickly gained an insatiable fascination with
the killer whale.

Science was only just beginning to understand the extraordinary learning ability of
the bottlenose dolphin when this mysterious and beautiful cousin took center stage,
filling our hearts and exciting our minds. The striking and bold coloration of the
killer whale became its trademark. Crisp mirrorlike black contrasted by the milky-white
underside made it appear as living, breathing art. Likewise, the distinguishing combination
of strength, beauty and social complexity appealed to a wide audience. The top predator
of the ocean was supreme in disposition, mysteriously elusive at
sea and the top of its class in the animal training environment. For most, it took
little effort to fall in love with or be awestruck by
Orcinus orca.

In the late ‘60s renewed interest in migration routes, populations and social behavior
led various individuals and organizations to study killer whales in the wild. In efforts
to collect data, many researchers devoted their lives to the task, spending tiresome
hours onboard research vessels with few accommodations. Every aspect of the killer
whale was an exercise in stretching the imagination. What had been recently believed
to be a ferocious man-eating killer was now the focus of unlimited study and public
interest. At the same time, knowledge of whales was growing in leaps and bounds due
to the relative ease with which researchers could observe the whale’s behavior beneath
the water’s surface in zoological settings. Trainers and caretakers gained an unequaled
respect for the killer whale’s aptitude. Many of today’s advancements in behavioral
conditioning and the application of positive reinforcement techniques in the animal
training field were originally implemented and streamlined through work with the ocean’s
top predator.

According to the “Reintroduction Protocols,” the formal document submitted to the
Icelandic government from which Keiko’s release permit was granted:

The killer whale (
Orcinus orca)
“Keiko” was captured off the coast of Iceland in 1978 at the estimated age of two
years. Following two years at a temporary housing facility in Iceland, Keiko was transported
to Niagara Falls Aquarium and maintained there for a period of six years. In 1986
the subject was transported to Reino Aventura Amusement Park in Mexico City, Mexico.
While maintained in Mexico City, the subject’s health progressively deteriorated due
to inadequate environmental conditions.

Immediately following collection, Keiko was taken to a coastal sea pen-type facility
in Iceland. He was maintained there for an extended period of time, as was common
for newly placed animals
that would eventually go to permanent facilities. This period of acclimation ensured
that individual animals were healthy, eating, and had successfully adapted to the
initial change.

The first move from Reykjavik, Iceland, to their new home was the toughest transition
for the whales. It involved yet another change of environment or acclimation period
for the whales, this time with a completely unfamiliar social group.

During Keiko’s almost six years in Marineland, Niagara, he was socially ostracized,
physically displaced (picked on) and constituted the bottom of the hierarchy within
his new social group. There were an estimated six killer whales in total at Marineland
during Keiko’s stay in Canada.

After being sold and moved to Reino Aventura Park in Mexico, he developed a skin disease
called cutaneous papillomatosis caused by a novel papillomavirus and associated with
immune suppression (which is a potentially contagious disease to other whales). The
condition formed an unsightly cauliflower-like growth of the skin where affected.
Keiko quickly gained a stigma as the ugly duckling among those who cared for him.
Even so, he was the marquee attraction at Reino Aventura for nearly eight years before
achieving Hollywood stardom.

In 1993 Keiko became the star of the Warner Bros. blockbuster movie
Free Willy
and, as a result, inarguably the most famous killer whale in history. The movie depicted
a killer whale (Willy) as languishing, neglected in a small pool at a theme park.
In the movie, Willy is befriended by a lone boy and eventually spirited away back
to the wild where Willy swims off into the sunset and lives happily ever after (including
Hollywood’s production of three sequels).

After the movie, the nonprofit animal rights organization Earth Island Institute began
lobbying for a real-life release program for Keiko, intending to have him follow in
the footsteps of his fictitious counterpart. In 1994 Warner Bros. contributed $4 million
to the movement, and Earth Island Institute formed the Free Willy/Keiko
Foundation (FWKF) to spearhead the release effort. Reino Aventura, under public pressure,
donated Keiko to the Free Willy/Keiko Foundation. In 1996, as the first step of a
program to return Keiko to the wild, he was transported to a newly constructed facility
at Oregon Coast Aquarium in Newport, Oregon. The facility cost nearly $8 million to
build.

According to the formal “Reintroduction Protocols” from the Keiko Release Project
permit:

In January 1996 Keiko was transferred from Mexico City to the Oregon Coast Aquarium
(OCA) in Newport, Oregon. Objectives for this period were to improve general health
and quality of life by providing a high-quality environment and structured rehabilitation
program and to provide for appropriate public display opportunities. Following two
and a half years of successful medical rehabilitation, on 9 September 1998 Keiko was
transported from Newport to an open-water bay pen facility in Vestmannaeyjar, Iceland.
The transport was conducted, pursuant to the transfer provisions of section 104(c)(2)
of the Marine Mammal Protection Act, under an authorized National Marine Fisheries
Service (NMFS) public display permit and an export permit issued under the Convention
on International Trade in Endangered Species of Flora and Fauna. Iceland was chosen
as the site for potential reintroduction due to the fact that he was originally captured
in Icelandic waters. As part of the transfer operation, a public display program was
established and carried out.

From September 1998 to February 1999 in his Icelandic bay pen, Keiko did little more
than continue to gain weight. Theories and ideas about how to move forward with the
release were abundant and diverse, but mostly the Free Willy/Keiko Foundation expected
Keiko to take the initiative toward his freedom once in native waters. Some expected
him to call to his brethren; some envisioned Keiko’s mother swimming up to the bay
pen and coaxing him to follow; and still others imagined Keiko would be fattened up
and taken to sea to be dropped off with wild whales, where he would obediently swim
off into the sunset.

These were not only the ideas of the children who broke their piggy banks to contribute
to Keiko’s release; these were the machinations of the board of directors, the founders
of Earth Island Institute and the head veterinarian of the FWKF. Despite the numerous
and idealized visions of release, no concrete plan of reintroduction was ever established
beyond his relocation to Newport and later transfer to Iceland. The FWKF literally
did not know what to do next. Keiko adjusted to the climate and waters of Klettsvik
Bay, Iceland, where his bay pen was located. Beyond his weight gain and developing
an unhealthy attachment to a large Boomer Ball (a three-foot diameter hard plastic
ball, his sole companion at the time), Keiko achieved little in his preparation for
the wild during his first five months in Iceland. The program managers and the board
of the FWKF were at an impasse. They had inherited an iconic whale and an extremely
expensive operation to maintain, but no forward progress materialized.

To begin to understand the challenges facing Keiko and the team of people charged
with his reintroduction, any comparison to Hollywood’s version of
Free Willy
must be cast aside. Releasing an animal, any animal that has spent considerable time
in the care of man, is a complex process to say the least. In the case of Keiko, it
was analogous to putting the first man on the moon. If a candidate for release were
imagined, many experts agreed, it would not be Keiko. An adult male killer whale,
dependent on social acceptance for his survival, was the least likely to be accepted
by his wild counterparts. Chances were other males would view him as a competitor.
But this aspect was only the tip of the iceberg challenging Keiko’s survival. After
nearly twenty years in the care of man, much greater threats lurked undetected in
Keiko’s chances of survival.

June 15, 2000–1921 hours

Communication between tracking helicopter (call-sign
Zero-Nine-Zulu
) and the
Draupnir
, Keiko’s walk-boat:

Zero-Nine-Zulu:
“Contact. We have positive sighting … advise heading east-northeast, repeatedly circling
then continuing course. Be advised fuel is short … heading back to base.”

“Copy that,
Zero-Nine-Zulu
, we are closing on your location at twenty-six knots. Tracking equipment onboard.
Draupnir
out.”

Moments later, onboard
Draupnir
via ship-to-shore phone message:
Draupnir
: “Hello?”

From base: “Hi, Robin, it’s Charles … I have Jeff and Lanny here.”

“Okay,” Robin replied, adding under his breath, “This should be interesting.”

Lanny spoke first: “What are you guys doing?”

“We’re going to get this whale back …”