Killing Keiko (34 page)

Avoiding the mundane topics of our domestic lives, we spent the evening on a brisk
tour of the island. We then carried on sharing our fascinations of the northern land
through dinner at Lanterna, the finer of the limited few dining experiences. We kept
the evening short in anticipation of an early start to the following day and what
would be her first experience “walking” a killer whale alongside a boat.

The next morning I went to the bay pen at daybreak with the opening crew. Alyssa remained
asleep at the hotel. On her clock, it was only just midnight. During this phase, the
Behavior Team was continuing desensitization work with auxiliary boats, which required
no small amount of communication between the vessels navigating carefully within the
bay. The objective was to simulate the formation that would carry us to sea. Alyssa
listened intently as the chatter choreographing the first walk-session of the day
emanated from the base monitor and echoed throughout the hotel’s concrete walls and
tile floor.

At sea, the
Draupnir
and Keiko would always be shadowed by a support vessel. This was important for myriad
reasons, not the least of which was to protect the nucleus of the walk from curious
third-party boats. In rehearsals, we frequently assumed the neutral posture with the
Draupnir
, encouraging Keiko to leave the walk-boat and explore. Here in the bay, where we
had control of the mock boat traffic, we could ensure that Keiko would not receive
disruptive attention from the assortment of watercraft. With each passing week, we
continued to introduce additional variables, eventually even attempting to draw Keiko’s
attention away from the
Draupnir
during walks or when he was free swimming in the bay. Careful in our estimations
and each successive step, Keiko began to understand that boats, aside from the distinctive
walk-posture of the
Draupnir
, were nothing more than backdrop.

By midmorning, Greg and the
Sili
fetched Alyssa from the harbor and brought her out to the bay pen. Cheating every
e-mailed description of the harsh conditions in Iceland, and particularly Klettsvik,
the day was flat calm. Rock edifices surrounding the bay were cast in bright sunlight,
crisp edges and hard shadows exaggerated the angular surfaces. Vibrant green mountaintops
were full of a congregation of birds taking roost and chattering softly. Klettsvik
was in rare form.

After a short tour of the skeletal man-made pen, she joined me on the
Draupnir
for a continuation of the morning’s practice walks. Alyssa wore a borrowed Mustang
survival suit. It was the polar opposite of her usual close-fitting wetsuit I had
been accustomed to seeing her wear at SeaWorld. She was lost in the Pillsbury lumpiness
shouted in bright orange, but cute nonetheless.

“Couple things….” I had waited until after we boarded the
Draupnir
. “If he approaches the boat or even when we’ve called him to the platform, we don’t
give him any type of attention, not even eye contact. Only the person designated to
work him from the walk platform has any direct interaction, even then only when the
platform is out.”

Alyssa didn’t require a lengthy explanation. She was already familiar with the conditioning
plan that I constantly bounced off her through e-mail and phone conversations. Still,
I was careful to treat her no differently than the rare guest who accompanied the
walk-boat from time to time. Alyssa confirmed her understanding with an eager smile
and nod. She had her hands stuffed in the pockets of the Mustang suit, arms locked
straight and her shoulders pulled up around her neck. She looked as if at any second
she might start twisting side-to-side and batting her eyelids. “Where do you want
me to be?”

This time Michael responded. “You can stay in the pilothouse with me; if you want
you can stand just inside the aft doorway. You might get a better look from there.”
His tone and posture carried an air of “preferred guest” about them. I was greatly
appreciative of Michael’s welcoming nature toward Alyssa. The few previous guests
of the
Draupnir
during walks were there by mandate, members of the board or grace-and-favor appointments
for local government or media. Even those were few and far between. We were very shielding
of attention surrounding Keiko, especially at this late stage in the release.

“
Draupnir
—Bay Pen/
Heppin
.” I radioed to the inhabitants of the pen and to Greg onboard the remaining support
boat. In the rare calmness of the bay,
Sili
was tied up to the pen and would sit this one out.

“Go ahead,
Draupnir
,” Tracy responded. Greg double-tapped the mic, acknowledging that he was listening.

“We’re going to move out to the west side and call him directly to the
Draupnir
. We’ll do a few laps and then go neutral.” Tracy needed to stand by the HDS on the
roof of the research shack. Following the earlier routine of the day, Greg would motor
about the bay opposite the
Draupnir’s
location. I continued, “This will be a fairly short one. Probably only two or three
nautical miles.”

Michael maneuvered to position and held steady.

“Draupnir
—Bay Pen. Do you see him?” I asked. It was vital to know where Keiko was and what
he was doing before we
introduced direct interaction. We had to make sure that Keiko wasn’t following the
Heppin
, sitting idle or watching human activity in any way. Waiting, I placed the portable
recall speaker into the water by draping it over the gunwale and lowering it about
a meter deep in the water column. It was a small device, roughly the size of a film
canister, only twice as long.

A few minutes later, Tracy responded from the bay pen, “He’s in the corner, Zone 1,
near the boat gate. Maybe rubbing on the rocks there.”

Even in the best of conditions, it was often difficult to find the twenty-one-foot
whale that was dwarfed in the relative vastness of the bay. The sighting could easily
be missed unless we were looking in the right direction at the brief interval when
he surfaced to breathe.

I dropped the platform and keyed my handheld radio as I stepped over the sponson and
onto the nylon mesh. “Recall.” At 210 pounds, my presence on the extended appendage
caused the
Draupnir
to list to starboard. Saltwater covered my bright orange boots to the ankle.

We didn’t know how far away Keiko could hear the underwater tone. Just the same he
never failed to respond. It seemed forever before he showed up, approaching from the
port side of the
Draupnir
at depth. A somewhat eerie sight, his presence was first evident from the glowing
white of his eye patch, disembodied from the rest of him by the turbid water just
a couple meters below the surface; a rare vision granted only by the extremely glassy
surface of the water.

“Okay, Michael, ready when you are,” I said.

The unmistakable
thunk
of the engines engaging was the only confirmation required. The
Draupnir
moved ahead, immediately assuming the practiced pace of three to four knots. Keiko,
hearing the
Draupnir
drop into gear anticipated the movement and was already head-down and moving alongside.
Alyssa, who had been conversing with Michael, watched from the cabin door. Now silent,
I knew without looking that she was watching intently. Although she had kayaked with
the killer whales at SeaWorld,
this was nothing of the sort. Set within the broad stretches of the bay, it was as
close to the open ocean as one could get without actually being there. Knowing Alyssa
as I did, I experienced the novelty vicariously, imagining what she must be thinking
of the surreal scene.

As we rounded the southern end of the bay, we increased speed enough to force Keiko
into a mild porpoise, akin to a trot. At this speed, he broke the surface high and
with purpose for each required breath. In between, he swam in a much more hydrodynamic
position a meter or more beneath the water’s surface. At times, Keiko would turn on
his side, the undulation of his body accentuated by the glowing disruptive coloration
moving back and forth, propelling himself in concert with the
Draupnir
.

“Michael, let’s take it down a notch for a bit,” I said. We had been at the faster
clip for almost two rotations around the pen, roughly one nautical mile.

As the
Draupnir
slowed, so too did Keiko, taking a series of breaths at her side. Alyssa stood fixated,
edging slightly outside the doorway for a better look. While she was peering over
the side, Keiko surfaced. Rather than taking a quick breath and going back to a head-down
position, this time he kept his enormous head above the waterline and for a few brief
heartbeats, the deep black of his eye cast a penetrating lock on Alyssa. It was a
moment that neither she nor I would forget.

Later that day over the customary glass of red wine, Alyssa shared her impressions.
Her view of Keiko had been colored by my doubting e-mails and descriptions. Yet what
she saw in that one day, her singular experience, deceived every portrayal she had
heard of Keiko. Alyssa described his gaze as a cold indifference, if not the menacing
stare of a killer. But it was more than that, his business-only interaction throughout
the walk and subsequent disinterest in the trivial goings-on of humans around him
whispered hints of the same royal disposition she had witnessed from wild orca in
the Pacific Northwest. The changes in Keiko had been gradual. I had been too close
to adequately gauge them.

Alyssa’s blunt observations of a point in time instantly revealed how far we had actually
come. What she described then, the unforgettable gaze of a whale I once believed least
like any killer whale I had ever known, was now compared to a wild whale. If I had
made the offer, she would not have gotten into the water with the animal, such were
her misgivings. This, her trusted measure of Keiko’s temperament, was no small victory.
It was indeed everything. Even I, at times certain we were marching to war already
defeated, began to believe there might be a very real chance for the Big Man.

Seldom able to revel in what progress we could measure, the nature of the release
effort meant we were constantly unhinged by challenges well beyond those of our own
making. Not long after Alyssa’s visit, the project was again subjected to yet another
wild curveball; one that promptly dispelled the mundane and ignited our worst fears.

May 19, 2000. Ocean Futures Society Press Release

Excerpt:

Ocean Futures Society learned that construction of a pier will occur in Vestmannaeyjar
Harbor. The construction would involve blasting and pile driving at a distance less
than half a mile from Keiko’s bay enclosure. At this distance, the shock waves and
low-frequency vibrations from the construction work could, in Ocean Futures Society’s
judgment, pose a risk of physical harm to Keiko.

Ocean Futures Society (OFS), through interactions with the U.S. and Icelandic authorities,
was successful in delaying the blasting required in the harbor until at least May
25th. However, the explosives were already packed into bored-out rock in multiple
locations, each several meters below sea level. The construction company’s general
manager pleaded with the harbormaster to allow the work to continue. Otherwise, the
costly explosives would deteriorate from saltwater intrusion. The overdue need for
harbor improvements, required by the fishing fleet within Heimaey and prior to the
oncoming season, added urgency. Tensions mounted swiftly, pitting the economic lifeblood
of the island against the visiting Keiko Release Project.

Charles, as the main liaison between the bodily protection of Keiko and grave threats
posed by the harbor construction, found himself in a precarious position. Navigating
the trio of conflicting
objectives would not be easy. We couldn’t knowingly expose Keiko to the deafening
underwater blasts. His presence in the bay was only a few hundred meters from the
blast site. On the other hand, delaying much-needed harbor expansion threatened to
alienate the entire release project from the Heimaey community. This aspect did not
bode well because we were so thoroughly dependent upon the small fishing village.

The most obvious solution, one we were ready for, was to remove Keiko from the bay
during the blasting. Unfortunately, the official release permit required by Icelandic
Fisheries (and U.S. authorities) was still in process. This was no routine permit,
and the high-profile nature of the project on both continents placed an enormous regulatory
burden on drafting and approving such a permit. Even if we were satisfied with the
contents of our submission, evaluation and approval of such an intricate and unorthodox
permit was unlikely to be fluid. Certainly it could not be completed in time for the
imposing blasts set to take place a stone’s throw from Keiko.

Anxieties quickly ran amuck within the ranks of the release team. When they first
heard about the impending blasting, a few within the organization contemplated keeping
the whale right where he was, questioning how truly threatening the explosions would
be to Keiko. Others talked about “sneaking” our resident whale out in defiance of
regulators if fast-track approval was not given.

Another solution proposed the use of an underwater air hose filled with pin-sized
holes discharging high-pressure air into a “bubble net.” In theory, the bubble net
would create a wall of jumbled air between Keiko and the explosions. This prospect,
though initially alluring, failed to address the shock waves that would be conveyed
through the bedrock making up the entirety of Klettsvik Bay. There were even suggestions
to construct a floating rig that Keiko could be trained to slide up on, temporarily
out of the water and thus out of danger. A safe position to be sure, but who could
guarantee that he would perform the behavior at the right time or stay in the position
long enough to outlast the explosions?