Killing Keiko (46 page)

One cannot work with an animal, especially one as exceptional as Keiko and in as surreal
a setting, without falling hopelessly in love with that animal. This is not to be
confused with possessiveness, which all too often is a hallmark of any animal-related
field. As it goes with affection, the singular drive to provide for and protect becomes
deeply rooted in every waking thought and action. The distressing venture to locate
Keiko, and his condition once reunited with the
Draupnir
, left in its wake a violent storm of emotions for each of us intimately involved
in the project.

Forged by the task of release to a foreign wild, our devotion to Keiko manifested
itself in the tireless execution of his rehabilitation. If release was the mandate,
then we would give him every conceivable advantage to thrive in the North Atlantic.
We, a society, brought Keiko among us, and for that he deserved the best; the sharpest
minds, and the most attentive to the tasks he had to bear out. And if he could not
make his own way, he deserved the careful, thoughtful decision to guide him daily,
to provide for his needs without fail.

We gave him a life with mankind and now, the same society to whom his presence had
fostered value for his species, sentenced him to the greatest of challenges for his
survival. This was a responsibility no one could carry lightly. This plot was human
society’s own fantasy-based creation, whether or not Keiko was more or less worthy
than any other cause did not matter. Here he was and here we were, agendas and politics
be damned. Yet, at this acutely
vital turning point in the project, human greed and arrogance had unyieldingly levied
an immeasurable toll on Keiko’s future; a toll that would likely not be undone.

In the moments after Keiko’s reunion with the
Draupnir
, everyone on the boat crowded the port beam taking in the scene. Normally the eyes
of a killer whale, even those of an alert animal, are a penetrating black orb. But
here, the red extents of his eyes were apparent from any position on the boat. I had
never witnessed such a stirring disposition in a killer whale. In those moments, I
was moved first by relief at finding Keiko, and then by caution at what appeared to
be an animal in shock. Both of which quickly gave way to anger coursing through my
entire being. This vision before us steeled my resolve producing sharp clarity unlike
any other time in the project thus far.

No matter what twisted form of reality was held by Lanny or anyone else for that matter,
I decided then and there we would not do this again. My vision was magnified by the
intensity of an unblinking stare as I locked my jaw, lost in thought.

Over and over I measured the toll amassed by the blown effort. I imagined the next
days, weeks even.
What would be the next steps? How would we resurrect from this disaster?
Walking back through familiar territory I broke the process down to the basics, and
then envisioned what the ideal introduction should look like. I toyed with each concept,
rolling scenes around in my mind, then reordering them, then changing them again.
Finally, clarity settled in my thoughts, and I could see our near future in focus.
Scant few boats on the water, almost a footnote to the presence of whales. That’s
it. We would need to find a large gathering, a mix of varied pods. A group of that
size would most definitely be socializing or in a feeding frenzy … not traveling.
The presence of a strange whale would mean nothing to them. Once in their vicinity
the boats would linger, allow Keiko to experience the sights and sounds. No pressure.
He’d have all the time in the world. We would take two boats, that’s all
we needed. When we find this ideal communion of whales, we’ll go neutral and stay
neutral, we’ll drift as far as the wind or current takes us if we have to. After this
first explosive introduction, we’ll need lots of repetition, but I’m sure of it—this
is how we will go forward. This is how we must repair the damage done here
.

As heartbreaking as the setback was, I had growing determination that we would not
be fooled again. This was not the first, but it would be the last time the introduction
plan and its prime benefactor would be so blatantly ignored.

“Let’s go ahead and put the platform out and see what he does.” Robin startled me
out of my trance. “If you think he’ll do it, I’d like to take a close look at him.”
He was referring to a body exam. Robin wanted to look him over to check for injury
or hot spots that might indicate severe bruising.

Keiko was floating so close to the
Draupnir
I had to ease the platform down, allowing the line to slip ever so slowly through
my grip as I lowered the drawbridge-like appendage to the water. Keiko reluctantly
moved ducking beneath the black surface, adjusting and then resuming position in front
of the platform. Thus far, he had yet to lift his head above the surface, the customary
and familiar acknowledgment typical in human-whale relationships. His breathing was
frequent, but no longer erratic. This and his increasing stillness calmed my nerves
enough that I stepped back onto the platform. Despite Keiko’s reputation as an unusually
docile animal, I remained ready to spring back, subconsciously assessing the less
obvious traits of an animal I did not recognize.

I extended my arm, distally giving the signal for a ventral roll and fluke present
(also the safest position in which to protect myself). Keiko took a breath and very
slowly complied, moving to my left and toward the bow. Rolling ventral and exposing
his white belly, he continued to drift out of the behavior well beyond my reach. Keiko
only remained in a ventral position for a few moments, rolling back to a dorsal drift
and moving away from the starboard beam of the
Draupnir
. A complete divergence from the whale we knew so well, he was unwilling or unable
to acquiesce to my request. In a long
slow arch, he returned to the previous position in front of me. The sluggish circle
took more than a minute. We tried once or twice more, but each time it was the same.
Robin finally said he’d seen enough, taking survey during the slow swim-by of each
attempt. It was time to start our trek back to the base of operations in Klettsvik.

The water’s surface was abnormally glass-like; the blackness of depth undulating with
long slow swells, rising and then passing beneath us in drawn out intervals. I remained
on the platform giving Keiko a point of focus as Michael dropped the engines into
gear and started to edge the
Draupnir
forward. Keiko took a full breath, pausing between the exhale and voluminous inhale.
He began to follow his escort as he had so many times before. However, this time it
was different. This time, after only a few meters, he dropped back behind the
Draupnir
, finally coming to a stop and floating at the surface.

“Robin.” I didn’t need to say more.

“Michael, all-stop,” Robin called to the pilothouse.

We held our position. Our stopping prompted Keiko. He made his way back to the platform.
Still he did not lift his head, only continuing forward in a restful position at the
surface, the unusually calm sea afforded him the opportunity to relax much the same.

We tried again, motoring forward at no more than two knots. This time he stayed with
us a little longer. After maybe a hundred meters he began trailing off to aft once
more. We could almost see the damp air filling the space between the boat and the
retreating whale. Michael slowed but did not stop. At this, Keiko gained ground on
the
Draupnir
, finally making his way back to the usual position off the starboard platform. We
held this pace and continued the journey back to the bay.

But it was not to be. Once again Keiko began slipping behind. Obvious that he was
not able or willing to stay with us, we again stopped the boat. Thus far, we had covered
less than a quarter mile.

“I think we’re just going to have to let him rest a while,” I said.

Robin had been at my left shoulder, just inside the sponson and behind the platform.
He didn’t respond but rather chewed the inside of his bottom lip in thought, staring
at Keiko.

“What do you think?” Michael had stepped outside the pilot-house and was standing
to my right opposite Robin.

“I don’t know, but we can’t keep going. Let’s just give him an hour or so and see
what that does.”

Robin sounded as if he was talking to himself more so than anyone in particular. He
avoided using the word “rest” from my proffered assessment, not yet willing to accept
the diagnosis. But for the time being, we would stay put just the same. Keiko gave
us no other option.

So it was; the five of us got ourselves situated, looking for pseudo-comfortable nooks
and crannies around the boat to wedge ourselves into; maybe even catch some shut-eye
if we were lucky. The night sky only faintly lighter than the ocean’s surface, we
could see well enough on the boat, though distant forms blended into dark outlines
framing the watery world on which we waited. Keiko remained faithfully at his surface
resting position just off the starboard aft beam. Beyond his periodic, whale-sized
breaths, all was eerily silent.

Not yet able to consider sleep or any attempt thereof, both Michael and I began messing
about with the coffeepot we had commandeered from the hotel on our brief crew change
back at base earlier in the evening. There are likely few cases in the annals of history
whereby the attainment of a single cup of coffee was so obstinately pursued. By the
time our makeshift rig reluctantly surrendered its first cup of black gold, we had
taken apart the entire guts of the
Draupnir’s
pilothouse. Upending the floor, pulling batteries and creating an improvised converter,
we powered up the coffeepot and waited eagerly as our contraption heated up and spread
the calming aroma of hot fresh java throughout the small cabin. If they hadn’t known
us better, our three mates would have thought we’d lost our minds; though no one shunned
the communion when offered. It was probably no more than the
commodity of hot coffee under such spartan conditions that inspired our streak of
ingenuity. Regardless of purpose, it passed the time.

One hour flattened into the next. Eventually it was more tomorrow than yesterday,
a new dawn rising in the distance. As shadows faded, fatigue gave way to restlessness.
The fog of early morning without sleep made everything seem more than real; gravity
heavier, air thicker and thoughts harder to hold onto. Wit no longer colored what
remained of our conversations onboard. We were all business. It was time to make another
push to home base.

I approached the platform flatfooted and grudgingly. Straddling the
Draupnir’s
orange pontoon I looked for a comfortable middle-ground. There was no certainty that
Keiko was going to do any better this time, despite several hours of rest gracefully
permitted by the lingering calmness of the North Atlantic. I knew before we started
that it was going to be a long slow ride and mine was not a restful place for the
journey.

Morning was marked by the arrival of the sun peeking above the horizon. But progress
was insufferably drawn out, each mile accompanied with the uncertainty of how long
Keiko could persist. Throughout the wee hours of morning and into the day we crept
across the watery landscape covering half the distance, almost fifteen nautical miles.
The trek thus far had taken half as many hours. At intervals we made attempt to build
to the normal walk pace of four or five knots. In each case Keiko eventually lingered
back forcing us to drop once again to barely more than an idling crawl. Thus far the
only benefit was that we did not altogether stop. So long as we stayed just above
idle, Keiko remained reliably by our side.

Nearing the afternoon almost thirty-six hours after the botched introduction, we could
finally clearly see the detailed outlines of Heimaey directly off our bow. Almost
there. During the drawn-out walk, Robin had periodically relieved me on the platform,
allowing me to stretch my legs or lie flat-out on the engine cowling for a spell.
It was during one of these breaks that the radio crackled to life.

“
Viking II—Draupnir
.” The familiar jarring English of Siti’s voice made the request.

“Yeaaah, Siti. Go ahead,” Michael offered in his usual drawl, an uptick in the middle
of “yeah.”

“What is your position?” Siti continued.

“Ahhh … we’re about four miles due east-southeast of Klettsvik,” Michael replied as
he studied the radar screen for more detail. Then added, “Moving slow. What’cha got?”
Michael knew something was afoot. That
Viking II
was back at sea was not lost on him.

“We have whales. Can you come?” came Siti’s broken answer.

At this I sat up from the cowling. “What … where are they?”

Robin too had turned and was more on the boat than the platform, listening to the
exchange.

“Draupnir—Viking II
. What’s your location?” Michael relayed my question, although mine had been more
a rhetorical statement than any real desire to know.

“Two miles from Heimaey, south.”

“They’re on more whales, about two or three miles from us,” Michael explained. Using
radar, he had guessed their precise location.

“Robin, we’re not doing another introduction now are we?” I pleaded more than asked.

“No, we’re going back to the bay. Michael tell them we’re staying on course for the
bay.”

Michael relayed the information, but rather than silent acceptance, an unfamiliar
voice came across the radio.

“We have a pod of mostly females here, and they seem to be foraging. This would be
a good group to bring Keiko to,” the voice said.

I grabbed the handheld radio from its charging cradle. I was standing in the cabin
door, between Michael and Robin.