Killing Keiko (47 page)

“Viking
, this is Mark. Keiko can barely keep pace with the
Draupnir
as it stands. He’s completely worn out.” I assumed the education would be all that
was needed.

“I think you need to bring Keiko this way. This is a good group … much better makeup
than the whales yesterday. This is a good group for introduction, and we’re not that
far.”

Giving the benefit of the doubt, I repeated the description, “Keiko is in no condition
for another introduction. We were lucky to get him back this far.”

The voice became more insistent. “He can make it. We’re only just south of the island.”
The anonymous voice never stated his name, but I knew it must be Robin Baird, because
it wasn’t anyone I recognized from the release team.

To Robin onboard
Draupnir
I pleaded for support. “Robin, there’s no way! There’s no way we can take Keiko into
another pod … talk about setting him up for failure!” Lack of sleep and the freshness
of Keiko’s traumatic first exposure was all it took to revive my anger.

Robin nodded agreement.

“Negative
Viking
, we’re heading to base,” the response was as sharp as I intended. “Keiko is in no
condition for another introduction.”

At that I set the radio down and left the cabin, not waiting for the response or any
form of acceptance. There was a reply, but I didn’t listen to the details. This time
Michael answered, adding his own descriptions to the state of affairs.

Neither Robin nor I cared to engage the discussion further. The prospect of taking
Keiko back to another pod in his current condition was baseless, absurd, and impossible,
really. Their ignorance was to be expected. Those in charge had not seen Keiko’s condition,
nor did they know how disoriented he had appeared just twelve hours earlier. It was
the intransigence that was most offensive, that they debated our explanation on the
subject as if the decision belonged to the voice on the radio.

The insistent call bordered on an order, arrogantly snubbing our firsthand accounting
much as the introduction plan itself was so brazen. Never again. I locked my jaw in
defiance as I heard the exchange, now muffled inside the pilothouse, finally come
to a close.
Who was this jackass anyway, who clearly believed taking a fatigued and potentially
traumatized animal into a new pod would be humane, logical or even possible?
Not one ounce of investigation into the previous day’s events had been allowed to
surface. There were too many people involved, each with a personal agenda, and too
few of whom based their trajectory on the needs of Keiko.

The sun still high on the horizon gave the illusion of early afternoon, though it
was officially evening by the time we made our way into Klettsvik Bay. It seemed the
longest day we had suffered in recent memory. Thankfully, Keiko followed through the
barrier net without incident. There was no effort to hide our relief when he surfaced
inside the bay after
Draupnir
had crossed the boat gate in her customary leading way. To a man and whale, we were
all exhausted.

Following our arrival, we tied the
Draupnir
up to the bay pen and off-loaded some small gear while waiting for the night shift
to arrive. It seemed unusual for the pen to be so void of activity. For the first
time since the whale’s arrival to Iceland, the bay had been emptied of her famous
inhabitant for very near two days; there had been no need for staffing the pen in
Keiko’s absence.

Closing out the unexpected journey was a blur as we made our way to the harbor and
finally back to the comforts of the hotel. Charles met us at the docks and advised
that the staff would be meeting in the solarium. Recognizing the worn-out state of
the crew, he offered that the meeting could wait; that we get some hot food first.
Dog tired and still engrossed in the unending fiasco, none of us realized that we
hadn’t eaten in two days. Hunger overcame us at the suggestion.

I was scarcely conscious of the brief reunion at the hotel or changing from our splash
suits and wet gear. What resonated was our discussion with Charles as we walked to
Café Maria, the town’s only pizza joint.

During the short hike, Charles mostly inquired about Keiko, what we thought of the
introduction, how he looked after we found him, and what had transpired on the return
walk. Robin provided the only narrative necessary. Although I seldom lacked interest
in offering my own observations, weariness coupled with acute alignment with Robin’s
descriptions stilled my urge to speak. Blanketed in the comfortable fog of fatigue,
I merely listened. I watched Charles intently. He offered no indication of a direction
moving forward, nor did he allow any discourse on the topic. That aspect, in and of
itself, was unnerving; so uncharacteristic of the relationship between the three of
us.

Charles did not stay with us at the café. He seemed aware of our need to recharge
and left us temporarily free from the heavier topic. Any form of evaluation or decisions
left to be made would be addressed at the staff meeting upon our return, though we
never made it to the fateful meeting.

On our return to the hotel, Charles met us on the penthouse level in our shared room.
With razor-like precision, the pinnacle of the issue was laid before us. The meeting
had already begun. It was apparent from the start that some direction was already
set in motion. They, with no real definition offered on exactly who “they” were, intended
to continue the introductions as originally planned, with the full complement of boats
and helicopter, tracking and tagging. Everything would be replicated. We were dumbfounded,
frozen in disbelief. In a million years we had not anticipated a return to the same
mistakes. We assumed that everyone recognized the need to modify the plan. We expected
some debate on what those changes would be, but not this, not a complete reprise of
the same mangled and reckless approach.

“Well, that’s disappointing. You’re telling me that no one recognizes the fiasco this
introduction turned into?” Robin was clearly irritated, but he never raised his voice.
Instead his calmness carried with it a grave overtone that commanded attention at
every spoken word.

“No one’s suggesting that we don’t need to change the approach. I’m saying that the
protocols will be followed. We all recognize what happened out there, and we cannot
allow that to happen again.” Charles was sure of himself.

“We can’t go back out there on another introduction with all those boats and all the
activity leading up to it. It has to be controlled. We have to minimize the number
of boats and personnel involved,” said Robin.

“Robin, I understand why you’re saying that, but you have to remember that we agreed
to this process for specific reasons. You agreed to the approach. I know that protocol
was not followed. That’s all we’re saying, that we keep the same formation, but follow
the protocols as they were outlined.”

“Charles, there’s no way we can have that many boats and a helicopter out there harassing
the wild whales and causing who-knows-what kinda distraction to Keiko. It’s too late
now. We’ve already created a situation that’s probably negative to Keiko anyway.”
Robin touched on the heart of the issue, but didn’t satisfy my obsessive need for
behavioral detail.

Interjecting, I expounded on Robin’s point. “Charles, we need the introductions to
be as low-key as humanly possible, especially now. We’ve just created a negative association
for both Keiko and at least the one pod of whales. There’s no question in my mind
that introduction was traumatic for Keiko. We can’t force his acceptance. This has
to be a process, and it has to be passive on our part.”

I was repeating what we had argued in heated debate long before the first introduction,
but this time we had the advantage of outcome on our side. Keiko did not swim off
into the sunset. The Hollywood vision of what release looked like had been vaporized.
I hoped that our earlier premonitions would now gain footing where before they had
failed.

“Then what are you proposing we do?” Charles opened the door and Robin stepped decidedly
through.

“We take him out with one or two boats. That’s it. I know the board won’t like it,
but that’s what it’s got to be. This is going to be
a series of introductions, a slow process that could take several seasons.”

Charles wasn’t happy with the response or Robin’s conviction. After an extended pause,
he replied, “Okay, let me talk to the team—get some thoughts and feedback.”

Charles’ words indicated a possible compromise, but his tone said otherwise. He seemed
defeated. He left the room and headed back down to the solarium.

Tom had joined us just before Charles’ departure. We summarized what parts of the
conversation Tom had missed. The three of us continued debating the finer points of
our insistence at minimizing the formation involved in the next series of introductions.

For the present, the issue was eliminating the extraneous man-made presence during
the next introduction, creating as calm and nonthreatening an environment for Keiko
as we could practically achieve. As importantly, nothing could be done to unsettle
the prospective pod targeted for introduction prior to Keiko’s arrival. That meant
we needed nothing more than the
Draupnir
, the
Heppin
on perimeter guard and one small tracking vessel or the helicopter to spot the wild
whales. That was it. Anything more was not practical to maintain over a long-haul
and would only excite the environment as had already been proven.

It wasn’t thirty minutes before Charles returned, and the conversation continued.
For the better part of two hours it went on in much the same fashion: we, unwavering
in our demands, Charles unrelenting in his assertion that “they” would not agree.

In the last short absence afforded by Charles’ back-and-forth, Robin, Tom, Kelly and
I deliberated, hoping to find a possible angle of compromise. Then we reached unanimous
agreement. We would not continue to participate if they insisted on maintaining the
heavy-handed approach to the introductions. Our ultimatum was absolute. Robin carried
the flag when Charles returned.

Charles spoke first. “We’ll follow the protocols exactly as they have been laid out,
but the consensus is to continue
the introduction as it is.” He communicated the verdict as if passed down from a higher
power.

For a brief moment there was silence. Then Robin responded, his words now softened,
though not apologetic. “Charles, you can’t ask a man to do a thing that he knows is
not right. I will not take part in what I believe to be negligent or that’s not in
Keiko’s best interest.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t agree that it’s compromising, but I respect your
position, Robin. Is there any chance that Tom or Kelly is willing to stay?” He didn’t
include me in the offer. My involvement thus far placed me clearly by Robin’s side.

“You’re welcome to ask them directly, Charles, but we’ve all discussed it and I know
they are in agreement with Mark and me.”

“Okay.”

Charles expression was hardened and serious, but his eyes showed compassion.

His one word acceptance carried with it a timeless weight reflecting many hard-fought
battles we had shared over the past many months. The outcome resulting in our departure
from the project was surreal. Silence filled the room as Charles descended the stairs
for the last time.

I couldn’t think of Keiko. The wound just inflicted was far too fresh. Every thought
was a struggle to form. Each attempt to make sense of their decision evaporated and
became something else entirely. Aside from murky daze, what I knew above all else
was that we had to hold our ground. We had never deviated from our insistence that
this was a process, even though we had compromised greatly at times. There was no
more room for compromise. Not when it came to Keiko. We had given up enough already,
and that which we allowed had changed everything. Never again.

That night, I had hoped that the finality of our commitment would resonate, that somehow
the morning would bring a new alternative or willingness to consider our proposed
modifications. But nothing more came of it. Early the next day, the remaining crew
departed for the harbor just as we left for the small island airport and our final
journey home from the Land of Fire and Ice.

In the years following, I reconnected with most of the staff of the release team.
Regardless of the treacherous footing we often found ourselves upon during the project,
the experiences and the trials forged lifelong friendships not so easily undone. No
matter our diverse backgrounds or what our experiences taught us, we each committed
ourselves fully and for that cared deeply for Keiko, his plight and one another. In
our own ways, we all wanted the best for the Big Man. That shared vision ultimately
bound us in ways we were scarcely aware of at the time.

Those I knew and worked with, and others who were yet to come were eventually exposed
to ultimatums levied by the project. Some manufactured by the organizations in charge,
and others that slowly emerged from the fog created by passionate commitment to an
animal. As the project continued and even years beyond its conclusion, I maintained
communication with many of those who dedicated an important period of their lives
to Keiko. It is from firsthand testimony of those who carried on that Keiko’s story
becomes complete.

The morning of July 20, 2000, the portion of the team consisting of Robin, myself,
Tom and Kelly departed the island. At the same time, the remaining staff prepared
to take Keiko out to sea once again. It was summer and not only was it a time of high-value
weather conducive to the task, it was also the only season in which the wild whales
frequented the area. A day could not be wasted.