Killing Keiko (24 page)

As was often the case in my absence, Robin was consumed with advancing the installation
of the barrier net. A critical path to be sure, but it always meant setbacks for Keiko.
These setbacks were seldom obvious.

In Keiko’s case, we were steadily and carefully introducing immense changes in his
life. Some of these changes were an investment in a future phase of the program. The
complexity of Keiko’s rehabilitation, much like chess, required awareness of steps
many “moves” in advance. If this steady progress was disrupted or paused, the eventual
effects were akin to taking a cake out of the oven before it has risen completely.
The cake will fall before the icing can be spread.

More than a few on the project feigned interest in following protocol and doubted
nearly every step absent tangible proof that the tedious demands were yielding results.
It is for this reason
that behavior is often viewed like religion. This human haste for material and measurable
evidence has haunted the beginnings of almost every program in which I have been involved.
People are tragically impatient, I among them. But if one persists long enough, ever
faithful and steadfast in implementing the principles of learning as we were with
Keiko, inevitably something will happen that provides the all-too-necessary testament.
It was Tom’s initial days on the bay pen with Keiko when this affirmation presented
itself.

Returning to Iceland, my route converged with Tom’s in the Keflavik airport. Although
we had talked abundantly in the past few weeks, we had not seen each other in three
years. Without fail, Tom’s stubborn resistance to aging did not disappoint. He looked
as if it was only yesterday that we had worked together at SeaWorld. Our friendship
has always been as comfortable as a trusted pair of work gloves. We fell effortlessly
into our usual well-worn jibes and trouble-making rhythms. Throughout the ride from
Keflavik to Reykjavik and the short plane hop over to Vestmannaeyjar, we discussed
the project, touching on everything from staff to amenities to weather, local customs
(the beautiful women of Iceland) and of course Keiko. Tom also knew Kelly well as
they had worked together at SeaWorld of Ohio. We shared no small amount of laughs
at her expense and favor.

Through e-mails, session records and my daily conversations with Robin, I was already
aware of Keiko’s failure to go through the new guillotine gate to the medical pool.
This despite the singular focus and top priority assigned to the task when I last
departed the island weeks earlier. There were many reasons for the lack of progress,
not the least of which was the lack of faith in the principles of behavioral modification
which in turn placed a deadweight on getting anything done. Kelly was officially in
charge of Keiko’s daily progress during my rotation home; however, she was often railroaded
by the informal chain of command occupying the project at the time. Although she tried
valiantly to hold her ground she could not single-handedly be with Keiko 24/7. In
her absences
from the bay pen, laziness and bold defiance of the conditioning protocols ruled the
day. Sometimes conflicting agendas were even carried out in her presence.

Klettsvik welcomed Tom with overcast, but mild, weather for his first foray onto the
bay pen. For my part, I was as a child filled with Christmas Eve anticipation. Tom’s
presence was exciting for me, yes, but my excitement was equally enhanced by the fortuitous
absence of anyone else on the pen that day. It was no secret that I was disappointed
at Keiko’s failure to go through the gate. It was the first question I asked each
time Kelly and I communicated during my rotation home. Whether the staff was avoiding
me or just fatigued from wearisome efforts didn’t matter to me, I was happy to have
the one-on-one time with Tom just the same.

After a whirlwind tour of the floating facility, Tom and I wasted no time getting
to the task. It was our turn “at bat” on the gate training, and both of us were itching
for the challenge. That we had just walked into the spotlight with the more resistant
members of the staff was not lost on me. Advantage gained by our history of working
together, we required little discussion on the planned approach. He and I had been
here before. As sudden as if throwing a light switch, we turned off every form of
stimulation in the north pool that we had any influence over. We avoided the north
pool like the plague, making sure that buckets, tools and equipment of any sort were
stationed where we could get to it without being seen by our pupil. We demanded that
no boats come anywhere near the bay or bay pen without our express consent. Keiko’s
only access to us and any form of change in the environment would come from the medical
pool via the gateway.

While this approach may seem hard-line—and it was—Keiko’s repeated history of failure
in gate conditioning produced in him a hardened resolve at avoidance. He had been
taught, albeit nonintentionally, to withhold longer and longer in avoidance of the
separation. The very act of avoiding something Keiko considered
aversive was reinforcing in and of itself. In each past attempt, an eventual return
to normal daily interactions in his preferred pool only lent further trophy to his
victory. Not this time.

In Keiko’s case, we had little choice, and second guessing was not an option. Overcoming
his fixation with avoiding gates was paramount for the release process to move forward.
Seamless proficiency at gating was required. Time was not on our side. If they were
even an option—which they were not—no amount of blue Boomer Balls, toys or antics
motivated Keiko to face his nemesis. Likewise, we could not provide his food in the
north pool, where he wasn’t supposed to be, without also compounding the problem.
Tom and I set the stage for ample opportunity, but only when Keiko showed us progress
would he also receive the world in all its glorious variety. Starting then, his “world”
emanated from within the medical pool itself.

By noon of the first day, we had knocked down nearly twenty individual micro-training
sessions. Each and every one of them the same: we stepped up to the medical pool side
of the open gateway and tapped the water calling Keiko to position inside the medical
pool. As with all conditioning sessions, we waited patiently, first observing Keiko
and looking for the ideal time to call his attention. It goes without saying; presenting
the signal (stimulus) calling him to position in the medical pool while he was stationary
and facing away from the gate would not produce the desired result. But, we didn’t
just sit around waiting for the ideal happenstance opening, we also created “setting
conditions” to encourage him.

Setting conditions are exactly what they sound like. They are conditions that create
the likelihood for certain behaviors to occur, such as Keiko moving toward the gate
or showing interest in the med pool. It was still early in Keiko’s release conditioning.
At this stage, his human counterparts remained a bright star in his night sky. The
magnetism of his relationship with humans meant Keiko wanted to be near us. Therefore,
we moved ourselves and every form of activity to the opposite side of the medical
pool.

Another “lever” that required some pulling was the use of differential reinforcement
techniques (Differential Reinforcement of Alternative behavior or DRA). A mouthful
to be sure, but also an aspect of Keiko’s conditioning that would soon become a primary
tool in his preparation for the North Atlantic.

DRA is a simple concept not so simply applied, both timing and frequency determining
success or failure. It is a method commonly used to reduce or eliminate unwanted behavior.
In this case, we wanted to reduce any activity that resembled gate avoidance, such
as hiding on the opposite side of the north pool. In contrast to avoidance, we could
reward Keiko for being near the gate, looking above the surface at our position inside
the medical pool or a host of other behaviors. Simply put, anything where Keiko faced
his fears.

Applying DRA in the narrow context of gate training, we sought also to avoid creating
frustration and forestall any potential that Keiko might completely shut down. It
was only noon, and we had already changed nearly every rule he was hopelessly accustomed
to when it came to gates. Too much too fast and even the most zealous pupils experience
a loss of will.

Keiko was not new at this pretend gating exercise. It didn’t take long before he was
reluctantly poking his giant head two and three feet through the gate in return for
the old familiar sound of the whistle bridge, only to then paddle his disproportionate
pectoral flippers backing himself out of the gateway. We couldn’t get him to come
any farther than this bogus three-foot fake without giving him a clear goal that forced
him to come farther through the gate each time. Usually that goal was a hand target.
However, neither Tom nor I were able to reach the exact spot we wanted. There are
limitations to applied conditioning, and they are usually related to logistics.

Initially, we employed the use of the target pole presenting a clear prompt for Keiko
to touch with his nose, making inch-by-inch progress through the gate. But when we
used the target pole and followed each success by tossing Keiko a few herring, the
current swiftly took the fish back to the north pool. Keiko effectively
received his reward in exactly the wrong place and for exactly the wrong behavior:
for moving backwards. The solution was both fun and frustrating.

Tom donned his splash suit borrowed from Stephen Claussen and stood at the ready,
almost too eager to be back in the water with a killer whale after three dry years.
“Do you want me in before you call him?” he asked, target pole in one hand and a bucket
of fish in the other.

“Let’s see how it goes. I think this first time you should just be at the poolside
and ready to get into position. I’d rather get a response from him first before we
make a change in the environment.”

Interested in what we had in store next, Keiko circled the north pool passing by the
gate with one eye raised above the surface, peering in our direction. It was a casual
glance, one that says, “I see you, but I’m busy at the moment.” I waited until he
passed. On his next turn toward the gate, I slapped the surface of the water just
inside the med pool. Keiko turned in a beeline toward the gate, never altering his
pace. Tom slipped in the water and moved to position at the gate about four feet inside
the med pool. He placed his hand out about a foot or so below the water’s surface,
palm outward toward Keiko. Tom kicked his feet fighting to remain upright, his whistle
bridge gripped between his teeth. Keiko came straight away and touched Tom’s hand
without breaking stride. Tom bridged but simultaneously prompted Keiko to remain touching
his hand, so he could offer a couple herring before the backpedaling that Tom knew
was coming next.

“Tom, here …,” I said with some urgency as I tossed a herring. As athletic as Tom
was, even he couldn’t catch the sorry excuse for a toss I had let fly. The herring
overshot Tom, passing overhead and beyond his reach. The current quickly took the
fish right into the north pool. Keiko swiftly backed out of the gate in pursuit.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it. That was entirely my fault,” I said, completely frustrated.
I knew I had gotten ahead of myself and thrown the fish, not paying attention to accuracy,
and when Tom
wasn’t ready. “Okay, stay there and call him over yourself. I’ll get it right this
time. Sorry.”

Tom thought better. “Just toss me one now,” he said as he slapped the water, holding
his other hand expectantly above the surface toward me. “This is an easy one. He’ll
do it.”

Without saying as much, Tom was referring to the very bad idea of having food in your
hand while in the water with a killer whale. Had it been any other killer whale in
the world, we would have never gone out on that limb. I tossed him the herring, this
time without incident.

The bridge came, and Tom handed Keiko the herring in one swift move. But Keiko didn’t
back out. Instead he sat motionless with his head well inside the gate.

Tom reacted, “Toss me another.” It came out muffled through teeth gripping his whistle
bridge with no small amount of lisping. I started laughing, both from the success
of it and how stupid Tom sounded and looked, jamming his face into the water to see
Keiko just beneath him. In the midst of it, he chalked up one more win for the med
gate as he gave the herring to Keiko. This time Tom took a couple dog paddles and
got out at the side of the med pool.

“Crap, that’s cold,” he said, briskly sweeping the water from his military-style buzz
cut. The water temp was hovering around forty degrees that day, warm for winter.

“Yeah, lot colder than Shamu Stadium. Wanna leave it for a while, let that marinate?”
I asked.

“I kinda wanna go back right away. I think he’ll come in further this time.”

Not one to stand in the way of confidence or overreaching trainers, I agreed. Tom
slapped the water. At Keiko’s reaction, he immediately got back in. This time he had
two herring in his left hand to start.

“Right here? I can’t tell where from down here.” Tom asked, trying to adjust his position
further into the medical pool.

“Back a little, that’s still pretty close to the last. I’d ask for at least a foot
more and see what he does. But if he gets pissed and
comes into the med pool to chew your ass, I’m bridging it … just so you know.”

Tom ignored my jest or at least couldn’t respond right away. He was too busy fighting
the northbound current that had recently picked up. The current wanted to sweep him
out of the med pool and into the north pool. He looked absurd. Every time he put a
hand forward as a target for Keiko, he lacked the ability to hold his position, drifting
into the whale. A one-armed man sculling this way and that. Together we must have
looked like two of the Three Stooges—the third a few feet away in the gateway.