Killing Keiko (30 page)

Respiratory issues are not to be underestimated. Killer whales in particular are masters
at masking illness. Their sheer size and substantial reserves make them formidable
warriors, capable of sustaining serious illness over much greater time periods than
humans can comprehend by comparison to our own fragile vessel. Even in the full-blown
later stages of pneumonia—without routine clinical evidence—outward signs in a killer
whale can easily elude the casual observer. But the condition is no less serious regardless
of how obscure the symptoms. In fact, by the time the internal tidal wave of infection
reaches a level where visual evidence presents itself, the condition is often so widespread
that recovery is against the odds. Sadly, these are the hallmarks of many a stranded
animal with which we had more encounters than we cared to recall.

In the face of a potentially life-threatening infection, priorities change rapidly.
We didn’t throw the book out the window as it related to Keiko’s rehabilitation, but
we also didn’t attempt to make
any progress. For the time being, the bay would have to wait. Our new goal was to
get enough food to Keiko to prevent dehydration. We also used food to administer medication.
Without delay, Keiko was put on a regimen of Tribrissen, a fairly focused antibiotic
used to treat respiratory tract infections, and amoxicillin, a more moderate spectrum
antibiotic that provided insurance against untold possible bacterial offenders. Our
first hope was that we had caught the freight train before it gained too much steam.

During the following three weeks we nursed Keiko slowly back to health with guarded
optimism. Though he responded initially to the dynamic duo of Tribrissen and amoxicillin,
necessary adjustments in treatment became apparent as his WBC again elevated after
weeks of initial positive response. Believing the condition was clearly related to
a bacterial infection, a much more potent antibacterial called enrofloxacin was prescribed
to replace the original cocktail. By March 24, 2000, nearly six weeks following the
initial scare, we finally saw both clinical and outward signs that Keiko was out of
danger. As would be expected, his treatment was maintained for a period beyond the
proverbial finish line, well long enough to eradicate whatever mysterious villain
had overwhelmed his immune system. Despite our delicate but growing distance from
a weakened state, the Behavior Team was quickly back to advancing Keiko’s acclimation
to the bay.

By the end of March, although Keiko remained largely disinterested in food, he began
to gain confidence within the expanses of the bay. As the progression into Phase II
unfolded, it seemed no time at all, and we were back on the fast track in pursuing
the formidable challenges in pursuit of release.

The operations team had been pining for a real test of the barrier net. Within the
first weeks of Keiko’s access to the bay, they got what they wanted, handily. It didn’t
take a pronounced storm front. Rather the customary winter weather of Klettsvik was
all that was necessary to flush out the more notable aspects of the net’s
weaknesses. Unyielding winds and inconstant currents in early March took their toll,
tag-teaming the barrier net from surface to bottom and in between. The varied exposure
offered a gradual demonstration of the net’s Achilles’ heel and afforded Mighty Mo
sporadic lulls in weather to make adjustments.

Over the course of three such days, the team anxiously inspected its creation, following
a contrasting three days of assault from the elements. Damage unseen from the surface
nonetheless abounded in the murky depths. Where the team had worked at intervals to
shore up the weaker points of the net’s anchoring, Mother Nature worked tirelessly
to wear them away. Helicals that had been driven two feet into the dinosaur-aged bedrock
were uprooted like frail weeds. Anchors on both sides of the net had been moved as
if they were but toys. The “big ass” chain that laid straight the bottom length of
the net was now serpentine in its course between the rock faces that framed Klettsvik
Bay.

The operations team made their repairs, and fortified the weaker points of attachment
that had been pinpointed by the fierce currents. Throughout its existence, despite
redoubled efforts, maintenance of the barrier net was a constantly raging battle.
On one side a frail human contraption hopelessly reliant on mending and cleaning.
On the other, a relentless Klettsvik determined to throw off her involuntary muzzle.

Apart from dominating operational struggles, subtle changes in Keiko began to take
form. Silently, in the shadow of Klettsvik’s looming rock walls, Keiko turned a corner.

Settling into April, operations became firmly rooted in the expansive bay. Now, more
than ever, we focused laser-like attention to Keiko’s choice of location. Though we
often asked him out of the pen at our direction, Keiko’s voluntary investigation of
the bay was the prize we sought. At first these golden moments were scarce. But like
baby steps, Keiko gradually gained interest through repeated trials and, by no small
measure, through our efforts to encourage his exploration of the bay.

The monotony of watching sometimes hours for an opportunity to “catch” Keiko acting
the part of a wild bull killer whale were no more. Now, we found ourselves hiding
in packs around the bay pen, each of us interested in when he would come out again,
where he would go, how far he might venture. We each wanted to be the one that might
stretch his territory to new heights in space and time. Day by day, Keiko gave us
more material with which to work. Eventually it became commonplace for him to travel
so far from the pen that he appeared as if a small dolphin in the distance. The sight
was intoxicating.

Ultimately Keiko adapted to the enormous bay more quickly than we did. At times, three
of us would station ourselves on three distant corners of the bay pen, and yet it
could take fifteen minutes or more to locate Keiko within the bay. Truthfully, our
inability to supervise Keiko in the bay was the root of much discomfort on our part
and therefore we continued to separate him back into the small area of the bay pen
each night.

We overcame this insecurity once we recognized that Keiko’s happenstance run-ins with
the anchor lines were minimal and decreasing. The irony of our own fear of the unknown
paralleling with that of Keiko’s seemed a fitting reminder of the complex forces at
work on both Keiko and the release team. As we finally relaxed into our role, Keiko
began spending almost all of his available time in the relative vastness of the bay.
He only came into the pen when called in or during heavy storms.

Delivering Keiko’s reinforcement in the bay was a logistical challenge that required
a creative solution. It also proved to be immensely enjoyable for the Behavior Team.
Recall that at this stage, our principal tool for reinforcing or rewarding appropriate
behavior was food, nearly 100 pounds of herring and capelin per day. But even the
most amazing pitcher in the major leagues could throw a herring only so far. Many
of us developed painful “pitcher’s arm” in the pursuit of competitive fish-throwing.
If we didn’t find a way to deliver herring to any part of the bay, we would only teach
Keiko to swim within an “arm’s throw” of the bay pen.

We entertained ideas of CO
₂
powered “fish cannons,” stationing “pitchers” around the cliffs of Klettsvik and
even seeding the environment with disguised herring-boxes throughout the bay. Most
proved to be impractical either due to physics or operational limits. Ultimately,
we decided on a favorite of many third-grade sharpshooters, a whale-sized version
of the wrist rocket: a slingshot.

In no time, Mighty Mo had a local metallurgist fabricate what looked like a giant
fork missing the center prongs. They attached several bands of rubber surgical tubing
to each side of the slingshot frame and looped them through a funnel situated in the
middle. We dubbed our proud creation the Herring Delivery System or HDS for short.
We found the obvious attempt to disguise the toy in a formal title to be quite humorous.
The HDS was affixed on top of the research shack, firmly rooted in a larger pipe bolted
to the roof. This way we could pivot the slingshot in any
direction. If the boyish backyard wars of childhood were carried through to an adult
version, the HDS was the unbridled result, equivalent to a.50-caliber mounted machine
gun.

It was more powerful than we anticipated. On its first use, the HDS nearly obliterated
the funnel that acted as the sling. True of many prototype devices, we had to go through
a bit of testing, and though we worked out the kinks pretty quickly, the HDS still
required no small amount of skill. The operator had to lean back at a precise angle,
gauge the wind and “hold his tongue just so” … but once released—
THWHAAAP
—the HDS would unleash a violent barrage of North Atlantic herring high into the air
and well distanced. As we each became proficient, we could launch five or six individual
herring simultaneously and up to 500 feet in almost any direction (further when we
had the wind at our backs). We could also put the fish where we wanted with precision.
As for Keiko, he now encountered “fish from heaven” seemingly at random and in all
corners of the bay.

There were a few unanticipated benefits of the HDS. For starters, it made DRA conditioning
fun and therefore increased the amount of time individual team members spent looking
for appropriate behavior to shape. Also, the result of herring floating at the surface
and spread in random fashion was not unlike the aftermath of wild whales stunning
a biomass of herring with their flukes. Icelandic killer whales often forage this
way. When observed from a boat, the feeding grounds of wild whales feasting on herring
were left riddled with immobile fish scattered and floating at the surface.

The birds of Klettsvik quickly learned that the telltale
THWAP
of the HDS meant free food. When the herring hit the water near Keiko, sea gulls
the size Christmas turkeys would swoop down and steal the fish right from under Keiko’s
nose. On a few rare occasions, the most talented gulls would grab the herring in mid
flight at the peak of its trajectory. When the ricocheting winds of Klettsvik were
at their most disorganized, the wild and random paths our flying fish could take never
ceased to amaze us, their
final destination no less confounding. Often this increased the level of difficulty
for both whale and birds.

It didn’t take any time for Keiko to learn there was competition for his food. Soon
he was reacting to the herring much like a predator would react to an opportunistic
prey. I was thrilled. As hard as we tried, I had never witnessed even the best of
trainers produce predatory reflex reactions like those imposed by the live-or-die
ultimatums demanded in nature. The HDS provided food for all that lived in the bay,
and the winner was determined by who wanted it the most. That competition sometimes
frustrated Keiko, but his apathy quickly turned to aggression directed at the occasional
seabird. In the momentary pandemonium at the water’s surface, there were more than
a few chances for Keiko to add waterfowl to his menu, which he quite nearly did, once
or twice ending up with tail feathers instead. The frenzy created by the HDS sharpened
Keiko in ways that nothing else could.

FLASH REPORT

Staff Update, April 1, 2000

Latest information regarding Iceland operations: Keiko

Who’d thunk it! In an extremely spellbinding moment … Stephen Claussen was left speechless
after Kelly “the Funnel Queen” Reed nailed a Great Northern Diver (a bird) with the
HDS (Herring Delivery System) on live television. In a statement following the incident,
Kelly eloquently side stepped the issue by drawing attention to Greg’s accidental
marriage to a local Icelander late last night.

So many wild whales have entered the area that DR with Keiko has become increasingly
difficult. Yesterday alone, seven other whales took over 40 pounds of Keiko’s base
when he reacted too slowly to retrieve the fish. Steve Sinelli was seen later that
evening shooing the wild whales away during a husbandry session.

Marine Operations has been missing for several days now. If anyone has any information
… there is a
30,000 Kr. reward for information leading to their arrest.

The barrier net continues to spend more and more time in the bay while Keiko holds
fast. As long as the weather remains calm we expect to have all the kelp cleaned off
of Keiko this week.

Ocean Futures latest press release was extremely successful. Jeff Foster conducted
the interviews which captured the community’s attention with a colorful description
of Keiko’s attraction to the Draupnir.

Our main office instituted a new policy regarding residence at the hotel here on-site.
Firearms of any kind will no longer be allowed in your rooms. Sorry, Blair.

We have recently had to reduce Keiko’s exercises to one behavior only when in the
bay. This was decided in a group discussion after a perimeter lob-tail that Steve
sent took 32 minutes to complete.

April Fools

The Iceland Team

Another sweeping change in Keiko’s life during Phase II was to introduce his newly
acquired high-seas escort, the
Draupnir
. I was beside myself with anticipation to get started on boat walk conditioning,
training Keiko to “heel “alongside the
Draupnir
. Initially, we labored through tedious planning and communication separating Keiko
into the bay pen when boats entered the bay. We were not sure yet how he would react.
Still, it was an inevitable encounter that could not be avoided, so it had to be conditioned.

Through time and repeated exposure to these boats, making sure that they offered little
in the way of interest, we knew he would eventually tire of them and move on to more
interesting stimulation in his environment. This is how the process of desensitization
works. When something becomes so mundane and offers no value, that object or stimulus
slowly and surely fades from our
awareness as if invisible. But this process takes time. It also requires some degree
of counteracting the boat as a naturally appealing break in an otherwise monotonous
bay. To do this, we would randomly provide reinforcement for the chance few times
that Keiko ignored the boats, then build on that foundation.