Killing Keiko (49 page)

For Keiko’s benefit, the all-familiar and welcoming platform extended from her starboard
side, suspended by lines tied off to the platform’s outer corners, the shipside anchored
to
Daniel’s
sponson. Yet another difference was the presence of convenient hand-rails that bordered
her aft section. The railing proved to be a handy location by which the crew could
secure a food bucket, allowing the person working Keiko from the platform easy access
without assistance. Every advantage the
Daniel
offered was put to task as voyages to sea began extending well beyond the daily walks
of the first season.

Summer 2001 began much the same as the previous season ended. Although during the
course of this season, the new escort
Daniel
introduced Keiko to wild whales on nearly 100 separate and distinct occasions. The
outcome was always unpredictable. The
Daniel’s
crew could never anticipate how Keiko or the wild whales would react.

Sometimes Keiko would hastily porpoise away from the wild pod, other times the wild
pod porpoised away from him. The interactions were never close enough for physical
contact, at least not from the observation standpoint of the walk crew. No close encounter
within reach of the pods lasted more than fifteen to twenty seconds before one or
another form of erratic retreat took place. Still other times, Keiko quickly moved
away from his kind only to stop 200 or 300 meters on the periphery of the pod, floating
at the surface, and facing in their direction as if watching, listening. Usually he
continued his departure, but always in random directions.

In the first meeting of wild whales, Keiko had bolted from the scene on a north, northeasterly
heading. Lanny had proclaimed that Keiko was heading “home.” In that season and the
one following, it became abundantly clear to the crew that there was no discernible
pattern to Keiko’s withdrawal. On varied and arbitrary departures from the wild whales,
they once found him trailing a cruise ship dumping trash in its wake, and on another
he was found alone heading due south. They could never foresee which way he would
go or what he might get himself into. On the more convenient outings, Keiko simply
returned to the familiar setting of the escorting
Daniel
.

The seasonal presence of other whales around the island chain was finite. They knew
that continued returns to Klettsvik Bay only limited Keiko’s exposure to wild pods.
In the short season not a single opportunity could be missed. At each failure, the
solutions stemmed toward logistical improvements.
Surely more time at sea would benefit his tenuous social experience?

It was in this season of 2001 that the
Gandi
was introduced to the release effort. A 130-foot, nearly 300-ton fishing vessel,
the
Gandi
greatly enhanced the team’s ability to remain at sea, day and night, under almost
any weather pattern.

Utilizing the
Gandi
as a mother ship and the
Draupnir
to ferry crew to and from the base of operations in Heimaey; trips to sea stretched
from days into weeks.
Daniel
remained the designated walk-boat, the only boat by which Keiko received direct attention.
In company with the
Gandi
, the crew completed multiple trips for sustained periods, the longest of which was
forty-five consecutive days at sea.

Gaining comfort in their ability to locate Keiko in the aftermath of ever-unpredictable
encounters with wild whales, they often allowed him to venture nearly sixty miles
distant before they intervened, seeking him out and recalling him to the
Daniel
. No matter the particulars of each exposure, in every case Keiko ended up back with
the walk formation or on his own, apart from whale or human. On the occasions where
he left the area of whales and
support vessels, his trajectory remained sporadic. On at least one protracted voyage,
long separated from the walk crew, Keiko returned to the harbor in Heimaey. But this
is as far as he would go. That he did not stay with the wild ones was the only foreseeable
ending to each social encounter.

During these adventures on the high seas of the North Atlantic, Keiko’s food was limited.
What food that was provided by the walk crew amounted to only a scant portion of his
normal diet, nothing that would be considered his full requirement. The applied theory:
that an increased hunger drive would embolden him to take part in the opportunistic
foraging of wild whales. But even those occasions where the crew of the walk formation
had witnessed the wild whales engrossed in feeding, Keiko never joined in the activity,
merely staying in the distance appearing reluctantly interested in the unfamiliar
sights and sounds. At times he exhibited clear signs of hunger evident to the staff
that knew him so well. Even still, on the outskirts of a wild pod engaged in feeding
behavior, gannets diving the water in pursuit of scraps, Keiko did not take advantage.

In the aftermath of these feeding frenzies, and once the wild pod moved on, Jeff often
yearned for Keiko to pick up the scraps left behind, and floating on the surface.
On one such occasion Keiko duped the crew into short-lived hopefulness having returned
to the
Daniel
with a very small fish in his mouth. Unfortunately, he did not eat the fish; rather,
he merely carried the trophy as if to show his shipboard mates. This was the only
time Jeff or the walk crew ever witnessed Keiko with fish that they had not provided.

Fashioned from prolonged absences from the walk formation and a minimalist diet, he
once went nearly three weeks without receiving sustenance. Jeff knew intuitively that
Keiko was not filling the gap elsewhere. Evidence abounded from the simple observation
of Keiko’s behavior and activity level, increased interest in the
Daniel
and soliciting for his trainer’s attentions. More prolonged absences of nourishment
produced a stated lethargy. Following the most extreme fasting periods, Keiko would
eventually
stop swimming altogether, only logging at the surface near the flotilla as if he had
lost the energy to move.

Back in the “office” Charles Vinick continued to prop up the operation, and convincing
the FWKF board, Humane Society of the United States (HSUS) and even Jean-Michel that
Keiko would go free at any time … that it was merely a matter of days. A report that
Keiko was often seen competing with the wild whales for food was spoon-fed to the
media. This version of Keiko perverted actual events taking place around the island
chain over 4,000 miles away. Charles assurances—intended to bolster ongoing financial
support—when they continually fell short, only augmented the impatience of those bracing
up the prolonged release effort.

Onboard the
Daniel
or the
Gandi
, the crew was often accompanied by a variety of videographers pressing for material.
Obtaining footage of Keiko’s exploits was of paramount importance within the organization,
after all, documentaries had been promised. Footage was shot from the helicopter,
the
Daniel
, the support boats and nearly every conceivable platform available. Under the dictates
of this unrelenting effort, the crew was often required to forcibly lead Keiko, even
herding his path, into and among pods of wild orca. Results were so contrived that
distaste for the Santa Barbara-based leadership began to take hold among a handful
of the more field-tested crew. Still, idyllic clips of the scenes playing out on the
high seas would go a long way to garnering much needed financial support back home.
But few within the ranks of animal fieldwork have a stomach for such making of the
sausage. Indeed, the practice slowly began to erode confidences within the ranks of
the release team in Iceland.

On the stage of the North Atlantic, Jeff knew the release was stalled. Unless a change
in approach was made, Keiko’s moderate interest in the wild whales would go no further.
His premonition was only compounded by Keiko’s persistent returns to the
Daniel
and stagnant winter’s spent in Klettsvik. As fate would have it, an opportunity presented
itself, one that Jeff saw as a one-in-a
million chance that they had to take. The very prospect of it drove a wedge in the
enduring friendship between Jeff and Jen.

The walk formation normally consisted of three key vessels: the walk-boat
Daniel
and the supporting observation boats
Draupnir
and
Heppin
. During the encounters, the formation was often spread out by 1,000 meters and more
between boats, frequently out of sight from one another. One typical morning, after
escorting Keiko to the vicinity of a wild pod, the walk crews passed the time and
like any other day, hoped for a breakthrough. One or two assumed the role of lookout,
scanning the horizon and looking for additional whales or other marine species, alternately
checking in on the wild pod and visually tracking Keiko’s whereabouts.

Onboard other support vessels some listened to hydrophone sounds, straining to hear
some form of “conversation” between Keiko and the group of animals. It was amidst
this routine roundup of onboard ship activity and small talk when the
Daniel’s
radio sparked to life calling Jeff’s attention.

“Jeff, Jeff, … this is Sammy!”

Jeff responded with passing interest, “Yeah?” Sammy’s energy wasn’t unusual.

“We have a friendly whale here,” Sammy offered excitedly, in his characteristic high-pitched
voice smothered in French accent. He asked, “Can I go swimming with ‘em?”

Sammy was a photographer hired by Jean-Michel to document the ongoing introductions.
He was easily excited and commuted an unwavering fascination with the project and
excursions in company with Keiko.

Jeff didn’t hesitate. “Sure, go for it,” he crackled back across the radio.

In the waters surrounding the
Draupnir
, a young whale had stopped nearby, curiously watching the odd assortment of humans.
Sammy slipped into the water, already wearing the customary splash suit worn during
ocean walks. Little preparation was required
beyond that of zipping up the front of his suit. Jeff had coached Sammy on the proper
etiquette at meeting a wild killer whale, chiefly, not to approach the animal but
to allow it to approach him.

At Sammy’s entrance, the young whale shifted this way and that moving its head as
if probing the stranger, but did not leave the scene. Close behind the young whale’s
assumed mother supervised the interaction. After just a few minutes watching Sammy
the mother nervously moved to intervene, swimming between the animated human and her
offspring. The two swam to a more comfortable distance keeping a watchful eye in Sammy’s
direction. The encounter, brief as it was, offered a welcome reprieve from the aboard-ship
monotony and generated lively conversation, albeit embellished bantering, on the shared
fascination between Sammy and the “friendly whale.”

Certainly Sammy’s experience that day was exceptional, a story to be cherished as
a trophy placed on the mantel of memories. But it was more than that for Jeff, who
ceaselessly pondered the unexpected young whale that afternoon and for days following.
What if we can get this whale interested and close to Keiko?
Seemingly, the idea of a whale “meeting us halfway” offered the opportunity of a
friend for Keiko, one willing to reach out … or at least interested. It was something,
maybe only a fingerhold, but something.

Two days later, again Sammy called to Jeff over the boat’s radio. “Jeff, Jeff, … the
little friendly whale is here. Can I go swimming with him?” No one actually knew the
sex of the young animal.

Again Jeff encouraged the interaction. Turning to Jen, he said, “Ya know, what we
need to do … is entice this whale, offer something interesting to look at or watch,
I mean we’ve got a friendly whale, young animal … let’s encourage that.”

Jeff knew that the whale would eventually get bored and they would lose the chance.
Jen would have none of it. The very idea of interfering by influencing a wild animal
flew in the face of research protocol. But Jeff went further, even suggesting that
they offer the young animal a fish.

“Jen, … ” Jeff pressed, “It’s not going to eat frozen herring, you have to teach them
to eat dead fish … totally different taste. It’s more of an olive branch.” No matter,
Jen was already enraged by the mere suggestion.

The consummate researcher, Jen would have nothing to do with altering the wild whales
behavior. Any researcher worth his salt knew that observer bias or worse, influencing
the outcome, was the kind of recklessness that would make the Keiko Release Project
the scourge of the research community. Jeff’s suggestion was a clear violation of
the prime directive. So outraged was Jen, that she and Jeff, the parental leadership
of the project, did not talk for a week following their confrontation. The overbearing
silence between the two was unsettling to the entire team. It was as if Mom and Dad
had their first serious fight.

A week after their fallout, Jeff and Jen tired of the conflict. Civility and their
longtime friendship allowed the conversation to continue.

“Jen, the reason I got into the Keiko Project was to be able to try to learn something
about the wild whales.” Jeff instinctively dropped his voice just above that of a
whisper but with quiet intensity in his tone. He was very convincing. “If we have
a friendly whale, that we can attach cameras to, or ya know, research equipment to
that animal and we can get that animal to interact with Keiko … wild whales … that’s
what we’re here for.”

Jen finally capitulated, but with condition. She would agree to continue the occasional
swim with the friendly whale, but no offer of herring masquerading as an “olive branch.”

That’s all Jeff needed. If given a crack in the wall, he could skillfully drive a
Mack truck through it.