Killing Keiko (37 page)

There it was. Jeff skillfully and diplomatically took over the surgery. He had given
Lanny an easy out, inasmuch taking the gun right out of his hand in one fell swoop.
Agreement settled, I preached my bit on the approach and crowd control. Immediately
after, those of us charged with control of the session started out of the shack. As
we shuffled through the crowd and back out onto the bay pen, I mumbled under my breath
to Brian, Tracy and Tom, “Make sure there are no buckets within Lanny’s reach.”

The morning wore on, and we completed the attachment in only two additional sessions,
each of which far surpassed the first in efficiency, accuracy and all-around behavioral
correctness. Not much else was shared between Lanny and me that day. For the most
part, I remained quietly on the fringe. Though admittedly, I kept a careful eye out
and almost hoped he would cross a line.

Perhaps my shortened fuse with Lanny was largely vested in his tainted reputation.
Just the same, there was no lack of present offenses with which to find fault either.
I knew what dedication to the animal looked and felt like. I witnessed nothing redeeming
in Lanny’s skillsets that granted him the grace and favor of his self-appointed title
as Patriarchal Asshole.

The following morning Lanny left the island. As quickly as he came, he went. The whirlwind
nature and term of his visit did nothing to assuage already deeply ingrained perceptions
of him among the staff. Mercifully, he had been nothing more than a passing inconvenience,
rarely on-site and seldom affecting any true influence. Still, more than a few of
us breathed a welcome sigh of relief at his departure.

Finally, dangerously close to the ill-fated blast date, Charles reached a compromise
with Icelandic Fisheries. It was a brilliant move on his part, offering the reluctant
officials an olive branch. Rather than a blanket approval, a stipulation was introduced
such that Keiko could go to the open ocean but with limitations. He could not be introduced
to other killer whales, at least not until other components of his release criteria
could be objectively measured and proven.

As the summer season brought with it extended days and often calmer waters at sea,
so too did it bring the migration and nearby presence of many whales. The approval
meant we now had the means to escape dangers in the harbor, but it also meant excursions
to sea could develop into a dodgy game of cat and mouse.

It was agreed, we would evade the blasting in the harbor by taking Keiko to sea and
in doing so, move the project purposefully into the next phase of reintroduction.
It seemed we had only yesterday been sequestered in the bay pen struggling to overcome
limitless obstacles, and yet here we were: Keiko a different animal, the staff getting
comfortable with the reality of “letting go” and the imposing threat of nearby blasting.
This was the
unexpected plot that would see us off to the next adventure in Keiko’s journey to
freedom.

Just days before the blast date, we had our tempered approval to take Keiko out of
the bay fast in hand. He would be free from any manageable form of confinement for
the first time in twenty years. Though the goal of the project was indeed release
to the wild, the prospect of Keiko outside the bay initially caused much uneasiness
among the staff. After all, none of us expected him to just swim off, but we also
didn’t know what to expect. For starters, we didn’t know with any certainty that he
would stay with the walk-boat. There was also concern that he might become disoriented
in the new surroundings and go directly into the harbor, closer still to the dangers
we sought to avoid. Reflecting on the tribulations of his first access out of the
bay pen itself, a very real possibility existed that he would not even follow his
familiar escort, refusing to leave the bay altogether.

No time was wasted. Only two days remained before the blasting would take place. Upon
confirmation of the staged permit, we immediately set up a practice session. Before
attempting to take Keiko far out to sea, we would simply take him outside the bay
by sending him from the bay pen platform through the unfamiliar barrier net gate and
to the
Draupnir
waiting in the shipping channel; a onetime dress rehearsal. The test was important
to calm our own anxieties more so than anything else.

On the day of the preliminary test, suppressing summer light and resulting warmth
helped to calm the otherwise fitful elements. We had enjoyed a run of agreeable weather.
It almost felt as if the Nordic gods were sympathetic to our circumstance and welcomed
the next baby steps in Keiko’s heightened adventure.

The
Draupnir
idled a hundred or so meters outside the barrier net gateway, starboard platform
facing the direction of the gate. Onboard
Heppin
, Greg and Smari positioned on the seaward side of the channel to run interference
should a third-party vessel unknowingly motor into the peculiar scene. Likewise, they
were ready to move about and intercept boats coming from the harbor side.
Sili
was tied up to the barrier net itself, prepared to open the underwater guillotine-style
gate. Tom and Brian were on the bay pen. They prepared to send Keiko to the awaiting
Draupnir
.

On the receiving side,
Draupnir
carried a full crew. We had to be prepared for any possible outcome. Jen was stationed
atop the pilothouse, recording gear in hand and wearing a red helmet mounted with
camera to capture data for Keiko’s first miniature exposure to the open sea beyond.
Michael captained the walk-boat and was accompanied by Charles inside the cabin. Robin
positioned himself directly behind my usual stance on the already extended platform.
He conducted the sequence of events from his handheld radio.

“I think we’re ready,” he said almost to himself, as he scanned across all boats and
positions. Like many of us during our rotations to the remote island, he had let his
beard grow out. The fully gray scruff lent itself to a salty seafarer guise.

“I’m ready here whenever they are,” I offered in response. Tracy was beside Robin,
there to assist me with whatever I might need from my perch on the platform. One hand
was always holding fast to the platform. Every movement of the boat was exaggerated
on the artificial appendage.

“
Draupnir
—Bay Pen,” Robin called over his radio.

“Bay Pen. Go ahead,
Draupnir
.” It was Tom who responded, which meant that Brian would be working Keiko.

Robin continued, “Call him over when you’re ready. You guys will have to call the
gate.”

Robin was reminding them that the gate movement was always dictated by whoever was
working with Keiko.

“Robin, Blair and Dane know to leave the gate open, right?” I asked of no one in particular.
Dane Richards, Lanny’s nephew was part of the operation. We’d been over and over the
sequence back at the dock, but one could never be too careful when it came to undiscovered
country. Even the slightest mistake could cause an avalanche of unwanted results.

“They know,” Robin replied.

“Bay Pen—
Sili
,” Tom called over the radio. “Open the gate.”

Keiko was sitting up in front of Brian, who was kneeling on the matching platform
extended from the south ring of the pen.

“Copy that, Bay Pen, gate opening,” Blair responded.

We watched as Blair and Dane unlashed the lines holding the net gate in its closed
position and slowly lowered the invisible gate panel, feeding out the line hand over
hand.

Moments later the “gate’s open” call came from the
Sili
.

“Draupnir
—Bay Pen. Send ‘em,” Robin instructed.

Even before Tom responded with the confirmation, we could see that Brian was standing
and pointing Keiko directly toward the barrier net gate, one arm extended straight
out from his chest. I waited just a moment, to be sure Keiko’s head and thus his ears
were submerged.

“Tracy, recall.”

“Recall,” Tracy repeated, confirming that she had hit the tone.

I immediately followed her tone with a slap of the target, hitting the water like
I was trying to knock a baseball out of the park. I wanted to be sure Keiko could
discern our bizarre position outside the bay. I waited until I thought Keiko would
be close to the gate and slapped with the target a second time, just as forceful as
the first. Keiko was nowhere to be seen, although this was to be expected. After all
he had to submerge to pass through the gate which was located a few feet below the
surface.

Robin radioed, “Call it if you see him.”

No response came and still no sign of Keiko.

“Hit the recall again,” I asked Tracy, preparing to follow her acknowledgment with
a third slap of the target. As I rounded up to strike the surface, I had to pull back
at the last second nearly hitting Keiko in the head, who had come from nowhere and
popped up in front of me. He was completely at ease. As far as he was concerned, it
was nothing more than another walk rehearsal. Exaggerated by our anxiety, it had seemed
an interminable wait before Keiko finally reached the
Draupnir
, though he actually covered the expanse in less than a minute. Outside the sanctity
of the
bay, we were all one interconnected ball of nerves. Keiko was happily oblivious. Change
had become his norm. To him it was likely just another odd game his human friends
dreamt up.

I offered him two or three herring by placing them below the surface of the water.
In over two months, we had no longer given Keiko food directly in his mouth or for
sitting up above the surface with his mouth open. A small but logical step, all food
of any kind was given beneath the surface, even when it came from human hands.

“I’m ready to point him back,” I said as I stood and looked down at Keiko. We had
purposely set the rehearsal up for mid-tide. As expected and hoped, the water was
near flat calm requiring little effort from Keiko to stay at position off the
Draupnir’s
walk platform.

“
Draupnir
—Bay Pen. We’re pointing him back.” At Robin’s call, I pointed my left arm in the
direction of the bay pen. Keiko lifted his head exposing his white underside and slowly
rolled back and away from the platform.

“Slap!” Robin called on the radio.

Repeating the exact same sequence, Tom and Brian hit the recall tone at the bay pen
and followed it with a target slap. After roughly the same passing of time, Keiko
showed up in front of Brian at the bay pen.

“Awesome … that was excellent!” I couldn’t contain my momentary relief.

“Good boy!” Tracy shared in the moment.

“Draupnir
—Bay Pen,” Robin was moving on already. “Hold off on your food. We’re going to do
one more, this time we’ll move a little. Save the majority for the last sep to the
pen.”

It was Tom’s voice again over the radio, “Copy that,
Draupnir
.”

Turning to Michael but touching my shoulder as if to include me in the audience, Robin
said, “Michael, once we get him, we’ll poke our head outside the mouth of the channel,
then come back to this same position and point him back inside the bay.”

“Got it, boss,” Michael replied, referring to Robin in his customary way.

“Robin, I think we should end from the
Draupnir
inside the bay,” I said. I didn’t want to keep asking him to go away from his favorite
toy. I felt the best reinforcement for returning to the bay was to get his walk-boat
back, even if just a touch-and-go.

“Agreed.” Then turning back to Michael, who was splitting his nervous attentions between
the shipping channel and Robin, he said, “After we point him back into the bay, we’ll
close the gate and take the
Draupnir
into the bay.”

“Whatever you say. Just let me know when.”

By now, Michael knew well not to move the
Draupnir
without clear direction from the training staff. At times our demands on the captains
of the formation were at best unusual, at worst completely mystifying. They each knew
better than to try anticipating what would come next.

Keiko was pointed back out to his walk-boat. A mirror of the first “A-to-B” exchange,
he arrived at the
Draupnir
, following our lead with seemingly blind faith. This time Jen spotted him on his
approach from her position in the makeshift crow’s nest above the pilothouse.

Advancing the plan, we motored ahead toward the mouth of the channel bordering the
wide open North Atlantic. Closer to the mouth, the surface swells of the bay amplified
into actual waves, nearly three or four feet at their caps. Sitting on the platform
was no longer possible. I had to stand, holding tight to the forward guide rope secured
high on the
Draupnir’s
pilothouse. Keeping my knees slightly bent, I flexed my legs in rhythm with the rise
and fall of the platform over each wave and contrasting pitch of the boat.

Keiko followed in his typical position and except for the embellished porpoising required
to clear the waves for each breath, he gave no indication of anything out of the ordinary.
We followed a wide arching circle tempting the open expanse of the northern seas,
then were quickly back in calmer water at our original position off the bay gate.
Less than ten minutes had passed.

“Piece of cake,” Tracy piped triumphantly.

“Watch it, sister, we’ve still got to get him back to the bay.”

“He’ll be fine,” she countered, energized from the brief exercise.

“Draupnir—Sili,”
Robin radioed. “We’re going to point him back to the bay pen. This time we’ll close
the gate. Bay pen will call the gate.” He knew that Brian and Tom were listening to
the transmission.

Blair acknowledged,
“Sili—Draupnir
, copy.”

Keiko arrived at the bay pen platform without incident. Not realizing it, I took a
larger than normal breath. Tracy heard my involuntary relief.