Killing Keiko (31 page)

The first few times we allowed Keiko to have access to a boat was when the
Sili
made her way to and from the bay pen. The close encounters were largely uneventful,
although he shadowed the
Sili’s
every movement from the curious crossing of the boat gate, to the pen, and back out
again. Always right on her port or starboard beam, he would cock his head to one side
and eyeball the occupants as if to say,
Hey there, what-cha doin’?
The staff was well instructed (warned … okay, maybe threatened) not to give one ounce
of attention to this silent but humorous inquiry. So clear were the protocols of desensitizing
Keiko’s interest in boats that even eye contact was forbidden when he was soliciting
attention from any boat, even the
Draupnir
. During the course of these first steps, we changed up the schedule and the boats,
as well as where they went and how they went with great creativity. Much like training
a police horse to ignore almost any unpredictable event that might occur in a crowded
public park, we were exposing Keiko to as many versions of a boat as possible. We
even recruited the occasional third-party boat in order to expose him to unfamiliar
craft. In every case, beyond that of providing something to watch, he received no
direct form of response or reinforcement from the waterborne citizens of Klettsvik.

The next step in the process of conditioning the walk-boat was to create something
very distinctive about the
Draupnir
and when Keiko was allowed to approach her. It’s important to note here that conditioning
and desensitization are, in simple description, opposite forms of shaping behavior.
Conditioning (also shaping or modifying behavior) is an active process and involves
creating reinforcing consequences. Desensitization seeks to eliminate any form of
reinforcement—for that matter, any form of stimulation—associated with the event or
object. An object can also have distinctive
characteristics that determine when it has value. The absence of those same distinguishing
traits can likewise render the object useless or having no value. Sometimes we see
it, sometimes we don’t. A phone that sits on the wall is invisible to us, until it
rings. We tune out innumerable things in our background, until something changes,
something unusual in appearance or sound or a combination thereof that alters the
item’s meaning for us. Although a crude description, this basic premise marked how
Keiko’s walk-boat was set apart from other boats.

Transferring his familiar platform was the first and most obvious of the distinguishing
factors that set the stage for
Draupnir’s
special attributes as the walk-boat. Over the recent two months in the bay pen, and
even on his first weeks in the bay, we introduced the platforms as Keiko’s only means
to receive human interaction. Simple in their design, these platforms were approximately
two by four feet, consisting of a continuous aluminum tube about three inches in diameter
forming the rectangle of the platform. Nylon straps were cross-woven through the length
and width of the rectangle and formed the surface where the staff stood or sat. Light,
hydrodynamic and impervious to the water, they were intended to be an easy adaptation
to Keiko’s tailored and peculiar walk-boat. The platform was attached, much as they
had been on the bay pen itself, to the outside pontoon or the sponson of the boat.
The long side of the trampoline-like fixture hinged against the
Draupnir’s
starboard beam, the outside corners supported by guide ropes tied off to the top
of the pilothouse. This allowed us to retract the platform to an upright stowed position
or “present” the platform by putting it in a down position resting nearly flat on
the water’s surface.

Next she was equipped with a small underwater transmitter fabricated by Woods Hole
Oceanographic. The transmitter was used to create a short burst signal set to a frequency
well within Keiko’s upper hearing range. The combination of the call tone followed
by the deployment of the platform defined the conditions by which Keiko was allowed
to approach the walk-boat. Outside of the bay
pen, the tone recall and platform were limited to the
Draupnir
and the
Draupnir
only. Like the platform, we had introduced the call tone months prior to bay access
and the kickoff of boat-walk training. Both variables were well-rehearsed.

Such was the setting on Keiko’s maiden “steps” with his escort walk-boat. First he
would learn to ignore the boat; then, by design, he was taught to approach her, and
to eventually follow her faithfully. During the first approximation, we began by having
the
Draupnir
within the compass of the bay, milling about at random and without consequence to
Keiko. Starting with our morning session, we dropped the west-side platform on the
outside of the pen, triggering the call tone just as the platform hit the water’s
surface. At Keiko’s arrival, a routine body exam ensued while the
Draupnir
motored by, only thirty feet off. On her second pass, the
Draupnir
stopped at much the same distance, this time holding her position and presenting
her starboard platform.

“Bay pen—
Draupnir
, copy?” Even amid the best of conditions within Klettsvik, radio communication was
necessary. Distances, birds, and wind all stole away any attempt at oral instruction.
This day it was the birds. The high decibel disharmony of chirps and whistles squelched
any chance of conversation even within close quarters.

“Bay pen, go ahead,
Draupnir
,” Tracy replied. She was standing just behind Brian who was working with Keiko on
the pen’s west platform.

“I’m going to drop the platform then let’s go right to the A to B. Okay?”

Located on the
Draupnir
, I took personal responsibility for Keiko’s walk conditioning. Some within the Behavior
Team took offense at this, having had more “time in” with Keiko and the project. I
was keenly aware of the sentiment, but also willingly sacrificed what equity I might
have had with the more slighted team members. To me, the ever-increasing need for
precision in the steps toward re-introduction was palpable. I wasn’t about to take
any chances with this important part of Keiko’s training.

Brian waited until I had the
Draupnir’s
platform in position. I sat ten meters directly opposite Brian, kneeling on the nylon
trampoline suspended from the starboard sponson. As Brian stood and pointed directly
toward the
Draupnir
with his arm fully extended, Tracy popped over the radio.

“Pointed.”

“Copy,” I replied, simultaneously hitting the call tone.

Keiko arrived in front of me as if he’d done this a thousand times, head cocked to
one side and body trailing to aft in the slight current. He had never been quite this
close to the boat. His length was nearly two-thirds that of the
Draupnir
. Michael had her in gear, idling to hold position, and leaned out of the pilothouse.

“He-hey, there he is!” Michael voiced the excitement we all shared.

I bridged Keiko and offered him a couple herring, which he took without pause.

“Bay pen—
Draupnir
. I’m going to point him back … let’s repeat the same, then we’ll start moving,” I
advised Tracy through the mini-shoulder mic on my radio. Brian and I exchanged Keiko
in the same way one more time, to the pen platform and then back again to
Draupnir
.

Keeping my eyes on Keiko, I yelled to Michael who had now opened the side window of
the wheelhouse.

“Okay, Michael, let’s start at a very slow pace and see how it goes.”

Michael throttled up, creeping the
Draupnir
forward. Keiko stayed in much the same position, head slightly aside and watching
me on the platform. The movement required little to no effort on his part.

“Michael … a little faster.”

The sound of
Draupnir’s
twin engines pitched up as Michael applied slightly more throttle.

Keiko began swimming, now having to put his head down in a more natural position to
keep pace beside the boat.

“How’s that?” Michael tested. Three feet away, I struggled to figure out the best
position on the platform, now awash with
water. Standing and holding fast to the guide ropes was the only solution.

“Perfect … just hold right there … keep as wide as you can, no sharp turns,” I said.
The instruction was unnecessary. Michael and I had thoroughly vetted the plan earlier
that morning.

Approaching our first lap around the bay pen, Keiko began drifting off position, going
deep and slightly beneath the platform. Having a short target pole with me, I tapped
the surface with the buoy just to the front and outside the platform. Keiko came to
the surface swimming with his nose just above the water and touched the target. I
blew my whistle and yelled at Michael. “All stop!”

I wanted to reinforce Keiko and needed to stop the boat so Keiko could sit up in his
customary position at the platform. As the session and the day wore on, the process
became much more fluid. In the first few laps around the bay pen, Keiko frequently
drifted beneath the
Draupnir
, perhaps taking advantage of the hydrodynamic slipstream created by the hull. (Slipstream
is an area of reduced air pressure and forward suction created by the hull when a
boat is moving fast.)

At an early pit stop, Tracy joined me on the
Draupnir
to assist, handing me the occasional herring and/or the target pole. Anticipating
and correcting Keiko’s position, I prompted him with the target from time to time,
but rather than stop the boat, Keiko and I both became proficient at the exchange.
I tossed herring out to my left, speed dependent, two or three meters ahead of Keiko.
He quickly learned to fast-grab the fish lest it disappear in both our wakes. Once
or twice he missed the grab and turned back to retrieve the fish. This, of course,
required the
Draupnir
to slow, allowing Keiko to rejoin the walk. As my aim at positioning the tossed fish
became better, so too Keiko improved at snatching the morsel while keeping stride.

His best grabs were addictive. At higher speeds it was necessary to throw the fish
at just the right angle and with force. Otherwise it would skip off the surface and
well out of Keiko’s path. But when I got it just right, not too close and not too
far, Keiko would
surface like a charging beast, water gushing from both sides of his open mouth as
he snapped down on the fish. Once or twice I threw the fish in rapid succession, and
although I made every attempt to put the herring in exactly the right spot, more than
a few missed the mark. Astonishingly, Keiko quickly became skilled at moving his head
to one side or the other to compensate, almost as if he had a neck. The “game” seemed
motivating for Keiko. Watching him grab and dive as he did was certainly exhilarating
for us.

By the afternoon, we had completed nearly two nautical miles in the first round practice
walks. Fun for both the crew and Keiko, we all rapidly became adept at the rhythms
of the slow dance. Yet the level of communication and skill at handling the
Draupnir
was vital. Only Michael or Greg would captain the walk-boat during these pivotal
rehearsals.

Within a few short weeks, we were routinely practicing boat-follow training and increasing
the distance Keiko traveled in company with the
Draupnir
. At first, we set up only two or three short walks each day. We practiced not only
the walk itself, but we also taught Keiko when to leave the
Draupnir
. At random intervals we stopped the walk, retracted the platform and went into a
neutral position. The first few of these breaks Keiko remained at the side of the
Draupnir
. He peered up at her inhabitants and waited patiently. When he finally lost interest
and moved away, the team on the bay pen threw herring. To the best of their ability,
they aimed for Keiko’s path away from the
Draupnir
.

Initially, the need to directly reinforce Keiko for leaving the
Draupnir
in her neutral position was frequent. But the practice became much more random and
intermittent as rehearsals wore on. Eventually Keiko came to understand the clear
signs of the
Draupnir’s
distinctive walk stance. He also began to recognize when it was time to explore away
from the boat. Platform down and recall tone meant “let’s go.” Platform up and a deck
void of humans meant “go play.” It wasn’t long before Keiko became an expert at discerning
the difference. An added benefit, his learning with the
Draupnir
in walk-mode helped to further desensitize his
interest in other boats. By the end of the month, Keiko was no longer shadowing the
random passage of waterborne vessels in and out of the bay.

It seemed no time at all, and the first baby steps had morphed into full-blown April
walks. As the walk rehearsals increased in distance, they decreased in frequency.
In time it became fairly routine to do only two walks per day; weather permitting,
one in the morning and one in the afternoon. At our peak, we were knocking down over
fifteen nautical miles a day comprised of circles and figure eights inside the bay.

Not bad, but still nothing compared to the travel Keiko would have to endure in company
with wild whales. Traveling alongside the
Draupnir
during walk sessions was not, however, Keiko’s only means of exercise. After more
than a month in the bay, we had successfully pushed his activity level to extremes.

The use of DRA conditioning techniques was not unique by any measure, but the sheer
intensity with which we applied DRA conditioning in this setting was indeed rare.
Nearly ninety percent of Keiko’s food was delivered covertly, away from human contact,
and in response to active swimming. Any form of activity well-away from the bay pen
and the presence of man-made items (i.e., boats, docks, the barrier net and the pen
itself) were subject to random reinforcement. In addition, we were now watching for
opportunities to encourage activity almost twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
There was no predictable time off in Keiko’s new world.