Killing Keiko (32 page)

Late April 2000: Daylight now extended from five a.m. through ten p.m. Our opportunities
to conduct walks or other forms of conditioning at almost any time had likewise expanded.
Now proficient at walk rehearsals, Keiko was routinely circling and weaving alongside
the
Draupnir
an average of ten nautical miles each day, most times in one continuous trek. Longer
walks now made the bay seem confining. Going in circles for eight or ten miles was
uninspiring
to say the least. That being said, it was nonetheless vital to ensure that Keiko could
sustain extended distances and at varying speeds.

During one idle afternoon, we stopped the
Draupnir
and assumed a neutral position, permitting Keiko to venture away from the boat. Greg
was captain; Stephen Claussen and I were working with Keiko. By this time it was common
to have two of the Behavior Team members on the boat. I worked with Keiko directly
from the platform. Stephen assisted by managing the target pole and tossing Keiko
the occasional herring. He would also periodically stand by our second HDS, mounted
on the bow of the
Draupnir
, giving us a much improved range for providing reinforcement when Keiko explored
the bay. At each stop, the platform was pulled up and tied off, communicating the
“closed for business” stature of the
Draupnir
. Any crew on the boat immediately retreated to the interior of the pilothouse, thus
completing the distinction.

In the close quarters of the cabin, the three of us exchanged small talk. Mostly we
listened and watched for Keiko’s usual departure to some other portion of the bay.
But this time he didn’t leave right away. Keiko remained just off the starboard side
of the boat looking for any signs of life. Finally he moved off but returned just
as quickly on the opposite beam, again lifting one eye above the surface toward the
empty deck of the walk-boat. We continued to ignore the solicitation, expecting Keiko
to go about his way as he had done so many times before. Stephen and I entertained
each other with our usual witty banter. Then, without warning, the
Draupnir
swiftly lifted from the water. Instinctively, we each grabbed hold of various fixtures
in the cabin to steady ourselves.

“Holy shit!” Greg reacted. “Did he just hit the boat?”

It felt as if the
Draupnir
had lifted a foot from the waterline and was held there floating. In reality it was
mere inches and just a fleeting moment. As the boat settled back to her footing, a
loud
thud
sent a shudder throughout the entire vessel providing exclamation to the surprise
levitation.

We began shifting about the pilothouse and crowding around the small windows to get
a glimpse of what was going on, hoping to locate Keiko.

Before any of us could offer a response, a second hit rocked the boat. This time it
was much sharper; a blunt force
crack
.

“That’s not good,” Greg stated to no one in particular. Now he looked very concerned.
“Should I move?” It was a determined suggestion more than a question.

“No, let’s just wait a minute,” I didn’t want to react to this new behavior. Instinctively
I knew that a reaction would only entice Keiko to continue or worse, increase the
intensity of his assault on the boat.

“It sounds like he’s going to crack the hull,” Stephen said dryly, not at all helping
to calm Greg’s concern for the
Draupnir
.

Again, another
CRACK
followed by the momentary rise of the boat.

“Ohmygawd!” Stephen bellowed. “That was hard!”

This time Greg was beside himself. He wanted to take action. “I don’t know how much
of this she can take. We should move or call him over … we can’t just let him keep
hitting the boat.”

“We have to wait. We’re only going to make it worse if we react. We need to wait until
he leaves the vicinity for at least a minute or so,” I repeated.

No one was on the pen this time, so we had no way to get a bird’s eye perspective
of what Keiko was doing. Even worse, we couldn’t see Keiko from within the pilothouse
unless he was away from the side of the boat. So far, he had largely stayed underneath
the
Draupnir
, only passing from side to side as he struck the hull. From the unnatural movement
of the boat, we could tell that he was also remaining beneath, rubbing or pushing
his back up against the hull.

“Do you think he’s doing that with his head or is it like his flukes or something?”
Stephen was testing the various theories we were all visualizing. As if just occurring
to him, he added, “He can’t tip the boat can he?”

“I have no idea.” And I didn’t. “I’m guessing it’s his head, although I can’t imagine
how he can hit it that hard without cracking his skull.”

The thought given voice did not help Greg. His concern for the integrity of the hull
now convinced me that damage was likely if not certain.

Draupnir
rose again as if on a small swell, followed by yet another thundering
CRACK!

“Jeez!” Stephen exclaimed. “Five feet. I think that was about five, no, maybe eight
feet. Yeah, about eight feet out of the water.”

“Thanks, Stephen, that helps,” I retorted.

“Okay, that’s enough … we’ve got to do something,” Greg urged.

I knew Greg’s patience was just about gone. Regardless, I was just as stubbornly holding
fast to providing no reaction to whatever this was. As I strained to find Keiko out
the window of the pilothouse I tried to convince Greg to stay put for just a few more
minutes.

“Just hang on a second. As soon as he moves away we’ll head to the pen.” Crammed inside
the pilothouse I was keenly aware of the stagnant smell of grease and maybe a little
mildew. Turning to look out the opposite window I almost stumbled over Stephen, who
was on his butt, knees pulled up to his chest and rocking back and forth as he pretended
to suck his thumb. I couldn’t help myself; involuntarily I let a short chuckle escape.

“Guys,” Greg’s one-word warning was stern enough.

“Stephen you’re killing me here,” I said trying to realign with a serious atmosphere.
“At the least let’s make sure we know where he is before we do anything.”

In a perfect world, I wanted to wait until Keiko left the area and not just by a little.
I wanted to be convinced he had lost interest in the assault and moved on to other
things. As it was, I couldn’t afford to wait that long or be that certain. Clearly
Greg wasn’t willing to chance it much longer. Thankfully, Keiko finally gave us the
small window we needed. Only a short time had passed. At the time it seemed like an
hour. Keiko moved away from the
Draupnir
and was, for the moment, swimming directly away from our position.

“Okay, let’s get to the pen. Drop Stephen and me off, and then you can take the boat
in,” I said.

Greg quickly engaged the engines and moved to the west side of the pen. Responding
to her movement, Keiko turned and headed back toward the walk-boat. He swam slowly
at the surface in no apparent hurry. Greg had the
Draupnir
in reverse almost as quickly as her bow touched the pen, allowing just enough contact
for Stephen and I to leap onto the pen. Although Keiko stalked the
Draupnir
on her exit from the bay, he did not strike her again that morning.

In the following days, Keiko repeated the strange behavior unpredictably, but almost
exclusively during walk rehearsals when the
Draupnir
assumed her neutral position. He seldom hit the boat when she was transporting crew
to or from the bay pen before walks began and not every time during walks. I began
calling the behavior “love taps” in an effort to diffuse the heightened concern. Following
the initial event and in a staff update, I made light of the situation, grossly exaggerating
Greg’s concerns for humorous effect. Though Stephen and I shared a bellyful of laughs
in drafting the update, Greg didn’t appreciate the embellishment in the slightest.
Of course, this only served to fuel a more colorful tale at each telling.

Thus far I had been successful in preventing any direct or immediate reaction to the
hits. But the need to fix the issue eventually led to an all-hands staff meeting to
examine the problem and figure out how to address it. We congregated in the hotel
solarium, our favored spot for any form of communal exchange. It was late enough that
the starry sky was visible through the glass panels transforming the room into a nightly
planetarium of sorts. Every soul on-site gathered to one side of the solarium, some
in the few chairs that scattered the room, most on the floor or leaning against the
half-wall leading down to the kitchen. As the discussion wore on, more and more creative
ideas were offered in hopes of redirecting or stopping Keiko’s beating of the
Draupnir
.

My frustration was blatantly obvious early on. Beyond describing the hits and the
circumstances when it most often occurred, I largely listened to the speculation on
potential damage to the
Draupnir
or Keiko self-inflicting injuries. There was no shortage of wild and some rational
solutions.

Greg led the volley of alternatives. “Why don’t we just keep the boat moving instead
of sitting idle? Maybe that will keep him from hitting the boat.”

Charles approached the subject from a logical point of view, seeking to break down
the events. By now, he was becoming practiced in behavior analysis he had participated
in with Robin and me. “Why do you think he’s doing it in the first place?

“I have ideas, but the main thing is that we don’t react to him hitting the boat once
it’s started,” I couldn’t disguise my impatience. I had already said as much in response
to some of the more colorful solutions voiced earlier.

“If he keeps hitting the boat that hard, he’s going to either crack the hull or hurt
himself or both,” Greg pressed.

“I understand. I’m not suggesting that I don’t care about the boat or Keiko. I’m simply
saying that changing what we’re doing in response is only going to make matters worse,”
I said.

“It’s like he thinks it’s a toy … like he wants to play,” Stephen suggested.

Again I didn’t respond. I was tired and describing the “why” behind the odd behavior
was completely useless at this point. No matter what the reason, it had happened,
and we couldn’t start guessing what might be going through Keiko’s head. I knew that
was a natural reaction but also a dangerous one. In my world, events that prompted
the behavior and the immediate consequences that increased it were the pivotal points
of any solution. That and focusing on what we wanted Keiko to do
instead of
hit the boat.

“Look, at this point we know he’s most likely to start hitting the boat when we’re
neutral and usually during the middle of a walk session. He’s only done it once or
twice outside of that, and
even then they were halfhearted bumps, not nearly the intensity as during walks.”

I was trying to explain what we could predict rather than guessing at motive. “I’ve
seen similar behavior before, although the outlet is different. It’s basically frustration.”

“Frustration from what?” Jen asked.

“Schedule-induced frustration,” I answered. “We’ve been doing the walks now for almost
two months. We’ve eliminated almost every other form of stimulation that he’s used
to.” This all seemed so obvious, “The only time he gets ‘us’ is during the walks.”

“So you’re saying we need to go back to more other types of interaction?” Charles
was probing for next steps.

Stephen jumped in, “He used to have a blue raft in Newport. He liked to push it up
and knock us off of it. It was a game. Maybe he thinks it’s like the blue raft.”

Again the guesswork. My weariness got the best of me.

“Guys, I’m telling you this is frustration. We can’t react to him hitting the boat
no matter what the reason. If we do, he’ll just start hitting the boat anytime he
wants our attention.” I couldn’t resist and went
there
. “I’ve worked with over twenty-six other killer whales. I’m telling you I know what
I’m talking about. I’ve seen the exact same thing before, it’s frustration. We have
to stick to the consistency and look for more opportunities when he doesn’t hit the
boat, especially during the times we’ve gone neutral.”

I knew when I said it that I’d crossed an unspoken line. One cannot force agreement
by imposing the “experience card.” I had gone out of my way throughout the entire
project, often in turbulent interactions with the more inexperienced staff, to avoid
pulling the holier-than-thou punch. Until then. Stupid. I regretted it as soon as
the words left my mouth.

Robin knew I was right. I knew I was right. For the love of God I couldn’t figure
out who couldn’t understand this basic concept. If I had been surrounded by senior
trainers from the SeaWorld of Florida park, these topics would never even enter the
fray. It was exhausting and seemed such a baseless waste of time.

What we needed was to be sure there would be no knee-jerk reaction out on the water.
This was critical and was foremost in my mind. Supporting that, we needed to monitor
how we were reinforcing the “right” behavior of leaving the
Draupnir
, when Keiko was swimming away or exploring throughout the bay. One of a trainer’s
favorite cliché phrases, “rehearse is worse,” beautifully describes the proactive
need to anticipate conditions that lead to misbehavior and avoid allowing it to occur
in the first place. We also needed to identify any behavior other than hitting the
boat or even those incompatible with hitting the boat and invest our time and attentions
there.

Greg wasn’t satisfied. Probably most that night weren’t, and they shouldn’t have been.
But I had convinced Charles that I could handle the situation. By now, he was willing
to put his wager on my approach, even if he didn’t understand completely, so poor
was my tact in debating the topic in the open forum. Even though my stubborn insistence
was fundamentally sound, I wasn’t completely without fault in my earlier dismissal
of Stephen’s fleeting reference to the dingy used for play in Oregon.