Killing Keiko (54 page)

Honoring the organization’s plea, the king of Norway gracefully requested that his
fellow citizens respect the needs of the famous whale, offering that their well-intended
friendliness and
interest in the star conflicted with his sojourn to freedom. The Norwegian public
obediently withdrew, respecting their king’s wishes with astonishing solidarity.

For nearly a week the first children had befriended Keiko, opening Pandora’s box.
Then, in the blink of an eye they were gone. With the free-for-all bustle of boats
and people subsided, Colin and Fernando could finally oversee Keiko with some semblance
of normalcy. But the happenstance location proved inadequate for many reasons, not
the least of which was close proximity to shipping traffic and the buzz of nearby
townspeople. HSUS and their staff on-site decided to move Keiko to a location far
from prying interests or extracurricular human activity.

Penetrating deeper still within the catacomb of a tentacled Norwegian coast, they
found the serene cove of Taknes Bay a most suitable venue. Here, their surroundings
on land were that of farmland and countryside. A languid bay formed their makeshift
whale habitat along its way to a watery cul-de-sac further inland. Trips to and from
open water were uncomplicated by interferences. Wild whales were known to frequent
the area not far away from Keiko’s new home and unlike Iceland, their presence was
less seasonal, more constant. The location offered more than a few meritorious features
in meeting Keiko’s needs. What it lacked a great deal were creature comforts for the
scant few staff posted in Taknes to oversee ongoing trials.

Settling into the new accommodations was not without sacrifice. Housing for the staff
amounted to a shared farmhouse atop a hill far above the water’s edge. By comparison
to the Icelandic base of operations, they seemed ejected, cast into a bleak yet beautiful
exile. Temperatures initially betrayed them; in Norway, the land cools quicker than
the ocean. In the beginning Taknes presented unforgettable vistas set in a deceptively
warm climate far above the averages experienced in Iceland. But nothing was easy;
soon to be made harder still by the earth’s growing distance from the sun.

September ever-so-slowly initiated winter. Winter painted most of the land in the
white of a snow-laden paradise. Temperatures closer to year’s end dropped into the
low twenties Fahrenheit. At times the wind channeling through the articulate landscape
could whisk away body heat with great aptitude, but the most penetrating cold emanated
from a humid seaside dampness. Steam rising from the bay’s surface in the still of
frigid mornings often concealed Keiko from view. The vibrant palette of landscape,
seascape and changing weather patterns presented them with a vision renewed on each
dawning day, no two alike.

As it pertained to Keiko’s dependent care, they had no infrastructure, nothing that
afforded even the most basic conveniences. At the bottom of their daily trek from
the hilltop, the only means by which to physically reach Keiko was tendered by a small
floating dock extended outward from an ancient rock jetty dappled in blotches of grass.
Behind the makeshift husbandry area sat a barn turned fish house. Everything had to
be recreated. Supplies, frozen herring upon which Keiko’s very sustenance relied;
even the rudimentary needs of the small staff demanded careful planning. A never-ending
supply list, rich of both common and uncommon needs, accompanied each tedious trek
to the nearby village of Liabøen, the administrative center of Halsa.

Management of the ongoing release effort was entrusted to a band of three consisting
of Colin, Tobba and Dane. The team was accompanied at times by a tag-team research
pair following the project. After essentials of the land-based operations were established,
only two of the small tribe remained in the farmstead on Taknes Bay.

Routines with Keiko freely emerged, loosely resembling those of Klettsvik Bay operations.
Exercise consisted of the occasional side breach or bow jump commingled with tail
lobs (repeated slapping of his flukes on the water’s surface) and spinning fast swims
selected from the small assortment of trained behaviors. Walks throughout the maze
of fjords were implemented on a somewhat fixed schedule of three a week. Facilitated
from both dock and boat, husbandry inspection comprised a static portion of Keiko’s
human face-time. But lacking even the most basic of facilities, evaluation of Keiko’s
physiological well-being was almost exclusively limited to dead-reckoning intuited
through scattered observation and rudimentary lab sampling.

October, November and then December blended together, distinguished only by dropping
temperatures, more variable conditions and ice floes migrating outward from shallower
waters. New Year’s slipped by in the biting teeth of winter. The year pressed ever
forward as attempts to encourage Keiko’s departure continued unrewarded. Little defined
one day from another, not even the usual and curtailed routines of the staff.

In his new world, aside from the interactions decided by his caregivers, Keiko had
little means of stimulation. But he had learned how to garner the attention he desperately
needed. During prolonged periods absent human guidance, Keiko often wandered away
from the drowsy bay. It was a behavior that gained his trainers attentions, often
commanding the presence of an accompanying walk-boat. Sometimes the prompted response
involved food.

In the dead of winter, on an evening not unlike many others, their monotony was rudely
shattered. The coastline was riddled with encroaching ice floes. This was unfamiliar
territory for Keiko. Accepting that the whale was prone to happenstance encounters
with such things, Colin kept a more guarded and fretful watch on Keiko’s whereabouts.
Early in the cycle of nightfall, he watched as Keiko swam off. Any other day there
would have been nothing worthy of note in the whale’s leisurely departure. However,
this time Keiko moved steadily in the direction of an ice-packed branch of the bay.
It was a limb of the fjord that had no outlet, a dead end.

Fearing Keiko’s inexperience with the ice, the project staff boarded the small single-outboard
motor boat and followed in the direction of Keiko’s last heading. Darkness takes over
more quickly on the water and that evening it had become pitch-black. From the sea
level position on the small craft, Colin could not find Keiko. But as they approached
the ice pack, relying almost solely on the
tracking tag indicating Keiko’s direction, it became obvious that Keiko had gone beneath
the seemingly impenetrable surface.

Knowing that Keiko was in trouble, they used the tone recall to beckon the whale back
to their location and clear of the ice pack. For some time they neither saw nor heard
any sign of their charge. Without the benefit of sight amid the penetrating black
surrounding them, their sense of hearing became intensely heightened. At long last,
Keiko’s position was revealed, not by sight, but by the repeated sound of ice impacted,
then fracturing.

Keiko had navigated well under the field of ice, some 200 meters from the safety of
open water. What they heard were the sounds of a frantic whale breaking through the
frozen layer. The escape required no small amount of effort, evidenced by repeated
dull strikes and muffled, partial exhales. Keiko was well distanced from the thinned
edge. Isolated from clear water and thus life-giving oxygen, he had run out of time.
He did the only thing he could do to survive. Keiko beat forcibly with his head and
back against the overhead ice until at last he could claim a single crucial breath.

Initially disoriented by the heightened state of anxiety, Keiko largely ignored the
first attempts at recall. However, shortly after his breakthrough and during continuous
and repeated recalls, Keiko finally found his way clear of the ice. He did not escape
the chance encounter unscathed. In fact, the skin on Keiko’s back spanning from the
top of his rostrum to just forward of his dorsal was devastated. Bloody patches revealed
areas where his outer dermal layers were completely flensed or stripped by his frightened
and desperate beating against the thicker, jagged ice layer.

Keiko, a sprite twenty-seven years of age, looked as if a ragged ancient beast of
an animal, his scars and wounds angrily covering the majority of his head and back.
So cracked was the once mirror black surface of his skin that it appeared as if a
pot left to burn on the stove, the contents dry and flaking from the bottom. Witness
to such external damage was sickening, though little actual threat was posed by the
physical injury itself. While wounds of this nature
can become infected and abscessed, the clean waters of the Norwegian bay discouraged
such complications. Even so, in the days following the episode the staff applied preventative
cleansing to forestall the risk of infection.

Considerably more foreboding was the impetus for the behavior. This delicate component,
the invisible source of neurosis, was by and large overlooked; or as likely, regarded
as a random accidental occurrence having no actuarial relation to Keiko’s concealed
state of distress. At the heart of the coping behavior that painted Keiko’s back in
red lurked an underlying frustration worn so deep that yet even more severe ailments
were slowly taking irreversible hold, manifesting themselves within.

Pressing on, the mission guiding the release team did not deviate from the overbearing
aim of freedom at all costs. In many ways, assurance of his eventual freedom became
hardened by the tale of Keiko’s Atlantic crossing. Retold in growing legend, the fateful
three weeks at sea became like folklore in the halls of HSUS.
Surely he had proven his ability to adapt on his own, to survive
. The idea became indisputable; an insistence. Far removed from the ambitions or aspirations
of his human caretakers, Keiko languished. Though he would venture from the limited
scope of their observations at night, he remained ever faithful in his return, forever
wanting of their attentions.

Under the guise of the protracted release plan, Keiko’s food was regarded as supplementary.
A stubborn continuation of the earlier season among the walk formation, they either
believed or hoped that their charge was actively foraging. Somewhere, somehow and
beyond their sight, possibly in the night. They fantasized that he was finding nourishment
of his own accord. They did not feed him much from their hand.

Imposed by their design, the idea constituted the extent of sophistication in the
revised release strategy. They theorized that hunger would motivate his interest in
venturing out, finding his
own nourishment or perhaps even engaging wild whales in pursuit of food. Upon this
logical deduction they gambled everything. In stark contrast, Keiko remained in Taknes,
unfaltering, never refusing the meager offerings of his overseers.

His behavior belied their dangerous calculation. Wearing onward toward spring, when
not otherwise directed under escort of boat or human affections, Keiko merely floated
about Taknes Bay. At times, hours in the shadow of contact from his chosen family,
he returned to the violent thrashing behavior witnessed early in his Icelandic indoctrination.

To Keiko, the new world defied recognition. In a moment, he was bathed in playful
love. In another moment he was left to his own devices, unpredictable spans of time
between. He waited. Always he waited. Eventually they would again acknowledge his
presence. In time, they would return. They always returned. He listened. He would
meet them at the dock or hear the wanting sound of the small boat being boarded. Maybe
he would follow the boat on an adventure. Maybe he would carry them on his back about
the bay. He didn’t know what would come. He waited. Hunger kept him company. He was
always hungry. Tired. Eternally tired
.

Summer 2003 bathed the bay in immaculate beauty. Mountains speckled with new growth
and a returning vibrancy granted a warming backdrop from the hilltop view over Taknes.
Brilliant green grass carpeted the span between the crew dwelling and the immense
bay beyond. Life renewed lent an air of optimism to those that would accept it.

Not all did.

Heavier thoughts distanced an otherwise carefree beauty of the northern land. Keiko
did not look well. Though he conceded to whatever was asked of him and reliably returned
the affections of his trainers, he did very little else but rest, stilled at the surface.
Day in and day out, he remained inert, scarcely casting a ripple across the glassy
surface surrounding him. Keiko, his choice and his needs, were buried under the
wreckage created at the convergence of agenda, negligence and ineptitude.

November 2003. Metabolically Keiko’s body deteriorated. So long had he been minimally
nourished, his once abundant stores were now hopelessly depleted. Lacking any other
source of fuel, his system had turned on itself, extracting what little energy he
had left from his own tissue. Remiss of the life-giving water contained in his fish,
chronic dehydration had long ago set to purpose wreaking havoc on his vital organs.
His old familiar enemy found a home in his lungs and flourished against a vastly weakened
immune system. Outwardly, his great size and blanket of blubber subverted attention
from the struggle within.

Grasping at his second December in Norway, Keiko spent his time mostly alone in the
still waters of the bay. On the human calendar it was Thursday, December 12, 2003;
in many ways an idle Thursday. Only Dane and Tobba remained. They were wary.

The two recognized a sharp decline in Keiko’s behavior. What before went undetected,
hidden by size and the survival’s clever guise, became evident seemingly at once.
Even in this late hour, his condition was not revealed on physical merit, but what
they could observe was not the Keiko they had known. It was enough to stir them to
action.