Killing Keiko Read online

  7. No Behavioral Response to Acoustic or Visual Conditioned Stimuli: Keiko would have to forget everything he was ever taught by his trainers. It would take considerable time for forgetting to occur and likely only occur if Keiko had stimulation that replaced his training, namely interaction with his wild counterparts.

  8. Normal Physical Capabilities: Keiko would need to demonstrate normal hearing, eyesight and sonar capabilities as well as normal immune response. He would have to show us the ability to dive deep and react to hunting or foraging opportunities. This criterion required that Keiko had no permanent disabilities and that all his natural abilities were intact. It also meant that Keiko needed to know how to use them. For example, echolocation (locating non-visible objects by reflected soundwaves) was something that Keiko never truly needed in his life with man; he would now need to learn how to utilize his echolocation skills. Going back to Keiko’s time spent in Oregon Coast Aquarium, there had been some question about his ability to echolocate. On several occasions Keiko had received deep gouges on his pectoral fins, flukes and his head (melon) and nose (rostrum). These were due to run-ins that occurred during the night with the underwater rockwork in the aquarium.

  9. Social Experience with Conspecifics: This element was the capstone of them all. Keiko needed to be with conspecifics, otherwise referred to as “his kind.” Beyond his health, normal physical capabilities and his acceptance of tracking equipment, many of the other requirements could theoretically be acquired from other whales through observational learning and pro-social behavior. Considering all the tools that could be employed in reducing Keiko’s dependence on man, social integration with wild whales was the one criterion over which we had little or no influence. If Keiko was to be accepted by wild whales and also chose to be with those same whales, it would likely occur over time, after he and the wild whales developed a history together. In all our experience with animals of every kind, integration of individual animals into a new social group was tentative at best and often times treacherous. In short, it was extremely improbable that this mutual acceptance would be instantaneous, as was widely believed among the FWKF board and the millions of children who had emptied their piggy banks in response to the movie.

  According to the staff, Dr. Cornell’s masterminded release plan was a four-part venture (once Keiko was relocated to Iceland). The plan went something like this:

  1. Physically acclimate Keiko to the seawater in Klettsvik Bay via the bay pen by exposure.

  2. Stabilize Keiko’s health (i.e., get him off any remaining special medications).

  3. Fatten him up so that he has excess blubber to sustain him during the learning curve (whereby he spontaneously learns to hunt and forage on his own when hungry enough).

  4. Literally fly Keiko out to sea in a sling suspended from a helicopter and drop him with wild whales.

  The plan was heavily based on logistics with little beyond medical preparation relating to Keiko himself. Even the most inexperienced of the frontline staff knew this plan was a death sentence. They affectionately called this the “AMF Release Plan,” short for “Adios, Mother F—ker.” I don’t know with certainty but suspect that the contention between Lanny’s management of the project and the staff’s unwillingness to do his bidding is what ultimately led to our involvement.

  Our initial proposal to OFS provided only a summary outline of our suggested methodology but nonetheless departed from Lanny’s simplistic cowboy approach in infinite ways. The plan was originally presented without detailed and up-to-date knowledge of Keiko or the capabilities of the field personnel. After only a brief time on the project, Robin, Dave and I had expounded on this initial outline adding immense complexity to its design. It did not take long to recognize the mountain that lay before us if Keiko was to be given any real chance at success. To even the most calloused, it was obvious that Keiko was as different from a wild killer whale as they come (or any killer whale for that matter).

  At the most basic level, Keiko was a zoological animal. Throughout his life a dependency on man was created, in fact deliberately conditioned. Keiko’s life with man was never about teaching him to be a top predator or a predator at all. His twenty years in a zoological environment were about building relationships with people. Keiko’s facility in Mexico was substandard and affected his health negatively over time; however, that fact had little to do with his learning history.

  Think of Mother Nature as the ultimate survival trainer. She doesn’t give second chances often. She is seldom just and is ever-harsh in the immediacy of her verdict. When it comes to kill or be killed, there is no second place. In stark contrast, Keiko’s life with man was a pampered one. His predatory skills were not necessary and therefore dulled to nonexistence. His trainers did not exact the same criteria as Mother Nature. If he had a bad day, he was loved or coddled, and excuses were made for his lazy response or lack of interest. He never had to navigate or find his food in order to survive. His life was never about what he had to do; it was always about what he was willing to do. He was fed enormous amounts and varieties of fish every day of his life through many varied human interactions, but little to no effort was required on his part.

  Keiko never developed social skills with his own kind. His brief history with other killer whales often placed him at the bottom of the totem pole. In his early years at Niagara, he was frequently picked on and became a social outcast among other whales. After he moved to Mexico early in his adolescence, Keiko was never again with his own species. At times he shared his pools with other types of marine mammals, but he wouldn’t see or hear another killer whale for a decade and a half.

  Keiko’s physiological development was also directly analogous to his behavioral upbringing. His immune system never had to stand on its own. If he experienced infection or illness, his system was bolstered by veterinary care and medication. Behaviorally and physically, he lived in a bubble. His bubble was not threatening. In fact it was designed to provide him with a carefree life—a life spent frolicking lovingly with humans. Yet Hollywood would have the world believe that this animal could instantly overcome this lifelong dependency, be whisked away on a flatbed trailer, plunked in the ocean and escorted to freedom where he would swim off into the sunset and magically rise to meet the challenges of a harsh and unforgiving world. No question, this notion was perhaps one of the most detrimental components in Keiko’s actual release effort, and one that would relentlessly erode the project through to its conclusion.

  We were not training a single behavior; we were conditioning a way of life, one that departed from everything Keiko had ever known. Keiko lived in the wild for no more than two years of his existence. In those two years, he relied almost entirely on his mother for food and direction. What memory of that part of his life still existed could not be measured, but whatever memory he might still possess was just as useless as if it had been completely erased. He had never learned to survive on his own, even before his 1978 capture. To be accurate, this was not a “reintroduction,” but an “introduction.”

  Behavior is always in a state of change, always fluctuating, guided by the consequences that follow. At any given time, there are many and varied forces working against the intended goal. For example, people might learn to get off the couch and work out because they feel good and/or others make positive comments about their physique. However, if there is no direct recognition for their hard work, the relaxing state of staying on the couch is intrinsically reinforcing. This is a grossly oversimplified example. In reality there are dozens of factors influencing choices and actions.

  For a new habit or behavior to take shape, encouraging reinforcement must initially follow that behavior at a high ratio. The process of learning carries with it a memory or reinforcement history, and the longer that history the greater the difficulty in reshaping behavior or replacing it with alternative or incompatible behavior(s). In the case of Keiko, we had two decades of learning history with which to contend. Consequently, the deck was sta
cked against our famous couch potato.

  Neither the FWKF nor OFS had any experience or even a basic knowledge of zoological management. They did not have a grasp of the foundations that created Keiko, much less how to begin the process of reprogramming him toward a life of independence.

  It is Change, Therefore We Must Fear It

  At the start, our plan for approaching Keiko’s reconditioning was laid out in a progression of several steps that would each be designed to meet a specific need or deficiency. Some needed to be implemented immediately; others would follow along with more material operational changes that would come only after Keiko had mastered the preceding steps. The first series of changes focused on both Keiko and the staff.

  Step One: Eliminate all nonessential personnel and human activity around Keiko.

  This step required the removal of as many ancillary associations with humans as possible. This important shift in his focus would need to start without delay and be progressively expanded through each stage of his rehabilitation.

  This change was not well received by the staff or the FWKF. Prior to this suggested modification, everyone and anyone on staff worked with Keiko almost at will and regardless of their experience level or the presence of any program goals. This lack of focused direction translated into a very loose atmosphere. Keiko had become not much more than a team mascot. They failed to make the connection that this was supposed to be a killer whale, somewhat “similar” to the ones that hunt, kill and eat other mammals.

  Visitors came and went from the bay pen at will. Staff members proudly escorted guests onto the pen to meet the famous whale. Even children were periodically brought onto the pen to play with Keiko. Though we struggled somewhat to reduce media access to the bay pen throughout the project, the “come as you will” policy was promptly ended.

  As for the OFS staff or authorized access, we divided the teams into three different job areas; Behavior Team, Marine Operations and Research. It meant that we would identify a specific squad of people from each rotation, and only those individuals would work with Keiko hands-on in his conditioning. We kept the Behavior Team extremely small in order to minimize inconsistencies in individual training sessions. The first rotation would include Stephen Claussen, Karen McRea and Steve Sinelli. From the second rotation only Brian O’Neill and Tracy Karmuza would make the cut. Robin and I would split our time on-site straddling the two Behavior Teams and providing oversight, continuity and direction specific to Keiko. The rest of the staff was rolled into Marine Operations or research-specific duties.

  Step Two: Eliminate extraneous trained behavior.

  We immediately eliminated any trained behavior that did not provide physical stimulation or fulfill a specific husbandry need in the scope of the release program. For example, the innovative signal whereby Keiko was encouraged to do something creative was forevermore removed from the list of approved behaviors. It contributed nothing short of confusion in his conditioning progress.

  Unfortunately, Keiko did not have a very extensive repertoire of trained behaviors (unlike whales at SeaWorld that learn and maintain more than 300 distinct behaviors). This mandate left scant few learned behaviors that could be used in exercising Keiko and keeping him mentally stimulated during the next phase of rehabilitation. More would have to be trained. New learning would also serve to awaken Keiko’s sleeping mind, providing mental challenge in addition to physical work.

  One highly unpopular amendment fell into this category that was far more difficult to implement than we ever anticipated: except for very specific medical or husbandry needs, no one would be allowed to get into the water with Keiko.

  Upon this dictate, one would have thought we had committed a cardinal sin. Exactly why virtually everyone from the top levels down felt that long, in-water rubdowns and playtimes contributed to Keiko’s progress toward independence was a mystery. What was clear is the huge contribution it provided for the staff’s enrichment: FWKF board members, executive officers and others were allowed in the water with Keiko. It boggled my mind that this animal was slated for introduction to the wild and, yet, not one soul considered humans frolicking in the water with Keiko as conflicting with that goal. I guessed that it must have been common for researchers in the area to see wild whales swimming around the North Atlantic with Vikings on their backs? Even Charles, who evaluated most issues rationally and analytically, fought us on this change. As a result, it took much longer than it should have to finally eliminate in-water interactions from Keiko’s regimen.

  Step Three: Back to basics.

  Establish and maintain consistency in Keiko’s training environment and push his limits of higher energy behaviors and alert responses.

  We would begin to concentrate sharply on Keiko’s response to trained signals and push his threshold for active behavior in training sessions. In other words, we were going to make him a lean, mean, fast machine. But to get there, it meant ensuring that everyone who was left working with Keiko worked toward the same goals and communicated frequently. It meant constant supervision.

  Step Four: Seize the moment!

  We would immediately begin placing an emphasis on what influenced Keiko’s behavior outside of training sessions. Getting Keiko in shape, both physically and mentally, started with cleaning up his training program and sharpening the basics. But training sessions only constituted about four hours of a twenty-four-hour day. What influenced Keiko’s behavior the other twenty hours was of paramount importance, and it would become increasingly so throughout the next several stages of the release effort.

  Without delay we instituted a constant “watch.” This meant that we needed to observe Keiko and his environment at all times.

  We had to consider every conceivable variable from boats to birds. Each situation represented an opportunity to either reinforce (or strengthen) behavior from Keiko that moved him in the direction of acting like a wild whale or to discourage behaviors or objects that we did not want to accidentally or indirectly promote. Humans were the sun in his sky. We had to be supremely aware of what we shone upon.

  Accidental reinforcement can occur in numerous ways, such as starting a training session while Keiko is sitting still and inactive. That would be bad (starting something that is positive as a result of inactive behavior thus rewarding inactivity). Or say, if a boat were to approach the bay pen right after Keiko stopped swimming. The interesting diversion of a boat full of humans arriving at just the wrong time could reinforce Keiko for the act of being sedentary. The most common and seemingly innocent events could go completely unnoticed and yet have great influence on the ways in which Keiko’s behavior developed. Clearly, we needed to start watching and actively managing Keiko’s world 24/7.

  Step Five: Get rid of the pacifier.

  Last in the first series of immediate changes, we had to take Keiko’s “pacifier” away. Keiko had a very large blue plastic Boomer Ball that stayed in the water in the bay pen at all times. When no one was interacting with Keiko, he sat motionless, like a log floating on the surface (logging) next to his three-foot in diameter ball. There were two rather pivotal reasons why this attachment was not helpful.

  First, there are not many blue balls floating around in the wide open ocean, and it was doubtful he could take this one with him. Secondly, it was incentive for Keiko to remain inactive, floating all day next to his inanimate companion. The latter of these two was less obvious to the staff, who considered the artificial object a form of enrichment.

  But there was more. The blue ball also provided Keiko with sexual stimulation. That’s right, he became “randy” with the favored toy. The deviant affection was an impediment on too many levels to list. For the reasons stated and more, his attachment to the blue Boomer Ball could not be allowed to continue.

  However, it can be dangerous to abruptly remove something that carries such a strong attachment. Therefore we began the lengthy process of slowly removing the blue ball from Keiko’s environment, systematically rewarding app
ropriate behavior in its absence.

  A by-product of this first round of adjustments was the onset of one highly toxic allergen detested by the human animal: change. As Stephen Claussen frequently reiterated: “It is change; therefore we must fear it!” As humorous as the statement was, the sentiment prevailed among the staff in the first several months of our management of the release effort. Slowly, as the stark reality of the new edicts were implemented, morale began to break down within the existing staff. The honeymoon was definitely over.

  In complete contrast to the growing friction within the ranks of the reintroduction team, Keiko himself was actually beginning to respond, gradually at first, but eventually in leaps and bounds.

  Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

  Amidst the burst of initial changes we needed to increase Keiko’s activity level, exercise him, and get him out of the funk in which he was mired. But in order to do this, we had to reteach him everything he knew. Start over. Why? Keiko’s past training was exemplified by laziness: lazy responses to signals, lazy movements, lazy everything, and his trainers not only allowed it, they in fact trained it. In his past, this apathy had been a hallmark of his conditioning. He was the slowest and fattest killer whale Robin or I had ever seen.

  In nature, a lackadaisical approach to catching food for the day will not fill the belly. We wanted crisp, awe-inspiring predator-like reflex reactions and alertness. In order to create an attentive, sharp, and quick animal, we had to go back and start from the beginning.

  It almost seems common sense that an animal being prepared for a life in the wild has nothing to gain from continued relationships with humans. Those relationships would ultimately conflict with Keiko’s long-term survival in the wild. But in order to move toward a goal of less human contact, we had to start with more human contact. The only way to physically jump-start this whale was to begin intensive exercise, and we had to do this using the trained behaviors that Keiko already knew well. More to the point, we were going to push Keiko beyond any work level he had ever known in the care of man. To be able to push Keiko out of this daze, I would have to be prepared to offer him something worthy of motivating him. I would need to establish a solid relationship with the Big Man that could withstand the test of the grueling months to come.