Authors: Mark A. Simmons
“Why?” Lanny challenged. In a tone of complete condescension, he stepped up the attack,
“That’s against the protocols that we set in place—just because he didn’t go with
those whales doesn’t mean he won’t eventually go with other whales. He may be heading
home, and you guys are calling him back. You talk about going against the protocols;
our protocols were always that if he decided to go off on his own to let him go!”
Knowing all too well the conflict of interest behind Lanny’s motivation, Robin could
scarcely contain his anger. He muttered,
“The bastard just wants his success fee.” In the midst of this desperate mess, Robin
had no patience for Lanny’s outburst and made no attempt to conceal it.
“Lanny, you’re wrong! That was never the protocol! From day one, in our first meeting
at the hostel, we all agreed successful reintroduction would be only in the case of
his successful integration with other killer whales. Right now he’s alone, he’s traumatized,
confused, and he doesn’t know where he’s going!”
Unwilling to back down, Lanny pressed, “But we said we would not immediately intervene—that
we would allow time to observe his disposition and then make a decision whether to
recall him to the boat.”
“We are already approaching fifteen miles from the island,” Robin snapped back. “If
we allow him to go any further away, we will be too far from our base of operations
to be able to monitor his disposition and/or intervene should that become necessary.
In my opinion, the bottom line is that he is not successfully integrated … that the
initial introduction was a fiasco and Keiko is simply running scared! My intention
at this point is to find him—make an observation—recall him—and bring him back to
Vestmannaeyjar. If the final decision is to allow him to go off on his own then that
decision can be made after we bring him back—and that would be a decision that you
gentlemen would have to make on your own … without me.”
Charles interjected before Lanny could respond. In a calm reassuring voice he took
the reins: “Robin, we have talked to members of the board … advised them of the situation.
They want us to make the decision of what needs to be done. I think Jeff and I agree
that you should bring him back—once you locate him—you should bring him back.”
Lanny wouldn’t let it go. “Well, I think it’s wrong, and I disagree.”
I sat slouched in the main airport terminal, both hands stuffed in my jeans pockets
while watching the concerned look on everyone’s
faces. It seemed surreal in so many ways, down to the stage set at this our final
departure. Shell-shocked and confused, the crowd surrounding me looked as I felt.
Glancing overhead, I could just make out the last few back and forth movements of
the life-size biplane suspended from the airport superstructure.
I had never been through an earthquake before; yet, when it hit, somehow I immediately
knew that is was an earthquake. It’s not difficult really when the floor moves under
foot at the same time the ceiling is swaying in the opposite direction, confounding
the senses. Not much other than an earthquake could rattle your whole world like that.
Well, that … and Keiko. My thoughts vacillated between the swaying fixtures overhead
and the prior day’s fateful exchange onboard the
Draupnir
.
The earthquake, rated 6.5 on the Richter scale, had provided a dramatic exclamation
point to our final departure from Iceland and the Keiko Release Project. I didn’t
know if the Nordic gods were punishing me or someone else back on the island, but
there was plenty of time to think it through. My departure was unplanned, and as a
result, I was summarily placed on the standby passenger list. To add insult to injury,
the earthquake had collapsed a fuel cell somewhere on the tarmac. The airport officials
suspended all flights for a few hours while they checked things out. I had nothing
but time.
Airports are known as good venues for people watching. Keflavik International (kef-la-vik),
a hub between Europe and the Americas, was among the best. I tried repeatedly to distract
myself with the commotion of people around me, but to no avail. The weight of it all
was crushing,
How the hell did I get here? What am I doing in Keflavik? I shouldn’t be here, not
today anyway
. I knew how it happened, and it all seemed logical and sequential in my head, but
I still couldn’t understand it. I swallowed voluntarily, testing the lump in my throat.
One minute everything made sense and the next it made no sense. My only consolation:
the confidence I was in good company. Two seats down to my right, Robin was lost in
his own thoughts.
The path leading up to this day was nearly fifteen years long. Along that path, the
one constant I could always rely on was Robin Friday. He and I shared different views
on many things, and we constantly analyzed and debated everything. At times our method
was exhausting, some might say obsessive, but it worked. Whenever we came to agreement
on a topic, you could be sure it was thoroughly vetted and never rash; especially
not where it concerned Keiko.
Robin had been the curator of animal training at SeaWorld of Florida and my boss during
my last few years as a killer whale trainer there. A natural leader, he was a savant
at working with animals; he had a certain way around animals that was indeed rare.
In his silent hands-off way, Robin also stood out with individuals; secure enough
in his leadership to allow people to push beyond their status quo even when that meant
making the occasional mistake. He knew that making mistakes and learning from them
was essential for progressing in life and work.
Robin has never been one for many words; the quiet type, but always exuding competence.
When he speaks, it is only because he has something worthwhile to say. He was then
and is still a handsome man, mostly graying hair with that Marlboro Man brand of ruggedness
about him. I’m not the worst person to look at, but the never-ending giddiness of
females whenever Robin was around made me feel like climbing the bell tower in Notre
Dame. To most, Robin is humbly disarming. To all, he is exactly the kind of person
to have alongside when facing the most trying times.
Robin was a master of many things, but his specialty lay principally in the area of
animal husbandry. In the zoological field, this is the science and art of ensuring
animals in human care are healthy, socially well-adjusted and happy. This is not a
nine-to-five profession. Robin’s chosen field involving marine mammal rescue, rehabilitation
and the occasional animal transport placed round-the-clock demands on his personal
time.
While he wasn’t a trained veterinarian, Robin often knew more about marine mammal
care and practical application than many of
the vets on staff. He also traveled extensively on behalf of the company. In fact,
when it came to marine mammal rescue and rehabilitation, he had rescued nearly 300
animals at this point in his career and lost many a night’s sleep in the process,
caring for fragile survivors around the clock. Animal rescue was, and to this day
remains, his passion. When another facility or a government came to SeaWorld for expert
help, more often than not, Robin led or was part of the team of responders. He would
never say so himself, but Robin Friday is one of the most well-known and liked professionals
in the marine mammal community.
My experience with animals was focused on behavioral science: the application of behavioral
modification commonly known as “animal training.” Having realized a dream that transported
me from Virginia to Orlando, I began working with marine mammals at the ripe age of
eighteen. I spent the following ten years of my life at SeaWorld in some of the most
fascinating and unbelievable circumstances, dedicated to understanding and shaping
killer whale behavior.
By the time I left SeaWorld in 1996, I had managed Shamu Stadium, represented SeaWorld
in British Columbia on the acquisition of three killer whales from Sealand of the
Pacific and participated on numerous marine mammal rescues involving dolphins, manatees
and the occasional pygmy sperm whale. My time at SeaWorld was life changing. Nothing
compares to an intimate working relationship with animals, especially when those animals
weigh in at five tons and are sharper than many of the people that work alongside
them.
When Robin decided to leave SeaWorld to take a general manger position at another
marine life park, I remember telling him, “Never hesitate to call on me, I’ll gladly
follow wherever you go.” Less than a year later, he did precisely that, and we have
since spent our careers working together.
After leaving SeaWorld and finishing my business degree, Robin and I formed a professional
partnership, creating a zoological consulting business. We both tend toward altruistic
ideals and are
passionate about our trade. As a by-product, our business objectives were equally
benevolent and far-reaching. Our goal was to cross traditional boundary lines with
our new organization and in so doing, to share a considerable arsenal of knowledge
and experience to the betterment of animals and wildlife management. We were both
blessed to have graduated from SeaWorld, the “Harvard” of the marine mammal zoological
world, and we intended to spread this wealth of knowledge. Our focus was not solely
public display facilities; we would seek out any case where the care of marine mammals
was deficient and, of course, where the proprietor or government agency was accepting
of outside help. That last criteria proved to be the toughest.
Even so, there were enough projects to keep our small organization busy throughout
the beginning of 1999. Much of our time was spent networking, which ultimately gave
rise to our contact with the Keiko Release Project. Robin had an extensive list of
close contacts in the zoological field, and his professional reputation opened many
doors. In particular, it was an antiquated relationship with Keiko’s head veterinarian
that opened the door to meeting the most famous killer whale in history.
The day Robin received the call about Keiko I was in Colorado visiting a close friend.
Robin was requested to visit the Keiko release operations in Iceland and explore the
possibility of working on the project. I remember immediately thinking,
He’s freaking crazy
. Within the professional zoological world, the Keiko project was highly controversial,
and there was no doubt in my mind, our involvement would be a risk to our professional
futures.
The issue was not about releasing an animal to the wild; we had worked on release
programs before. But those release programs involved only stranded or distressed wild
animals, animals that had not been in the care of man for very long. Releasing a zoological
animal that had been in the care of man for decades was a completely different beast
altogether.
Even in the field of marine mammal strandings, there is much controversy regarding
the effects of being in the care of man, if
only for a short time. During rehabilitation the unavoidable association with humans
impacts the animal’s ability to survive once released back to the wild. In fact, the
success rate when releasing a rehab animal is not good, even though the animal might
have lived the vast majority of its life in the wild. This of course is dependent
on many factors; however, prolonged behavioral conditioning in association with humans
is often an overlooked and underestimated force, capable of casting an all-powerful
veto over every other advantage toward survival.
It is not uncommon for dolphins that have been rescued, rehabilitated, and then released
to exhibit nuisance behavior, following boats and seeking handouts; this after only
a brief association with human contact. By U.S. standards, any animal that is rescued
and in the care of man for even six months must go through a comprehensive rehabilitation
process in order to be approved for release. That process involves avoiding counterproductive
associations during release and the systematic removal of dependencies before the
animal is returned to the wild. Releasing a longstanding captive adult male killer
whale to the wild? The U.S. regulatory agencies would never allow such a preposterous
release program from our waters, and believe me, there are many good reasons why not.
I brushed off the idea of our participation in Keiko’s release and reminded Robin
of the implications. But as the day wore on, the concept became increasingly more
fascinating and very difficult to idly dismiss. It actually seemed a perfect match
for our business mission and background. It was almost as if everything we had done
in our professional careers had been a primer for this project, with each experience
and exposure culminating to prepare us for an undertaking of this magnitude. Or at
least that’s how the idea of it began to resonate.
As one who had spent my career shaping animal behavior, the Keiko Release Project
represented the ultimate challenge: To train an animal for every conceivable skill
required to survive the wild; to remove decades of conditioned dependency; and to
eliminate or
replace the human-animal bond. The idea was overwhelming really, but also stirring.
This was an opportunity to apply every ounce of available science in behavior modification
with no margin for error. It would require extensive marine logistical capabilities,
input from trusted behaviorists, and span an unknown quantity of time. Without a doubt,
it would depend heavily on deep pockets to finance all of it.
Money didn’t seem to be a problem. Based on what the project managers had shared with
Robin, everything needed was in place—from specialized marine equipment and the temporary
bay pen facility to staff support and extensive monitoring equipment, and especially,
the financial commitment to bring it all together for as long as it would take. (The
pen itself was a temporary housing site intended to acclimate Keiko to the varying
temperatures, sounds and currents of the natural seawater and open environment.) The
only thing the Keiko project team lacked was the experience to create and carry out
a reintroduction plan that placed an intense focus on Keiko’s learning history. Sleep
never came that night; my mind went on autopilot, already hard at work on the prospect.