Serial - The Good Whale - Ep. 3

Episode Date: January 2, 2025

Keiko finally arrives in Iceland, where years of preparation will be put to the test when Keiko gets his first chance to interact with orcas in the wild — something he hasn’t done since he was a calf. It does not go according to plan. Our new podcast, “The Good Whale,” is out now. Follow it here, or search for it wherever you get your podcasts.To get full access to this show, and to other Serial Productions and New York Times podcasts on Apple Podcasts and Spotify, subscribe at nytimes.com/podcasts.To find out about new shows from Serial Productions, and get a look behind the scenes, sign up for our newsletter at nytimes.com/serialnewsletter.Have a story pitch, a tip, or feedback on our shows? Email us at [e-mail] 

In the beginning we thought of them as monsters, sea monsters out of some saltwater nightmare. We called them orcas or killer whales, emissaries from the kingdom of the dead. The first live orca ever captured and shown to the public was actually caught by accident. This was 1964 and an expedition left Vancouver with a simple sadistic errand. Kill an orca and bring back its carcass so an artist might sculpt a life-size replica for the local aquarium. The media were captivated by the story of these brave hunters who left town and were expected to return within a week.

But that's not how it happened, in fact. Nearly two months passed before they finally managed to harpoon a killer whale who inconvenienced them all by failing to die. So they dragged it, wounded but still alive, for about 20 hours back to Vancouver. The animal was put on display in a shipyard where it received thousands of visitors. So many, the aquarium curator began to suspect it might be worth more alive than dead. An aquarium in California offered $20,000 for the animal, but they refused to sell. 55 days after its capture, the orca ate for the first time in captivity.

This was a big enough deal that it made it into the local paper. And then a month later, after nearly 90 days in captivity, it was dead. The whale's death was likely related to exhaustion. The water where it was kept was less salty and therefore less buoyant than the ocean it was accustomed to. What now seems self-evidently cruel or barbaric back then simply was, and no one seems to have thought much of it. Jeff Foster was just a kid when this happened, growing up not so far away, across the border in Seattle. And this first orca capture would come to shape his life in profound ways, though he

might not come right out and admit it. I don't really like talking about myself very much. It's always a little bit awkward. But yeah, so I kind of grew up with animals all my life. Jeff's dad was a full-time zoo veterinarian which had its privileges and made for a unique childhood. His dad might come home some nights with an animal that needed special care, a baby lion or leopard, an otter or a monkey.

Jeff loved it. At 12 he was catching rattlesnakes for fun. By the time he was a teenager he had a job at the Seattle Marine Aquarium, 15 years old at sea on fishing boats doing exactly the kind of work that would set the Caicos story in motion. That is, capturing killer whales for display at marine parks. The whole world, it seems, had learned precisely the wrong lesson from the abrupt death of that first captive orca.

Now marine parks across the world wanted one of their own, and it was Jeff's job to get them. It was dangerous work. In the beginning, they'd use firecrackers to herd the whales into shallow areas. Later, they'd pay fishing boats to leave some of their haul floating in the water. When the orcas showed up to feed, Jeff and his team would trap them in nets. It was the young ones they'd go after, under five years old or so, but still huge. Once their target was trapped,

Jeff would jump in. And then my job is to get in the water and try to get him out of the nets and put him on stretchers and load him onto the boat. You could die or the orca could die or you could both die. But Jeff was good at the work and liked it. You know, it's a huge adventure. It's extremely exciting. It was really something to be involved with something like this. It was a massive scale and working with one of the top prairies in the world. Jeff estimates that over two decades, first in Puget Sound and then eventually in Iceland,

he helped capture as many as 20 killer whales. But over time, as the scientific community and in turn the public began to understand that orcas were intelligent social creatures with strong family bonds, that they had their own sophisticated language with different dialects, Jeff's feelings shifted too. Was there a moment where you were like, oh this is too much, I can't do this? Yeah, it kind of kept building, you know, when you bring these animals onto the deck, they're, you know, they're small, they're younger animals, but they're

confused and they're nervous and they make a vocalization that sounds almost like a crying baby. It's pretty powerful. It's not like a crying baby, actually. It is a crying baby. And the bond between a male orca and its mother is particularly strong. In fact, in some orca populations, male orcas will live most of their lives with their mothers, protected by her, fed by her, even swimming in her slipstream as an adult. Taking a calf from its mother is nothing less than a kidnapping. You know, the more I did it, the longer I did it, the more we knew about these animals,

that it, you know, that cry, you more we knew about these animals, that cry, it sticks with you, you always remember it. And so in 1990, after two decades catching wild whales, he stopped. Eight years later, Jeff found himself back in Iceland. Only instead of capturing orcas, this time he would be helping one go free. And here's where Jeff's story intersects with ours. He was part of the team that would be helping get Keiko back to the ocean he'd been ripped from when he was just a calf. Now, in Iceland, Keiko's humans, Jeff among them, were going to try to make amends, try to fix

something that had been broken, something they had broken. To achieve their audacious goal, they had to try, no matter the odds, to prepare Keiko for freedom, to train him to be wild again. From serial productions in the New York Times, this is The Good Whale, I'm Daniel Alarcon. It's September 10th, 1998. Keiko's arrival in Iceland. It took the Free Willy Keiko Foundation months of negotiations with the Icelandic government to get Keiko back to his home waters, and now the day was finally here. It has everything we've come to expect with these milestones in Keiko's journey. The eyes of the world, nothing less.

Aside from Bjork, Keiko was probably Iceland's biggest celebrity, and some kids got the day off so they could follow his arrival on television. Heimae is the largest of the Westman Islands and the only one with any residents, though there aren't many, fewer than 5,000. And here, in this remote volcanic archipelago, was where Keiko would be living. On the day of his arrival, the little island is overwhelmed by crowds, the kind that gathered any time Keiko traveled. Locals and tourists lining the streets, and over a hundred foreign journalists who come

to cover the story. Many of them stand clumped on a green hillside at the airport as a giant military cargo plane approaches the not very long island runway. Inside the plane is a 45,000 pound piece of cargo, Caeco, floating in a fiberglass cradle. The landing was a near disaster. Fierce crosswinds buffeted the plane as it pulled in. It touched down with a jolt so violent that the landing gear buckled in a cloud of smoke. Inside the cargo hold, water spilled over the top of Keiko's container. Jeff says they heard, Big, loud pop.

And we stopped really quickly. Jeff and another trainer named Brian and Keiko's veterinarian, Lanny Cornell, all went to check on Keiko while everyone else waited to get off the plane. And I jumped into the cradle with Keiko and he just stopped. He was just frozen. And Brian was saying, breathe the dude, breathe the dude. And Dr. Cornell was saying, you know, I think he's dead. I think he's dead. And I'm in the water with him and I was poking next to his eye and he wouldn't, wouldn't blink. And I was pushing on his blowhole and trying to get it open and then, and

he just wouldn't, wouldn't move. I mean, he was just like frozen. Keiko wouldn't breathe one minute, three minutes, five. The team feared the worst seven minutes. It seemed like forever, but it was probably maybe 10 minutes. And then he started, psh, psh, psh, psh, psh, and breathing, you know, and catching his breath.

Alive. His breathing lessons back in Oregon had paid off, apparently. Now Keiko had made it to Iceland, into the biggest body of water he'd been in since he was a calf. Brian, you coming on this side? Brian, come on in. Brian, come on in. Peter, come on in. Brian, walk him out.

Get a nice, deep, deep surrounding. Nice as well. So we got him out of the stretcher, and, you know, we opened the stretcher up, and he swam up for the first time, and he dove down. He was right there. Yeah, went underwater. We didn't see him for a minute or two, and then he popped up. Came over and I rubbed him down.

Thank you, thank you. He's doing so well. You know, and he just came over to me like a security blanket. You know, I told him, yeah, this is all right. You're home now. Home is a tricky concept, of course, but let's consider where he is. First, well, there's his sea pen, a massive enclosure about two thirds the size of a football field. Think of it as a permeable tank with thick nylon netting instead of walls floating in the middle of the bay and anchored to the sea floor. It had been built from nearly 200,000 pounds of metal, plastic, aluminum, and rubber, and

was designed to withstand waves and storms. All told, it was 60% larger than Keiko's pool in Oregon, which, if you'll recall, was itself much larger than his home in Mexico City. But beyond the size of it, most importantly, crucially, the pen is in the ocean, like the actual ocean, with all the sights and sounds and tastes and stimulation that implies. Keiko could feel the waves and the currents and the tides, feel his body being pulled effortlessly this way and that, something he hadn't experienced since he was a calf. And he was no longer subjected to the echoes of a walled tank.

He could distinguish individual sounds of different species of ocean life, could tell which direction a specific animal might be coming from. For a species that echolocates, this might be like suddenly seeing normally after a lifetime of having a flashlight shown in your eyes. Herring and minke whales and pilot whales populate the waters off the Westman Islands, and they were close. That very first afternoon, a pilot whale swam into Keiko's cove, as if stopping by to see who was new in town, even vocalizing with Keiko.

It was an auspicious sign, or at least that's how it was interpreted by the staff, and for a whale who'd been living on his own in a tank for most of his life, just hearing another marine mammal so close by must have been striking, maybe even revelatory. So set aside for just a moment the finger-wagging about not projecting human emotions onto animals. Forget that. Instead, let's imagine the interior life of this magnificent creature with a brain several times larger than our own as he confronts the weird intoxicating newness of his environment, the turmoil it must have caused him, the surprise,

the curiosity. Nothing is binary as happiness or sadness, I'd guess. Maybe just awe, maybe just an unsettling awareness that the world was far bigger than he'd ever understood it to be. So that's his immediate environs, his pen. Then there was the broader setting. Keiko's new home was in the windy Westman Islands and despite the scare of the rough landing once he was in the water, it seemed like an inspired choice. Everybody said, look how protected this bay is. It was perfectly calm still.

It has 600 foot cliffs on three sides of it. This is Jen Shore. She worked with Jeff as animal care staff in Oregon, a trainer basically, and was part of the foundation team that moved with Keiko to Iceland. Little did we realize every wind comes in the bay and turns into a vortex basically using the 600 foot cliffs on three sides. Jen and the rest of the staff learned the hard truth about the weather a couple of weeks after Keiko's arrival when a storm came through featuring insanely high winds, destroying an expensive piece of Keiko's medical equipment. Pretty soon it was clear there would be far more of those windy days than the calm ones.

There's video of someone trying to feed Keiko during one of these wind storms. It's like those weather channel shots where they send an anchor to stand outside in a hurricane. Only, in this case the staff aren't just standing still. They're trying to scoop fish out of a trunk with a net while the wind blows the rain and the sea spray horizontally. For a certain kind of adventurous young person, working with Keiko was nothing less than a dream job. The pay was good, and for every month they were in Iceland, they had a month off to travel.

The project had the equipment and infrastructure too. Jet skis, boats of various sizes, even a little office built onto the bay pen which the staff called the Research Shack. It was pretty deluxe, complete with electricity, running water, and an internet connection. From here they could monitor Keiko's behavior, his swimming speed, the depths of his dives, from a bank of 19 screens showing live video feeds of underwater cameras placed all around the pen. And there was a hydrophone as well, recording the sound beneath the surface, his vocalizations. No cost was spared.

Billionaire Craig McCaw, who was footing a huge part of the bill for this experiment, happened to have an extra helicopter parked on his $100 million dollar yacht. So he lent it along with a pilot to the Keiko project. This way they could more easily keep tabs on the wild killer whale pods that came through the area. The more they learned, the more likely they were to find Keiko's family. And finding them, most people on the project agreed, would greatly increase the likelihood of a successful return to the wild for Keiko. After all, lone killer whales in the wild are a really rare occurrence. Without the help of a pod, whether his own or an adopted one, Keiko would have little chance of survival. a really rare occurrence. Without the help of a pod, whether his own or an adopted one,

Keiko would have little chance of survival. So that's the state of things in the fall of 1998. Keiko, back in his home waters, with a human support team befitting a global celebrity. Money and people and equipment all deployed to give him the opportunity to meet wild whales. Keiko had been rescued from Mexico, rehabbed in Oregon, and now in Iceland it was all about release, which meant even more rigorous training toward the ultimate goal, becoming wild. But before they could get closer to the release part of the plan, they had to get Keiko comfortable just being in open water.

Jen Shore and some of the other trainers suspected that if they lifted the gates of Keiko's pen and invited him to explore the wider ocean, he'd politely decline the invitation. This was the immediate problem they needed to solve, how to get a whale who was uninterested in freedom to be more interested in it. You can't really make a killer whale do anything. I mean, I think the original view was just kind of, we're going to see how this goes and how he does, and we'll be guided by that. But about six months later, in the spring of 1999, Keiko was still in his sea pen, swimming circles in his little gated subdivision of the ocean, not much closer to being wild than he had been in Oregon. The project needed a larger team to work with Keiko around the clock, and one with a specific

skill set. Jeff suggested bringing on a small team of animal behaviorists, which included a guy named Mark Simmons. It wasn't, at least on the face of it, a natural fit. In fact, the person most surprised by it might have been Mark himself. Because it was unrealistic and expensive, because it was seen as closer to activism than to science. The project, Mark had assumed, was too radical in its mission to have anything to do with someone of his background.

You know, this was the quintessential animal rights contingent that was set on freeing every whale SeaWorld had. To be clear, the Free Willy Caico Foundation was, for now, only set on freeing one whale, Caco, though they did hope he might serve as a test case for others. Mark though came from a different perspective. He was 30 years old and had spent a decade working at SeaWorld in Orlando in what most people call the captive industry. Mark bristles at that term, calls it instead the professional zoological field, and for him it's an important distinction.

Mark thinks places like Sea World are helping preserve species that might otherwise be at risk of extinction in the wild. Now he was being brought on to help Keiko get ready for freedom. A totally implausible idea as far as Mark was concerned. There was so much about living in the ocean that this whale had never had the opportunity to learn. The language of his pod, how to hunt, for starters. It wasn't even accurate to call this project a rewilding.

This was not an animal that had anything to recall. This was an animal that had never effectively been in the wild. And so he'd been in the care of man. And I knew that to prepare him for the wild, he had to forget everything he knew. He had to show avoidance of humans. He had to learn many new skills. And most importantly, he had to integrate with wild whales, something none of us had any control over.

So... But there must have been something about it that excited you. Oh, yeah. I mean, you did it. Well, I mean, I, you know, back then, SeaWorld was really, I often call it sort of the Harvard of the marine zoological environment, especially when it came to animal training. SeaWorld sort of pioneered the scientific approach, the methodical approach to behavioral modification.

And I learned through that. So you know, I was pretty confident. I was also at that age where, you know, right at 30, where you've got some experience, but you're also young enough to be really bold. And of course, you're either give me the ball coach kind of person or not. And I wanted the ball. Mark got to work right away. He and his colleague Robin Friday had come to Iceland armed with a plan outlining the

training methods and protocols to be followed for Keiko's possible reintroduction. They built their proposal based on an approach which will be familiar to any college psych major, behavioral modification. Some of the same principles incidentally that they would have used at SeaWorld to teach in Orca new behaviors, or in Keiko's case reshape previously learned behaviors. Meaning, you use conditioning and rewards like food and attention to reinforce certain actions and reduce others. Things like being sedentary or watching a boat. Not good, right?

Soliciting for attention from a Marine Ops guy that was working on the Bay Pen, you know, that's not good either. You can't have him release to the wild and swimming up to any old boat and going, hey, what's going on, guys? The things you want to reduce, you make sure not to inadvertently reinforce those by coming out at the wrong time, by a boat driving up, by making sounds with food buckets, because that's a precursor to reinforcement.

There's a million things. On the flip side of that, we have bavers we want to see. We want to see more swimming. We want to see more independence. We might want to see him going after a seagull. We might want to see him chasing a seal that happened into the bay. You can directly influence those by reinforcing them. But it wasn't just Keiko who had to change his behavior.

Certain behaviors among the staff had to be eliminated too. To prepare Keiko for the wild, Mark wanted to cut down how much human contact Keiko received, so he laid down some ground rules. For starters, the only people allowed to interact with Keiko would be the behavioral team. Everyone else had to keep their distance. That meant the researchers and the operations staff were not allowed at the CPEN. No more random visits from members of the Foundation Board either. No more swimming with the whale just for funsies or handing out belly rubs whenever Keiko wanted.

None of that. For Jen, who had been with Keiko since Oregon and had dropped everything to follow him to Iceland, this new way of doing things required an adjustment. It was difficult, to say the least. After this Mark and Robin got there, we weren't allowed to really touch him anymore. I mean, he would come over to wherever you were working with him from and solicit scratches and you know, we're like, sorry, can't do that anymore. And it was just frustrating.

We're like, sorry, can't do that anymore. And it was just frustrating. That was really hard to do to him because I will tell you, you'd have to be a sociopath not to be emotionally impacted by that. It was hard. And from Keiko's standpoint, he didn't understand any of this. We couldn't speak English. We couldn't show him the permit and have him read what was going on. Um, all he'd ever known was this human foster family and had been very loving

and great and he was into it, man. And what we were doing made no sense. Did that give you pause? I mean, like, you know, it's, it sounds like what you're saying is almost an argument for like not doing this. Yeah. It gave me pause. And yet you, you were part of it.

I mean, you, you, you, you did it and you, and you were following the program that you, that, that you and Robin. That I created, right. But we also believed there was a measure of possibility that maybe he would beat the odds. When you watch video from this time, what's clear is just how hard Mark is pushing keiko. There's nothing playful about this routine, nothing relaxed.

I mean, if life in Mexico was spring break and Oregon was a workout with a personal trainer, then Iceland, well, Iceland was bootcamp. Okay, we're getting ready to do a full routine exercise. There's seven behaviors in there. It starts with a fast swim to the right. And we'll go through the behaviors that we've done already and the criteria and we're going to stick to that.

Now in the last few days, we've been pushing him to do three to four consecutively correct and two criteria behaviors on the first SD. That's been about his threshold. By February 2000, a year and a half after Keiko's arrival in Iceland and 10 months after Mark had first come, there was progress. Keiko was more independent and active in better shape than he'd ever been. He was paying less attention to boats, was doing more exercise than ever, spending nearly two thirds of his free time swimming.

The progress was dramatic and clear enough for Mark and the other trainers to decide, yeah, he's ready to leave his pen. K-Coad already had a chance to leave his pen about six months earlier when a storm broke it open, but he hadn't taken it. Like a good boy, he'd stayed put. This time, his trainers hoped, would be different. They were determined to coax him out. They'd even had time to prepare, building a net across the mouth of the bay, essentially making the entirety of the cove Keiko's very own protected space

exponentially larger than any pen he'd ever known. And as usual, the media was on hand to speculate breathlessly about what he might do. When we see Keiko out into greater expanse now, it's kind of like seeing a freed prisoner, we don't know what he's going to do. That's the thing, I don't think anybody really knows what this whale is going to do and that's a great

analogy. It is like being in prison. When humans are let out of prison, some are comfortable in that prison. In this case, Keiko had to be lured out by his trainers, one inside the pen and one standing on a platform just outside it, slapping the water. It took a while, but finally Keiko did what they were asking. He swam through the gate and out of the pen. Once there, and with the entire bay at his disposal, Keiko, well, he didn't do too much

exploring. He swam briefly out into the cove, did a dive, and then headed back into his pen. So nothing like the whale he played in Free Willy. His reaction to this quasi freedom was more like McFly or the dude. It was Keiko just hanging out wondering like, uh, what the hell am I supposed to do with all this water? But over time with reinforcement Keiko became more interested in leaving the pen and learned to appreciate life in the bay. Pretty soon he was spending 8 hours a day outside the pen of his own accord, swimming around, exploring. When he did, his trainers would reward him, using a slingshot to send herring flying all

over the bay. They even had contests among themselves to see who could shoot at the farthest. Sometimes seagulls would get there first, and this, thought Mark, was a good thing. If Keiko was going to make it in the ocean, he'd have to learn to deal with a little competition. Once Keiko was used to the bay, his trainers, they pulled off something pretty remarkable. They trained Keiko to ignore all boats except one, named Dropner. This particular boat would be his guide, his walk boat. It had a platform on one side where the trainers could stand to feed Keiko and give him instructions. The goal was to get Keiko to follow the Dropner out of the bay and

into the ocean. We're going westward heading, going towards the harbor a little bit. Just to get him a little bit nerdy. And then shut the gate. I mean when we took him outside the bay, it was a gorgeous day. This is Mark Simmons again. He still remembers the first time they took Keiko way out into the open ocean for a walk. And the current around the island is such that right outside the mouth of the bay is

where it's the choppiest. So the swells were bigger than the dropner, you know, and we'd go up one swell, down another, and he immediately started riding down the swells with his flukes kind of tipped up like a like a sail. And just, and the water was just gin clear. And it was amazing. I mean, my heart was in my throat. Everybody was just like, oh my God, look at him, you know, it was so much fun. He was like a little kid. The walks became an essential part of Keiko's regimen.

He might swim 11 nautical miles a day in the open ocean alongside the dropner. He was diving more, eating the live fish he was fed, including fish that had not been stunned. The underweight weakling that had arrived in Oregon was no more. This was Keiko, unrecognizable, even to Mark. There was a point at which my wife came up to visit, and she was still a trainer at SeaWorld, so she had been working with the whales there. She came out on the walk boat, and I'll never forget, she really thought he had the disposition and demeanor of a wild killer whale. And to me, that was groundbreaking.

I didn't see that much change. I knew it changed, but maybe not that much change. And here's this big marshmallow angel of an animal and my wife's telling me, he looks like a wild whale. And to me, that was a great success. That was affirmation. I think it was the first time that I thought, holy crap, we might actually pull this off.

They might, they actually might. That's after the break. They might. They actually might. That's after the break. All the behavior modification, the boat walks, the training, it was all leading up to one very important day in June of 2000 when Keiko would be reintroduced to Wild Killer Whales. The last orcas Keiko had met had been in Canada, at Marineland, when he was just four or five years old, and it hadn't gone well.

Keiko was frightened and bullied by these older, bigger killer whales and had arrived in Mexico traumatized by the experience. That was his history. And in the years since he'd been habituated to humans, and with the brief exception of his dolphin friends at Reino Aventura, only humans. In Mark's mind this history was all the more reason to go slow. They were thinking that Keiko's first introduction to wild whales would be more of a baby step than a grand reunion.

We wanted this to be a passive experiment where Keiko was within sight or hearing range of the wild whales. We expected it to be very, very benign, a very boring introduction. They had planned and discussed and negotiated this introduction with each other for weeks in meticulous detail. We would take him out into the path of the wild whales, you know, far in advance of the wild whales, a mile or more, And we would go neutral and be silent in the water. We would pull up the platform, letting Keiko know, leave the boat, you know, that

he's not going to get attention from us. And we would go silent and we would just let happen what was going to happen. Whether he would see them, hear them, whether they would be curious, whether they would come by or swim away, we didn't know. But that was that was it. That was it. Tom Sanders, another trainer on the project, remembers it similarly. You know, we wanted them to just kind of see him for who he was, you know, let them communicate, possibly echolocate through the water, whatever. We weren't sure what was going to happen, to be honest.

We just kind of wanted to try to give him every chance he could to make it work for him. In other words, they'd follow Keiko's lead and keep it nice and easy and quiet. The big day finally arrives. Everyone's got their assignments. Mark's on the walkboat, standing on a platform where he can keep tabs on Keiko, who's swimming alongside. Jeff Foster, he's up in a helicopter, tasked with watching from above. And then there's Tom. His boat leaves early that morning, hoping

to find a suitable pod of wild whales for Keiko to meet. He's not the only one on this boat. The driver was a guy, he was a local man. His name was Sippy. And then Dr. Lanny Cornell, the vet. Lanny Cornell, Keiko's veterinarian, one of the people calling the shots that day. Eventually, Lanny and Tom spot some wild whales. When we got close, we could see the pod, we had binoculars and things like that.

We could see the wild pod did have young with it. Only a few months old, if I had to guess, they were still yellowish in color, signals that they're younger, and their size, they were small. We knew it wasn't ideal that they had whales with them basically, because we just knew that they'd be more protective and not necessarily wanting some big male bull to show up in their midst. But if anyone had any hesitations about Keiko meeting this pod with calves,

Tom says they weren't discussed on his boat. It's like, well, how many chances at this are we going to even get, you know? So let's just stick with the plan, turn the motors off, chill out, just float. But that's not what happened. I told Siti, our boat driver, to go ahead and kill our engine. And Lanny immediately was like, no, get closer. And I was like, what are you talking about? That was the whole point was to not get close to this wild pod with a running boat. So Stitty, I feel really bad to this day for that guy because he's

got me basically saying turn the engine off as we planned. But then he's got this guy that's like, turn the engine off as we planned. But then he's got this guy that's like, has cloud, telling him to not do it. Then we have to get closer because this is for research and important. You know, we have to document this whole thing. Lanny was Keiko's lead vet, but he didn't live in Iceland with the rest of the team.

He just flew in from California occasionally. Because of this, some people felt Lanny didn't actually know Keiko, at least not as well as they did. Lanny didn't want to talk to us for this story, so I can't say how well he felt he understood Keiko. But as the lead vet, he had a lot of power on the Keiko project. And according to Tom and several others we talked to, for Lanny, this day wasn't just an introduction to Wild Whales, it was a farewell to Keiko. To be fair, it wasn't only Lanny who held out hope for this. To some extent, the entire project was built around a shared desire for this very outcome. Here's Charles Vinick, who managed the project at the time.

You know, I think the assumption going in was that this would not be a long and extended period. This would be something that when Keiko had the opportunity to meet wild whales, he would join them readily or join a pod readily, and they would accept him readily. I imagine that everyone that day wanted to believe this was at least possible. I mean, how tempting must it have been to just find out? Like, let's just see what happens

if we get a little closer. So we got closer and closer, and we got to where we were basically in the pod at this point. The next thing Tom knows, the wild whales have disappeared underwater and he's not sure which direction they've gone in. At the same time back on the walkboat, the one Keiko is near with Mark watching, they believe the wild whales are actually moving away from them, so they move a bit closer. And all of a sudden, it's chaos. The wild whales and Caico were way too close to each other, thrashing and splashing in the water.

Here's Mark again. We don't know where the wild whales are. Caico sunk explosively, letting go of a lot of air. If you've ever seen a whale do this, they'll just blow all their air and go down and it's enough to rock a good-sized boat. And so there was bubbles coming from everywhere. It was an absolute clusterfuck of epic proportions. Tracy Carmuso was one of the trainers on the walkboat with Mark.

And all of a sudden this boat was here and this boat was here and the wheels were there and it was just this, and who knows what happened underwater. From the helicopter, Jeff could see what had happened. Keiko had split. I could just about see how big his eyes were when he started porpoising across the water and trying to get out of there. It just was a disaster and when Keiko went one direction and the whales went the other and he just was gone.

Gone. went one direction and the whales went the other and he just was gone. Gone. Yes, they had a tracker on him. Unfortunately, it only worked if Keiko was close enough to pick up a signal and he was way out of range. Just like that, the world's most famous whale was gone. So what now? It depended on how you interpreted what had just happened. Maybe the boats corralled Keiko and the whales too close to each other, and Keiko responded to a chaotic situation, swimming away out of fear. Or maybe you believed that by swimming away, Keiko had made his choice.

Wildness. Which would be a thrilling prospect, of course. Project manager Charles Vinnick told me Lanny Cornell was so convinced of this, he even called some of the board members to share the news. Charles Vinnick, Project Manager, Lanny Cornell, Co-Founder, Lannister, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder,

Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, Co-Founder, but his words were that, you know, Keiko has gone. But I think it felt premature to almost everyone. No, he's not. He's not with whales. This is Tracy again. He's not, again, he's not blowing rainbows and going off. You know, it's, I was like, no, that, he's traumatized.

And so a search party, including a boat and a helicopter, goes off to find Keiko. Mark and a few others spend hours looking. The radio transmitter on Keiko's dorsal fin pings when you get close enough, and eventually their antenna picks up a signal. When he surfaces, they see that Keiko is alone. Not with wild whales, just alone, and in terrible shape. His eyes were just bugged out of his head. I have never, never before and never since seen a killer whale's eyes that big. And he didn't look like, he just did not look like himself. He looked, it's impossible to know the cognitive state

of an animal, they can't talk to you. But if I didn't know better, I would say he was just so wigged out, he was incoherent. Which is a kind of wildness, sure, just not the kind anyone had hoped for, and probably not the kind of wildness that would help Keiko much at all. I was furious. I was furious because I could see what we had done to him and I knew that we that it was predictable.

We had done, we as a group, had done precisely what every protocol we had outlined set out to avoid. We had made it an absolutely traumatic learning event. And you know, memory gets recorded in the nervous system. So we couldn't have done a better job at upending the entire reintroduction protocol and process that we had spent 10 months building up to.

Mark and his crew try to get Keiko to follow the boat back to the Bay Penn, but every time they move he falls behind. By this point it's nighttime, or at least that summer half-light that passes for night in Iceland. Keiko, seemingly exhausted from swimming so far, so fast, can't keep up, no matter how slow they go, no matter how many breaks they give him. So finally, they give up for the night.

We all just kind of found a place on the boat and we're gonna catch some shut-eye and give Keiko a chance to rest. And we could hear his breathing, his blows, near the boat. And I don't remember how long we stayed like that, as long as we felt comfortable, I think, for a few hours maybe. Eventually they start up again and slowly make it back to the Bay Pen to rest. For Mark, Robin, and Tom, that was essentially that, the end of their association with the

project. They saw Keiko as traumatized by the botched introduction. He'd been pushed too far, too fast, and to stay would have meant being okay with more encounters, no matter the cost to Keiko. And so, within a few weeks, they were on flights back to the US. But there was another way to look at all this. Being too protective would do Keiko no favors. He was never gonna make it unless he was pushed, and those who chose to stay in Iceland were gonna have to be okay with pushing him.

That's on the next episode of The Good Whale. Whales are right on him! Us training him to be a wild killer whale is a little ludicrous. He would be trained, but not by us. By the other whales. But at some moments I was wondering how much, when is too much? How much will these whales suffer? You know, I didn't sign on board to watch this animal starve to death. This whale suffer. You know, I didn'tcon, and reported by me and Katie Mingle. The show is produced by Katie and Alyssa Shipp.

Jen Guerra is our editor, additional editing from Julie Snyder and Ira Glass. Sound design, music supervision, and mixing by Phoebe Wang. The original score for The Good Whale comes from La Chica and Osmond. Our theme music is by Nick Thorburn and additional music from Matt McGinley. Research and fact checking by Jane Ackerman with help from Ben Phelan. Tracking direction by Elna Baker. Susan Wesling is our standards editor. Legal review from Alameen Sumar and Simone Procas. Carlos Lopez Estrada is a contributing editor on the series. The supervising producer for serial productions is Ndei Chubu. Mac Miller is

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