5. THE GLOBAL INDUSTRY
5.3 Iceland
In Reykjavik, there is Helgi Jonasson and his animal dealing company Fauna. Up until spring 1988, when his activities at last fell foul of public opinion and an international scandal blew up around him, he had been building-up a lucrative and exclusive business trading in live orca whales. For fourteen years, Fauna had virtually cornered the European market, supplying animals to various marine circuses in Britain and continental Europe, including Windsor Safari Park, Conny Gasser's Flipper Show in Switzerland and even Mike Riddell's pretentious Antibes Marineland in the south of France. Jonasson would have the orcas captured off the Icelandic coast, and then, waiting for buyers, would store them temporarily at the bankrupt Saedyrasafnid Zoo where they were show-trained to boost their value on the international animal market. Indeed, according to a 1988 statistics provided by Reykjavik's Marine Research Institute - which 'regulates' the live orca trade with the Ministry of Fisheries - between 1975-1988, Iceland captured 84 orca whales, 19 of them destined for U.S. and Canadian oceanaria. Between 1975-1988, live-capture permits provided to the director of the Saedyrasafnid Marine Zoo, Mr Jon Kr. Gunnarsson, and his successor at the institution, Helgi Jonasson of Fauna, represented 64 individuals. Most are now thought to be dead. In 1980 alone, several died of frostbite because the water in the zoo's pool was too shallow to accommodate them, and there was no roof to shelter them from the harshest winter winds; with sub-zero temperatures, the five whales' delicate skin became scored with painful cracks and fissures. Despite the resulting outcry, Fauna continued in its operations, with the tacit blessing of the Icelandic government which for many years has regarded all whales as just another "fish resource". When a coalition of conservation groups opposed the application by Marine World Africa USA of Redwood City, California, to import two of Fauna's orcas for display, the response was swift and sharp. In a 14-page document attempting to refute the coalition's charges of cruelty and negligence in the Icelandic operation, the American oceanarium declared that only two whales had died of frostbite, not five. To support their contention and their import application, they submitted evidence by British celebrity vet David Taylor, who testified: "Nothing like this has ever been recorded before. As a result of what we have learned from the case, for the first time we feel it necessary to roof over the whale pool, a building feature that has hitherto been considered totally unnecessary for killer whales. . . Intensive therapy abolished secondary problems in the remaining three whales leaving them eating well (30 Kg of fish each per day by February 15th) but with large areas of damaged, though painless skin. . . It was therefore decided that, with all medical treatment courses completed, the three whales should be set free again so that they could regain normal skin condition under free ranging conditions. . . Fortunately, we feel sure that in the light of what we know from this unique case and the lessons learned, no recurrence of this phenomenon is likely in future catching seasons." But as Greenpeace remarked in its publication Outlaw Whalers, although Taylor's statement may have sounded convincing, a subsequent investigation in Iceland uncovered some troubling inconsistencies. A few days after the release of the ailing and unsellable whales, which, under the media spotlight, had become an increasingly intolerable burden to Fauna, a dead orca washed up on the beach not far from Saedryasafnid zoo, its body covered with frostbite fissures. As "it is unlikely that the other two orcas fared any better," declared Greenpeace, "five probably died as previously reported. Obviously "intensive therapy" had not been very effective."
By 1988, yet another four young whales were being kept under guard in the bankrupt zoo, awaiting either sale or a slow death in the fouled and dimly-lit pool. Just half a year earlier, the whales had been swimming with their mothers in the open sea, together with the other family members of their tightly-knit pod. At Jonasson's behest, in October 1987 they were netted off the island's east coast in a secret operation mounted by the Reykjavik-registered vessel Gudrun, which enjoyed a virtual monopoly in the capture of live whales for the European market. Each of the ship's crew of ten was paid 1500 pounds to catch the four orcas. Herring nets were used to separate the young whales from their mothers and they were then hoisted aboard in slings, their bodies kept wet until they reached shore, a journey of at least five hours. After landing on the East coast, there was an even more gruelling journey awaiting the abducted animals, a 20-hour drive by container truck to the sordid and dilapidated zoo at Hafnarfjördur near Reykjavik. In one previous catching operation, it is reported, a 5.5m orca was hoisted up from the water by its tail, still wrapped in the catch net. Although its back had been broken during capture it was nevertheless transported to Hafnarfjördur. Three weeks later, the Saedryasafnid zoo called in the local dentist who shot it.
After six months in captivity, the whales began to attract the attention the world's press. Accompanied by their informants from the animal rights movement, some European journalists, sensing an animal abuse exclusive, tapped their generous expense accounts and flew up to Reykjavik. Outside the zoo, they were confronted by a faded killer whale with a wan smile, painted onto the squalid main building - a mute testament to the zoo's better days when weekend crowds in search of the spectacular had flocked to see its orca show. Together with the deserted animal enclosures, and the leaden overcast sky, it must have been a bleak sight. Once inside the oceanarium, that impression can only have been accentuated by the haunting, if somewhat eerie underwater calls of the four imprisoned whales. The sounds echoed plaintively through the deserted building, with its claustrophobically low asbestos roof and its six small and grimy windows which filtered the grey daylight.
Confronted by the journalists, Jonasson was unrepentant, even defiant. "I don't see anything wrong with selling killer whales," he was quoted as saying. "They should be harvested like any other fish species." He insisted that the whales were "happy and healthy," and "regularly examined by the state vet." Although they had already been up for sale for six months, he felt certain that he would have no trouble in finding buyers for them. He was simply holding out for the best price - at least 65,000 pounds per animal. Their trainer, formerly of Sea World in San Diego, was Jeffrey Foster, alias Jim Jefferies, employed by Fauna to teach the whales circus tricks - the first one being to beg for food. The four orcas, christened Miss Piggy, Bubba, Stella and Wolfie were confined to a pool 40m long, 9m wide and 4.9m deep. A British newspaper, remarking that the whales measured between 3 - 5m, declared that this was "like keeping four adults in a furniture van for six months." The pool held only 2000 cubic metres of water, pumped in directly from the sea. By comparison, Klinowska recommends a minimum of 20,000 cubic metres of water for captive killer whales. Filtration equipment seemed to be barely functioning, with the water so murky with waste that the bottom of the pool was invisible, and a tide of scum coated the walls of the pool at water level. Judging by the overpowering smell of chlorine, chemical means alone were being employed in an effort to sterilise the water. When former zoo veterinarian Bill Jordan visited the orcas he declared that the pool was a breeding ground for bacteria and disease. "I was shocked at what I saw. The pool water is some of the worst I have seen. If the whales are kept there any longer in those conditions, they could die - there is a real danger of an outbreak of disease which would kill them all." Jordan, a consultant to Zoo Check and also a member of the British delegation to the International Whaling Commission, went on to state that the entire facility "is substandard in size and quality. It's too small and cramped and the whales were continuously circling. These whales are being sentenced to a slow death." The confinement was already causing behavioural problems between the two young males, with bite marks and scratches apparent on their bodies from fighting.
Several days later, notwithstanding protests from around the world, the four whales were sold-off to Kamogawa Sea World in Japan, and consigned to a pool where several orcas had already recently perished. Then in November 1989, yet another four orcas, aged between one and five, were caught by Fauna, despite international protests. Two were later sold to Mike Riddell's Antibes Marineland to join the facility's two other orcas, whilst plans were being hatched to sell off the remaining pair to Japan.
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