Edge Of The World: Krill Crisis
- martinabirrer97
- Jun 9
- 3 min read
The first encounter with the krill super trawlers in the «untouched» Antarctic felt almost staged for our film crew. Far in the distance, we spotted five ships that still looked relatively small, hiding behind icebergs and in the fog. «Drone Pilot, Drone Pilot – Bridge. We have sight to the first Trawlers. You can prepare the Drone!» – crackled through our radio.
For nearly four weeks, we had seen no other vessels on the open sea – making the sight all the more surreal for our 36-strong crew, almost all of whom gathered on deck to see the trawlers with their own eyes. We all knew from videos what was coming. Some of us were here for the fourth time, and yet it was a moment full of tension for everyone. «Will we manage to get this krill fishing banned once and for all?»
Sea Shepherd Global has been travelling to Antarctica for 4 years, documenting the massive overfishing of krill – a small crustacean that forms the foundation of the Antarctic ecosystem. Years ago, Sea Shepherd already fought against whaling, which was being illegally continued in Antarctica. Successfully. But the next challenge was already waiting: krill fishing.
The industry first tried to market the little creature as a food for humans. Without success – it is not a delicacy for people, but for the whales, penguins and sea lions that depend on it as their primary food source.
But plundering Antarctica turned out to be remarkably easy. These small animals live in enormous swarms; drop the net, drag it back and forth a few times, and it's full. A single super trawler can catch as much in one day as a hundred (100) humpback whales eat!
In Antarctica, behind what feels like closed doors, an unfair contest plays out between the ecosystem and the trawlers. Investment has been pouring in for years: larger fleets, state-of-the-art drone technology scanning the water for the largest swarms, and so-called transshipments. Through these, the catch is collected directly in Antarctica and distributed to world markets – allowing the trawlers to fish day and night without ever leaving. Even personnel, food and fuel are shipped in the same way.
One might ask: why? After all, the creature isn't exactly appetising for humans. The answer: farmed salmon and omega-3 supplements. The latter is marketed as sustainable – allegedly only 1% of Antarctic krill is fished, and therefore it's claimed to be «not harmful». Which isn't true, because it matters a great deal exactly where that 1% is taken from.
Together with scientists, Sea Shepherd Global investigated the South Orkneys – precisely where the fishing industry is most active. And sure enough, that is also where most of the whales live. So if that one percent is taken from exactly these waters, the industry is stripping whales of their entire food supply. Not propaganda – simply a matter of logic.
Let's talk about farmed salmon. Do you know why it's fed krill? So it isn't grey on your plate, but pink. Because farmed salmon turns grey – the fish are kept in severely overcrowded conditions and fed antibiotics. Since krill is naturally red, it essentially serves as a colouring agent. So we're combining unethical factory farming with the plundering of the Southern Ocean, all so people can have pink smoked salmon on their plate at Sunday brunch. That doesn't sound like sustainability to me.
During those 100 days at sea, I thought about this every single day – and this article practically wrote itself. A 9-part web series also came out of it, on which I worked as camera operator, editor and data manager. Watch it. Change your behaviour when it comes to consuming krill products and farmed salmon – that's where you can make the biggest difference. Or support Sea Shepherd with a donation.
And as for the question the whole crew asked at the start: no, we didn't manage to stop krill fishing. But awareness is growing – and Germany is set to reduce the sale of krill-based omega-3 supplements by 80%. An important beginning.
One final note: I made this entire journey as a volunteer and even provided my own equipment. I don't want to «complain» – it was my conscious decision, and it was the best experience of my life.
And yet something stirs in me. Isn't it strange that doing genuine good in the world so often comes at a financial cost? Many people work voluntarily to make the world a better place – while the ones destroying it are profiting from that destruction. The krill fishing industry is a billion-dollar business, and people with nearly empty bank accounts are the ones fighting to stop it. Destroying the world has become a business – saving it is treated more like a hobby. I hope for a world where that is reversed.
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