ASOC
This is a guest blog written by Dr. Rodolfo Werner, a wildlife conservationist who has devoted his professional career to the study and conservation of the Patagonian Sea, the Southern Ocean, and Antarctica. For more than two decades, Rodolfo has served as an advisor to the Antarctic and Southern Ocean Coalition (ASOC) and the Pew Charitable Trusts. He has focused his work on the management of the Antarctic krill fishery and the establishment of marine protected areas in Antarctica. Rodolfo has represented ASOC in the Scientific Committee at the meetings of the Convention on the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources (CCAMLR) for over 20 years.
January 2025—here I was again, embarking on another journey to Antarctica. This adventure, one I have undertaken nearly every year for the past two decades, never ceases to captivate me with what I call my Antarctic feelings.
Antarctica is not just a place—it is a feeling, a way of perceiving nature. Only those who have witnessed its endless skies, the vast expanse of sea ice, the majesty of towering peaks and hanging glaciers, and the rich diversity of marine life can truly understand the profound effect this region has on the human soul. Experiencing Antarctica stirs an inner transformation, forging a deep connection with ourselves and awakening a longing to return.
On a journey like this, we are profoundly impacted by the rare luxury of time—time to contemplate, to immerse ourselves in the untouched landscapes, and to let our thoughts wander along unexplored paths. The long hours of travel across this frozen expanse awaken both the adventurous and romantic sides of our nature. At the same time, Antarctica compels us to reflect on our relationship with the natural world and the responsibility we bear to protect the ecosystems that sustain us.
It is those very feelings that reaffirm my commitment to protecting this extraordinary place. For the past 22 years, I have dedicated my work to the conservation of Antarctica, focusing on the management of the Antarctic krill fishery and the creation of Marine Protected Areas (MPAs).
A Crucial Turning Point
I remember the Austral summer of 2010 vividly. As I navigated the Antarctic waters, I felt a deep sense of accomplishment. Just a few months prior, we achieved a significant conservation milestone within the framework of the Convention on the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources (CCAMLR). The Commission had agreed to establish a Conservation Measure—CCAMLR’s term for its regulations—that distributed krill catch limits across different subareas. This measure (CM 51-07) ensured that only a fraction (25%) of the total allowable annual krill catch could be taken from Subarea 48.1, the Antarctic Peninsula, which is home to a vast array of wildlife, including penguins, whales, seals, albatrosses, and petrels. It was an essential step toward protecting the region’s delicate ecosystem.
However, this measure was only interim and required annual renewal. Year after year, it was extended—until last November, when the Commission failed to renew it.
Sitting in the CCAMLR meeting room in Hobart, Tasmania last November, I experienced one of the most frustrating moments in recent years. I watched as CM 51-07 expired, knowing that the Antarctic Peninsula was once again open to unrestricted krill fishing—up to the total maximum allowable catch of 620,000 tonnes per year. I asked myself, How could this be possible?
The situation today is far worse than in 2010, with krill catches now three times higher. Yet this reality seemed irrelevant to the delegates of two countries, who, after engaging in unproductive discussions with other members, blocked the consensus to extend CM 51-07.
As I exchanged glances with my long-time colleague and friend Andrea Kavanagh (Pew Bertarelli Ocean Legacy), our shared frustration was palpable. Years ago, we had sat together in the Commission room, celebrating with joy when the Ross Sea Marine Protected Area was established. But this time, we faced a stark contrast—the end of CM 51-07, coupled with yet another obstruction to the creation of an MPA in the Antarctic Peninsula.
The question loomed over us: What do we do now? This was not the time to retreat—it was a moment to redouble our efforts. But how?
A Chilling Reality
Two months later, I was once again enveloped by my Antarctic feelings as I sailed through the waters of the Antarctic Peninsula. As I often do, I delivered lectures to guests, emphasizing the urgency of protecting this fragile ecosystem. This year, however, something unusual happened.
There was an abundance of ice in the fishing grounds of the South Orkney Islands, forcing the krill fishing fleet to operate closer to the Antarctic Peninsula—the same region where thousands of tourists travel each season to witness Antarctica’s wildlife in its purest form. Suddenly, visitors found themselves in an unsettling juxtaposition: the awe-inspiring presence of whales, seals, and penguins alongside the stark reality of industrial fishing vessels.
The reaction was immediate. Thousands of people were outraged by the sight of krill fishing operations in these pristine waters. For me, it was a poignant reminder of the failure at CCAMLR and the urgent need to develop new and innovative strategies to ensure the responsible management of the krill fishery—and to overcome the persistent opposition of China and Russia to Antarctic MPAs.
The Eternal Spirit of Antarctica
And once again, I was captivated by those Antarctic feelings.
Sitting in stillness, gazing at the calm sea speckled with icebergs, surrounded by towering mountains and an endless horizon, I felt the weight of my commitment to this land. Antarctica teaches us that it is an eternal spirit, a place that leaves an indelible mark on those who walk its icy shores.
After several weeks, it was time to leave once more. But just as it has been for over two decades, Antarctica will remain with me—in my mind, in my heart—and I will continue fighting for the conservation of this extraordinary place.
