Foreword: As I write this, I am weighed down by a deep-seated bitterness and anger. I love my blue home, and it breaks my heart to see it suffer. What we are witnessing is not just a viral craze, but the silent death of a coastline.
For Chinese society in the early 21st century, before the explosion of short-video platforms, foraging on tidal flats was a distant way of life for most inland residents. Yet, as a nation with thousands of years of maritime history, China’s coastline has sustained tens of millions of people. Take my hometown, Shenzhen, for example. It was formerly known as Xin’an County—a vast ancient jurisdiction that spanned what is now Hong Kong, Shenzhen, Huizhou, and Dongguan, serving as the historical predecessor to both Hong Kong and Shenzhen. Historical records from the 10th to the 14th centuries document sea people diving deep into these waters to harvest pearls. Today’s Tai Po Bay in Hong Kong was once called “Meizhu Chi” (媚珠池:the Pool of Charming Pearls), a name that spoke of the brilliant luster of the pearls found there. Seven centuries ago, a highly developed oyster farming industry had already taken root here. Before the establishment of the Shenzhen Special Economic Zone and the subsequent severe pollution of its waters, the area was renowned for its highly acclaimed “Shajing oysters.” This product’s fame spread so far that, prior to the Reform and Opening-up, Shenzhen (formerly Bao’an County) was wryly dubbed by outsiders as having “three treasures: flies, mosquitoes, and Shajing oysters.” This is a testament to the deep-rooted history of coastal foraging among the local people.
Given China’s vast coastal resources and its long-standing history of tidal foraging, why do I still write this article with such sorrow and indignation? Because I am not opposed to foraging itself; rather, I object to the endless hype and viral frenzy surrounding it on short-video platforms in recent years.
Around 2016, the rise of short-video platforms allowed people from all corners of the country to glimpse each other’s diverse ways of life. Inevitably, the daily routines of coastal communities caught the public’s eye. In these videos, people wield shovels and rakes to sift through the mudflats, harvesting everything from razor clams and jellyfish to various crabs, snails, and shrimp. With fresh catches being made every day, these videos naturally became a novel and highly engaging form of daily vlog.
Initially, this trend did not spiral into the current state of mania. However, after being confined at home for over two years during the pandemic, people began to travel with a vengeance. As an accessible, outdoor-oriented activity, tidal foraging inevitably became the ultimate choice for those flocking to the coast.
Fueled by the hype and promotion of short videos, the coastline is being swamped by tourists. People are intoxicated by the viral fantasy of returning with a “bucketful of treasures,” yet they lack even the most basic knowledge of tidal foraging and completely disregard the traditional wisdom of harvesting sustainably.
All one can see are masses of people swarming the mudflats, digging hole after hole with shovels just to unearth clams no bigger than a thumb. Children eagerly turn over every stone, greedily snatching swimming crabs no larger than a fingernail. Corals are trampled to pieces, horseshoe crabs are slashed by spades, and migratory birds are driven away by the crowds, losing their vital food sources in the process…
Yet, not a single person realizes that they are committing a silent slaughter.
I had heard rumors about all of this long before I formally began documenting intertidal species on a large scale this past May. Yet, I never imagined the situation would deteriorate to such an extent. Whenever I search for intertidal species along the coastline, the vast majority of results pushed by search engines are videos of “bucketful” foraging hauls. Even more egregious are the frequent occurrences of people illegally sneaking into national nature reserves to forage, stealing sea urchins and oysters from fishermen’s farms, and the rise of “customer-catering foraging.” In this model, tourism organizations lease stretches of coastline and stock the waters with seafood for tourists to harvest. If the introduced species are not native, this practice carries a severe risk of triggering biological invasions.
In terms of my actual fieldwork, the tidal foraging craze has also frequently disrupted my photography. My primary subjects are crabs—a highly cautious and elusive group, with most species being nocturnal. I often conduct night observations along the coast. Unfortunately, these shores are also frequented by trend-chasing tourists. Whenever I recall these encounters, it feels as though their concept of personal space is practically non-existent. The moment I spot a crab and raise my camera, they immediately swarm over, asking with desperate urgency, “Did you find a crab? Can I catch it?” What a preposterous and surreal experience!!! We are long past the days of struggling to put food on the table; the arduous era of relying on the sea for basic survival is over. Yet, these people recklessly dig, trample, and litter across the beaches. They snatch away every living creature, regardless of age or size, paying no mind to whether the species is endangered, whether it holds any culinary value, or whether it poses a danger to them. Even inedible species like fiddler crabs, sand crabs, and sesarmid crabs fall victim to this cycle: caught, kept, left to die, and then caught again… an endless, senseless loop.This “urge to grab” mentality is deeply ingrained in their collective consciousness. Many recorders like myself have also voiced our grievances: when we advocate for restraint in the comment sections of foraging videos, we are often met with verbal abuse and personal attacks. Worse still, we are frequently dismissed as “extreme environmentalists” attempting to brainwash the public.
After stripping China’s coastal waters bare, they haven’t forgotten to overharvest marine resources beyond our borders. Just this year, I’ve heard about bans targeting Asian foragers in Auckland, New Zealand. While this may not be solely the result of Chinese individuals, I’ve noticed a significant number of users traveling to these places to forage and post boastful videos. Their sheer numbers are enough to form a highly stereotyped demographic; thus, derogatory labels like “Peking Duck” and “Bucket People” have emerged to describe them. As a Chinese citizen, I am deeply ashamed of the actions of my fellow nationals abroad. In addition, I have also seen videos of Chinese tourists foraging in places like the United States and Europe. However, due to strict legal restrictions on such activities in those regions, they tend to be much more restrained… Speaking of laws, I can’t help but feel a deep sense of regret. What I lament is that China has far too few, if any, regulations regarding this. If fisheries authorities cannot even fully curb illegal electrofishing, how can they possibly regulate the chaotic recreational activities of ordinary citizens? This issue is not limited to authorities and short-video platforms; local tourism boards are also actively promoting and encouraging tidal foraging. This influx of uninformed tourists has led to even more profound and long-lasting damage to the coastline. And the destruction continues to this day.
I don’t know what the future holds for China’s coastline, but my only hope is that the fever of chaotic tidal foraging will finally cool down. I wish the same for other trending “outdoor harvesting” crazes, including but not limited to the over-foraging of wild mushrooms, bamboo shoots, wild fruits, edible greens, and orchids.
In just the past six months, videos of these activities have constantly flooded my social media feeds. My deepest, most sincere wish is simply for these creatures and plants to be left in peace… Can it really be that hard to just let them live?
As a Chinese citizen, I do not discriminate against my fellow countrymen, nor do I condemn all Chinese tourists with a broad brush. I love this land deeply. My only wish is that its people will abandon their insatiable and unscrupulous exploitation, learn to love this land in the same way, and live in harmonious coexistence with all the species that share it.