I didn’t have a particular problem when the canning company switched from sending Scottish-tinned mackerel to sending Polish-tinned mackerel to my mountain valley in Canada. Not right away.

But now I have to rethink. 

It must have been done to save money. Why else would a company change something like that? They’ve got to be saving on labour. 

I think, this is unfortunate, but it has no direct impact on me as a Canadian consumer. Unless… unless... 

Are Polish mackerel less healthy than Scottish mackerel?

I have the idea that the Scottish mackerel came from the North Sea.

And I think, the North Sea is safe, right? Cold and clean. Sort of like the Arctic, only not so far up. And if that’s right, why would the North Sea be less safe off Poland compared to off Scotland? 

Because I live far away, while standing in the grocery store, I forget. 

What Poland touches is the Baltic Sea, not the North Sea. 

And if you peel back the lid on the Baltic Sea, it’s not pretty. 

My initial search results speak of eutrophication, show videos of divers stirring up algal slime. This is like what was happening to a lake I visited when I was a kid, and for some of the same reasons; agricultural run-off, nitrates, too many intensely farmed pigs. I remember the no-swimming notices interrupting weekend plans, the new suspicion with which we waded into the warm shallows after the notices were lifted.

And here we go again, with an internal eye-roll to try and deflect the miseries, more news about how the world is eternally getting worse for everyone and everything and it’s all the adult’s fault, only now I’m one of the adults too.

The Baltic Sea is almost a lake, suffocating. The algae chokes off light, the native eel grass and other vegetation dies, there is less and less oxygen in the water. Since the 1970s, there have been noticeably fewer of the now critically endangered European eel. 

I suspect the legacy of old Soviet industries didn’t do the Baltic much good. Sabotaged natural-gas-carrying pipelines spill. Dioxins and PCB levels are so high in the remaining fish, that Swedish authorities recommend children only eat wild-caught salmon, trout, whitefish and herring from the Baltic three times a year.

I find no mention of mackerel. Perhaps because few mackerel venture into the Baltic. Most mackerel processed in Poland first comes from further west, from the North Sea. (I was, accidentally, right!)

There is a line of foam where the two seas meet, where the two waters of different salinity and temperature touch but remain mostly self-contained. Does human-accelerated climate change threaten their separation? Will the Baltic pollute the North Sea, or the North Sea clean the Baltic? Is the North Sea clean? Cleaner than the Baltic, yes. Clean, no. Nor is the Arctic. 

Underneath the Baltic lies another threat. The weapons of war: dropped, lost, sunk, storm-wrecked. Disintegrating ships. Unexploded and purposefully discarded ordinance, (some chemical) lurk under the waves. Once, throwing these dangers into the ocean where untrusted people couldn’t get at them was a reasonable solution to an immediate problem. 

Now, we have learnt these skeletons of our wars rust and corrode. The lead, mercury, arsenic and TNT they leak create dead zones. The poison accumulates in fish larvae. Tides bury shells under sandy seafloor. Dead zones spread. Solid white phosphorus from incendiary bombs wash loose. Beachcombers mistake the substance for amber and burn.

This isn’t a problem found only in the Baltic. In the southern Pacific, some impoverished islanders risk their lives “harvesting” unexploded ordinance from the shallows, then use it hazardously to “catch” fish – destroying coral reefs and, slowly, their own livelihoods. These old dumping grounds for armaments are found not only in European and Asian waters, but off the United States and Canada, too.

Why is it so hard for us to see?

All I want is some mackerel that I can feel okay about eating.  

I can’t help but wonder what is being done, now, that we, humanity, will regret later.

Those who want to mine the ocean floor admit they haven’t a clue how much damage this might cause. What power is worth that uncertainty and risk? And there is all the plastic, once a miracle of convenience, flowing and circling and finding its way into everything. I’m as guilty of its use as anyone else. 

There is, also, of course, hope. Some of the fisheries in the Baltic are seeing some recovery. Enemies become friends. Germany, still evacuating portions of its cities in order to defuse unexploded bombs (exactly like the ones my grandfather dropped), recently pledged millions to pilot a program that uses robots to recover and decommission underwater weaponry. It’ll take ongoing will and time, but it may be possible to correct some of our mistakes.

I suppose we can only ever do the best we’re able, with the time given, in reaction to what we are most concerned. Otherwise, we’ll never get past deciding what to buy for lunch. Womankind does not live by canned mackerel alone.

We must forgive those who have bent and bruised the world before us. Out of necessity, we too, will, hopefully, ask gratitude and forgiveness for the same, from those who come after us. Progress stumbles on.

Maybe I’m just making excuses.

This canned mackerel I eat? It no longer tastes quite as good to me as it did before, but it still nourishes. 

The recycling bin for my household used to be three-quarters filled, mostly with plastic, by the end of each week. Now, it fills once every two weeks. A small gesture. 

I’ve been told that I might be able to find “jack mackerel” sourced from Chile if I hunt thoroughly through the local shops. The Chilean mackerel fishery is considered by some to be better managed and healthier than that in the North Sea and Atlantic. 

Is it enough? No. What can be enough? We can only do our best. For now, I dive back into the Baltic with my research. To be more precise, into one of the world’s busiest artificial waterways, Germany’s almost 130-year-old Kiel canal, which links the Baltic to the North Sea. 

I expect everything to be dead there. I picture red tides, fish bellies up, seagulls broken on an oily, brackish, industrial shore.     

I learn, to my surprise, this is considered a fresh-water canal, “borrowing” river water, providing flood control to the people who live nearby, making something new as it connects one sea to the other. In the early 1900s, the canal was widened for the first time, to allow for the passage of dreadnought battleships. The oldest bridge, spanning the canal since 1894, will soon be torn down during the canal’s latest expansion, this time in the name of international commerce. 

The southern abutments of the old bridge will be preserved, recognizing an important roosting site for bats. Reptiles sun along the banks of the canal as bicyclists pass under trees. A stranger with an underwater camera films the pink and orange jellyfish that tentacle through murk around tilting pilings. Their fantastic colours astonish me into a smile. They are beautiful. Despite everything, I learn, even here, there is still a thriving life.