The Quest to Save an Antarctic Kingdom Before It Falls Into Ruin

Stephen King unfurled a map on the hood of a colleague’s car in Winchester, England. Traveling across the countryside, in the middle of World War II, the car’s crankshaft had given out, stranding the pair of crop researchers on the side of a dusty back road. On his map, King carefully began to trace lines with his index finger, looking for a route home. In the distance, a motorcycle roared. 

As the two-wheeler approached, King noticed it was moving at warp speed — and it was entirely horizontal. The driver, an Army dispatch rider, had lost control. The bike came sliding in King’s direction and slammed into the car. He jumped a nearby hedge, avoiding a fatal collision. 

The hedge was so tall King couldn’t climb back over it, so he rushed to a nearby gate and back to where he’d left his map. The dispatch rider’s helmet was full of holes. King stopped a passing car, and shortly after, ambulances arrived on scene. The paramedics offered King a ride home. When he was back in the city, he finally looked down at his gumboots. They were overflowing. 

With his own blood. 

Stephen’s son, Rob King, heard his father tell this story in gripping detail “at least annually.” The crazy part: His father hadn’t actually jumped the hedge. He’d been hit by the bike and thrown over it. The dramatic tale stopped all of King’s children from wanting to own a motorcycle. 

All except Rob King, a krill biologist at the Australian Antarctic Division.

In the world of Antarctic krill, the 6-foot-6 Rob King is a giant — literally and figuratively. 

His fascination with the ocean began on the beaches of Devonport, Tasmania, where he’d play in the water with his siblings. In his youth, he’d built aquariums on his front porch, and his passions carried through to his doctorate, when he turned his attention to Antarctic krill. The crustaceans are one of the most ecologically important species in the Southern Ocean, providing the key source of nutrients for Antarctic megafauna like penguins, whales and seals. Without them, the food chain would collapse. 

In the late 1990s, the task of designing a new $1 million aquarium in Kingston, Tasmania, to house Antarctic krill fell to King unexpectedly. But he was ready. He quickly drew up plans and delivered them to the Australian Antarctic Division. Three years later, King’s doctorate remained incomplete, but the new research facility opened its doors. Within weeks, it began to fill with krill that King had captured while traveling on Australian icebreakers to the frozen south. 

Then King’s life went in the same direction.

His marriage broke down, and, he says, he “lost his mojo.” He’d had his fill of krill and wanted a change. “I did the midlife crisis thing,” he explains. He told his boss Steve Nicol, one of the world’s eminent krill scientists, he was going to quit. Nicol suggested taking a year of leave without pay instead. King wanted to leave for good but begrudgingly accepted the offer. 

He’d reached such a low point that, during his time off, he decided he’d do the one thing…