The silver shimmer of the sea. Pilchards are small. They rarely grow longer than a hand. But they travel in schools so dense that they turn the water black from above. This is a defence mechanism. A predator cannot pick out a single fish in a crowd of millions. They are the living glitter of the ocean surface. A fish that hides in numbers. Filter-feeders with tiny mouths. Pilchards swim with their mouths open. They strain microscopic plankton and algae from the water using fine, comb-like gill rakers. This makes them a direct link between the sun's energy and the rest of the food web. Everything eats pilchards. Kahawai, kingfish, gannets, penguins, seals and even the giant baleen whales that visit the coasts. A fish that feeds the ocean. The pilchard is also the fish that Kiwis do not eat but probably should. It is cheap, sustainable and packed with healthy oils. But it has a strong, fishy flavour that turns off modern palates. Most of the pilchards caught in New Zealand are turned into fishmeal. Or they are used as bait for lobster pots. A fish that is more useful dead than eaten. To eat a pilchard is to eat like grandparents did. Fried whole, crispy and salty. Served on toast with a squeeze of lemon. It is the forgotten fish. The one that feeds the ocean but barely feeds the people. The mohimohi was a vital food source for Māori. They caught them using large fine-mesh nets. Or they attracted them with fires lit on the beach at night. The school swirls beneath the surface. Millions of silver bodies turn as one. The net comes down. The pilchards are hauled aboard. They are destined for the fishmeal plant or the lobster pot. They do not know they are forgotten. They just swim.