Singapore’s traditional floating fish farms are disappearing. Meet the farmers battling costs and climate to keep the trade alive.

• Floating fish farms used to be a common sight along Singapore’s coast.
• But now, their numbers are dwindling: As of October, there were 74 sea-based fish farms left, down from 98 in 2023.
• Local farmers say they face high operational costs and cheaper imports from regional competitors.

Once a week, Alvin Yeo hops onto a small, white skiff at Lim Chu Kang jetty and heads out to a farm on the water owned by his dad.

It’s a breezy five-minute journey that takes him past dozens of similar floating farms along the Straits of Johor, which separates Singapore from the neighboring country of Malaysia.

Formed by interlocking planks held together with thick nails and buoyed by floating barrels, these platforms are living relics of the country’s fishing village past.

The sun is harsh on most days, but the water is surprisingly calm, save for the waves created by the passing coastal guard boats patrolling the area. Towering apartment buildings loom in the background, a stark contrast to the weatherworn wooden platforms bobbing in the water.

Yeo’s father — a former civil engineer — has been in the farming industry for almost 30 years, having started a fish farm in the ’90s with his brother out of passion.

“My father is a hobbyist. He likes to rear fish,” Yeo, 35, told Business Insider. “But he’s not exactly a businessman, so the farm wasn’t really making any money.”

For small businesses like theirs, it’s a constant struggle to stay afloat. Amid rising costs, environmental challenges, and a growing reluctance among younger generations to take on the demanding job, traditional farming in Singapore almost feels like a sunset industry.

Yeo is a rare exception.

Dwindling fish farm numbers

Around 2020, Yeo — a freelance musician — decided to join the trade. Together with his father, the duo separated from the original business to start Heng Heng Fish Farm.

Like most traditional farms, the fish are reared in open-net cages lowered directly into the sea.

While his father oversees the farm’s day-to-day operations, Yeo mainly handles the business side of things.

Yeo is also trying to adopt more modern and sustainable techniques to their traditional farm, such as using solar panels for energy and introducing pelleted feed, which pollutes the water less than typical fish feed made from expired confectionary and other food by-products.

“I just felt that I needed to do it because I have feelings for the sea I grew up in. So I didn’t want to see it just deteriorate as years go by,” he said.

Much like street peddlers and traditional villages, the floating fish farms are a part of Singapore’s cultural and economic identity that is rapidly disappearing as the city-state evolves past its fishing village origins.

The country’s “kelongs” — offshore wooden platforms used to trap fish — used to be a common sight along the coast. The government stopped issuing new licenses in 1965.

Now, there are only four “kelongs” left in Singapore.

“With the dwindling catch from the wild and increasing cost of raw materials for maintenance of the ‘kelong,’ ‘kelong’ owners also saw the need to move toward fish farming as a viable commercial operation,” the Singapore Food Agency, or SFA, told BI in a statement, adding that some of them have transitioned to coastal fish farms over the years.

Many locals still refer to these floating fish farms as “kelongs,” even though they’re not quite the same thing, Yeo said.

Fish farms are dwindling in numbers too, even as the resource-scarce country inches toward the deadline for its “30 by 30” goal — an initiative set by the Singapore government to be able to produce 30% of its nutritional needs by 2030.

Tough to beat prices from regional competitors

According to SFA data, there were 74 sea-based fish farms left in Singapore as of October, down from 98 at the end of 2023. This means about a quarter of these farms have shuttered in the past year.

Some farmers told the local paper The Straits Times that they had between June 2023 and June 2024 to take up a grant of 100,000 Singapore dollars, or $74,500, from the SFA to help them wind down operations. Those who had accepted the grant cited high costs, environmental conditions, and retirement as reasons for exiting the industry. The SFA did not share with BI the number of farmers who accepted the grant.

“To be competitive in the market, you have to be cheaper than imports. But it’s hard to fight the cost of imports, especially from places like China, Indonesia, and Malaysia,” Yeo said.

The cost of running a business in Singapore tends to be higher compared to neighboring countries, Kevin Cheong, an adjunct lecturer at the Singapore Management University who recently co-authored a study on sustainable fish farming in Singapore, told BI.

“Electricity costs, land costs, labor costs, all these things stack up against the consumer,” Cheong said. “Primary production in Singapore, essentially agriculture, would be very challenging.”

In Yeo’s farm, the tilapia he grows can be harvested in six months. At the current scale of his production, he can harvest 12 batches of around 7,000 fish each in a year.

Since the floating farms are made from wood, their structure requires regular upkeep — and a metric ton of Chengal wood can cost up to SG$4,000, Yeo said.

“We don’t really earn much. At the end of the day, it’s just enough to keep the farm running,” Yeo said.

A challenging environment

Beyond cost constraints, farmers are bogged down by the effects of the climate crisis.

Rising temperatures can lead to a higher incidence of disease outbreaks and algae blooms, Toh Tai Chong, a senior lecturer at the Reef Ecology Lab at the National University of Singapore, told BI.

Algae blooms are deadly for fish because they deplete the oxygen in the water and cause widespread fish death, he added.

“Open-pen sea-based farms are particularly susceptible because the fishes are reared in the natural environment, which is almost impossible to regulate,” he said.

Farmers, in turn, have to grapple with worsening conditions.

“In my dad’s era, fish didn’t really have to be taken care of,” Yeo said, gesturing at the bags of fish pellets behind him. “You could simply feed them till they got big, then sell them. But now, you have to feed and raise them.”

Dean Jerry, an aquaculture professor who teaches at James Cook University’s Singapore and Australian campuses, told BI that to cope with the changing environment, sea-based fish farmers have to rear more hardy species or invest in aquaculture technologies.

Many of these solutions are focused on closed-cage containment so farmers have more control over the environment, he said.

The challenge is compounded by the fact that most sea-based farms don’t have mains power, he said. This means farmers will end up incurring extra costs installing diesel generators or solar panels to run these systems, he added.

“It’s very, very costly to implement any sort of technological solutions because a lot of technological solutions will require power,” he said.

The challenging nature of the job seems to have discouraged younger locals from stepping up to continue the trade.

Yeo, who only knows of one other farmer around his age, has two employees — a husband and wife duo from Myanmar who work and sleep on the floating farm.

“Local help is just impossible to get,” he said.

Efforts to stay afloat

To help farmers sustain their businesses, the local government has stepped in with plans to overhaul the aquaculture sector.

In November, the government announced its Singapore Aquaculture Plan. Some new initiatives include increasing the supply of locally produced, genetically superior eggs and facilitating the exports of local fish to China.

“Our fish farms, as part of local production, cushion us from overseas supply disruptions and complement our efforts to diversify import sources of seafood,” said Damian Chan, the CEO of SFA, per a media release.

The SFA told BI in a statement that farmers who are keen to increase their farms’ productivity can rely on the SFA for advice and funding support for technology adoption.

On the other hand, the Singapore government will support those who choose to exit the industry by providing job-matching and training initiatives, it said.

Despite uncertainties about the aquaculture industry, some young farmers are finding alternate ways to stay afloat. Wong Jing Kai, who left his marketing job a decade ago to run Ah Hua Kelong, is one of them.

“Farming is considered a sunset industry,” said Wong, 35. “Nobody wants to do it. So I’m like, if people don’t do, I’ll do it then.”

But instead of being a wholesaler and pitting himself against more competitive imports, Wong opened Scaled — a seafood restaurant — and a fish soup hawker stall, to move his fish stock.

He can support his farm by supplying his own fish to his eateries, he said. “My plan is to have five fish soup stores and three to four restaurants on land. Then, I think we’re more or less covered,” he said.

Others, like Yeo, believe that the industry will survive as long as local consumers become more receptive to eating local fish.

“Of course, I hope to grow the business and be in this industry for a long time,” he said. He hopes to have a high-tech fish farm one day — ideally on land, where conditions are less unpredictable.

“I take each day as it comes,” he added.