Small, soft, and easy to lose in a bag
Ghost shrimp fail in transit for physical reasons before water reasons. They are small, soft-bodied, and nearly invisible, and a plastic bag that folds, creases, or gets set down carelessly can crush them against its own seams without the carrier ever knowing. A rigid, smooth-sided container is the correct vessel: no corners sharp enough to trap them, no folds to pinch them, and walls you can see through when you count them in and out.
Give them a piece of their own plant or a square of mesh to cling to. A ghost shrimp with a foothold rides calmly; one sliding loose in open water scrambles until it tires. Fill with their tank water, leave air above it, secure the lid, because a startled shrimp can flick itself out of a gap a keeper would swear was too small.
Gathering a colony you can barely see
Count the colony before moving day, in the tank, over a feeding, since that number is the only honest check you will have at the far end. Catch them by guiding each shrimp into a submerged cup or by lifting the plant it sits on, never by pinching or by fast sweeps of a net that they dodge by flicking backwards into the glass.
Keep the container in the cabin, shaded and wedged level, and resist opening it to peer in at services or stops. Ghost shrimp tolerate a steady journey well; what they do not tolerate is repeated tipping, light shocks, and temperature swings from a container carried in and out of a warm car.
Release, then count again
At the new home, let the container's temperature settle against the prepared tank, add small amounts of the new water gradually, then tip the plant and water in gently and let the shrimp walk off their perch themselves. Dim light helps; a newly moved shrimp that freezes in the open is deciding whether it is food for something, and cover within a step or two shortens that fear.
Now count. You will rarely see every shrimp at once in a planted tank, so count over the first feeding rather than in the release minute, and compare with your moving-day number. A missing shrimp is usually a hiding shrimp, but the count is what tells you whether to search the old container and its plant before discarding anything.
The shed skins will alarm somebody
Warn anyone helping that ghost shrimp moult, and a move often triggers a round of moults in the new tank. The empty, glassy shells look exactly like dead shrimp to an unfamiliar eye. A moult is a sign of a shrimp that felt secure enough to grow; judge losses by your count and by living movement, not by shells on the gravel.
Keep the old container's water and plant aside for a day before emptying, in case a stowaway reveals itself with a flicker of movement against the light.
Colony counts and water notes are exactly the details a move scrambles, which is why KinsLe keeps them in its Pet Passport so the ghost shrimp's numbers and conditions are written down at both ends of the journey.