Anya Stajner: Choosing Marine Science
Anya at Monterey Bay Aquarium in the early 2000s.
After being told to by my father, I peeled my face off of the cool glass of the kelp forest exhibit at the Monterey Bay Aquarium. That being the first moment my eyes broke away from the majesty in the water, I was able to notice the little infographics that lined the tank for the first time. “Giant kelp can grow up to ten inches a day,” I read. Little did I know that this would be my catchphrase for the next 15 years of my life. Trading trivia-- “giant kelps grows ten inches a day”; a lull in conversation-- “giant kelp grows ten inches a day”; trying to impress a date--”giant kelps grows ten inches a day”. I may not have known it when I scribbled my new favorite fact into my self-proclaimed “Marine Biology Journal”, but becoming a marine biologist was a childhood dream that I would one day fulfill.
Anya’s first “Marine Biology Journal”.
There were two times in my life that I knew I would be a marine biologist. The first time was post-discovery of my favorite fun fact, on a family trip to SeaWorld when I was nine. I guess something about those (unbeknownst to me) abused whales and dolphins really did it for me (1). After seeing a campy show where these smart cetaceans were made to clap and jump for my entertainment, I felt an intense pull from the core of my being dictating that I needed to get closer to these animals. I asked my dad how and he told me to be a marine biologist. Hence, I decided I would become one.
The second time I knew I would be a marine biologist came ten years later (and yes, by then I had learned that the only qualifications for being a dolphin trainer meant being a peppy teen in San Diego, not having a higher degree of any sort). Between the first time I decided I would study marine science and the next, my life had changed drastically. For starters I was an engineering student the next time I made this decision. When I was 19 I had just started at the University of California, Davis working towards my mechanical engineering degree. A degree I picked out of what I felt was feministic obligation and a chance to show all the boys in my classes that I was just as good if not better at math than they were, the only boxes engineering truly checked for me were my ego and my employability after college. At that time I was dealing with a slough of mental health struggles--not just because of engineering, but pursuing a major I wasn’t passionate about sure didn’t help. With this in mind, it should come as no surprise that winter quarter of my freshman year I let my head get turned by an introduction to biological oceanography course. I told myself I was just taking it as an elective--though it wasn’t going to fulfill any major requirements my engineering courses didn’t already--but I knew that it was really to revive some semblance of the child within me who still yearned to spend her days happily absorbing everything there is to know about our ocean.
As you probably connected, it was this biological oceanography course that brought me to know for that second and arguably more meaningful time that I would become a marine biologist. From day one I was undeniably immersed, never fully satiated. I wanted more knowledge on ocean acidification, more information about harmful algal blooms, and, most desperately, a role in saving my beloved marine life from its biggest threat of all--humans. Seeing figures like the keeling curve (a graph that plots CO2 levels in our atmosphere starting in 1958) made me realize how serious climate change already is. Adding on knowledge about ocean circulation and arctic sea ice, I began to see the ocean as a puzzle. Something that if I knew enough about, I could eventually save. This amazing and informative course taught by Professor Tessa Hill at UC Davis, revealed the ocean as a legitimate area of study to me, no longer just something to ogle at. I changed majors and was fueled with excitement-- happiness even.
Now my story isn’t all romantic, as I made the conscious decision to transfer into a more challenging discipline to break into post-grad than engineering; but on days I feel discouraged I think back on my story and feel invigorated. I remind myself that being a driven student brought me to participate in novel research and even lead my own research projects. I think about my days sorting through zooplankton under a microscope and watching Horseshoe Cove out of the lab window; I think about days in the sun speeding across the Mediterranean on a zodiac, searching for dolphins; and I think about sitting in the library crunching numbers and learning to code, slightly less irritated by the struggle because I was so keen on finding an answer. I can’t wait to do more of that. Two research talks, co-authoring a manuscript, and one bachelor’s of science degree later and I’m applying to graduate school to continue my journey. I’m excited moving forward at the prospects of eventually finding a lab to do my Ph.D. in and expanding on the knowledge I’ve been so enthusiastically collecting. I’m excited, even more so, to make sure that all my future fellow lab members know that giant kelp can grow up to ten inches a day (2, 3).
Anya cheekily showing off a sea star in Horseshoe Cove her senior year of undergrad.
Works Cited
Ebenhack, Photograph by Phelan M. “Orcas Don't Do Well in Captivity. Here's Why.” National Geographic, 9 Apr. 2019, www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/2019/03/orcas-captivity-welfare/.
Anya Stajner. “Facts.” Marine Biology Journal. 2003.
3. Monterey Bay Aquarium. “Giant Kelp.” Montereybayaquarium.org,
ww.montereybayaquarium.org/animals/animals-a-to-z/giant-kelp.