I did not grow up thinking I would help restore marine life.
I just liked being in the water.
My first open water dive at Catalina Island changed that. Not because the kelp was beautiful, but because I learned it had almost disappeared. The towering forest I drifted through during my Junior Open Water Diver certification was the result of nearly a decade of restoration work led by volunteers, students and a local marine biologist, Capt. Nancy Caruso.
At the time, I didn’t know her name.
I didn’t know she would later guide my first research project.
I only knew the ocean felt alive in a way I couldn’t yet explain.
That day, the visibility started low. Kelp fronds swayed like curtains around me. I remember adjusting my buoyancy, hoping the skills I had practiced so many times in a pool would hold up out here, where everything felt bigger.
Then the haze opened.
A giant seabass appeared, slow and unhurried. It didn’t rush, and neither did I. For a moment, the entire ocean narrowed to the steady rhythm of breathing.
That was when I understood the ocean wasn’t just scenery.
It was a place shaped and protected by people who cared enough to bring it back.
Discovering That Conservation Isn’t Always Where You Expect
I kept diving, letting curiosity pull me to new places. In Raja Ampat, I earned my Junior Advanced Open Water Diver and Enriched Air (Nitrox) Specialty Diver certification with Papua Diving, a PADI Five-Star Dive Center. Their ReShark conservation team showed me how they shine a light through zebra shark eggs, sent to them from all over the world, to monitor developing hatchlings. It was a simple but brilliant technique that made restoration feel creative, delicate and global.
Still, Catalina stayed with me. It was the first place that taught me that conservation isn’t abstract.
It is something you can swim through.
Something you can feel.
And without realizing it, that dive set the path for the project I’m working on today.
The Unexpected Turn Toward Pismo Clams
For a long time, I thought conservation meant coral nurseries or tagging sharks. So when I first reached out to Capt. Nancy, I asked a predictable question:
“How can I help with coral research in Southern California?“
Her reply was immediate and characteristically direct:
“California doesn’t need coral restoration. It needs Pismo clams.”
That shifted everything.
I had unknowingly contacted the scientist responsible for restoring the kelp forest that shaped my first dive. And instead of pointing me toward a charismatic species, she pointed me toward one most divers never think about: Pismo clams, once abundant, now struggling to recover.
No documentaries
No postcards
No mascots
Just a quiet species that filters water, stabilizes sand and has been declining for decades.
Working with Capt. Nancy revealed what conservation really looks like behind the scenes. There were no polished instructions. It took nearly three years before her team successfully spawned Pismo clams in captivity. Progress came through small experiments, close observation and a willingness to try again.
Learning How To Support Life Beneath the Sand
Pismo clams spend most of their lives buried under sand. Sand isn’t just their home: it gives them stability, pressure and protection. But raising clams in hatcheries using real sand would be messy and hard to maintain.
A study in Mexico revealed something important: clams don’t need sand itself; they need the gentle pressure sand provides. With the proper support, they can thrive in a sediment-free system. That insight opened the door to more accessible restoration.
Here in California, the Ocean Institute team tested different approaches to recreate that pressure. Rubber bands proved too tight. Donut-shaped holders were too loose. Then, unexpectedly, a ninth grader brought in a toy taco holder. The simple V-shape provided just enough support. A clam survived for 13 months.
It wasn’t a permanent solution.
But it proved pressure matters more than sediment.
My role is now to prototype a device that gives clams the support they need while being scalable for hatcheries. With support from Caltech’s Kerckhoff Marine Lab, I study how clams respond to different-shaped holes and materials by tracking their survivability over time. It is quiet work, steady work, the kind that makes you pay attention.
And it has changed how I see the ocean.
Why Young Divers Matter
I used to think conservation was something only experts did. Now I know students can be part of it long before they feel “ready.” Curiosity is enough to start.
Young divers can survey local beaches, ask questions about the species they notice, volunteer with community scientists, track changes in species over time or support organizations already restoring our coastlines. Capt. Nancy’s non-profit, Getinspiredinc.org, works with classrooms and volunteers across Southern California, and projects like these grow stronger when young divers join in.
My hope is that every young diver finds something underwater that feels worth protecting. Once that happens, we will all see the ocean differently, not as a place we visit but as a place we help shape.
That is what Catalina gave me.
That is what Pismo clams are teaching me.
And that is why I dive.
Ready To Begin Your Own Journey?
Find your nearest PADI Dive Center and begin your certification. Or, become a PADI Torchbearer and join a global community restoring our ocean.
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Cooper is a PADI Junior AmbassaDiver and a PADI Junior Rescue Diver who has explored California’s kelp forests, Laguna Beach and the vibrant coral reefs of Raja Ampat. Through his developing platform Nomadiq Scholars, he hopes to inspire other students to connect travel and science with hands-on learning and ocean stewardship.
