affiliations:
Center for Ecosystem Sentinels, U. Washington, Seattle, WA, USA
biography:
Eric Wagner (BA, MA, PhD) is a Seattle-based biologist, science writer, and communicator whose career bridges rigorous field ecology with an uncommon literary sensibility. Trained at the University of Washington, where he earned a Ph.D. in Biology for research on the behavioral ecology of Magellanic penguins in Argentina, Wagner also holds an M.A. in English—an unusual dual background that informs both his scientific and narrative work. Today he is affiliated with the University of Washington’s Center for Ecosystem Sentinels and the Puget Sound Institute, where he contributes as a research scientist and staff writer, translating complex marine science into accessible insight. His scientific research spans seabirds and forage-fish-dependent ecosystems, with particular attention to climate variability, marine heatwaves, and human impacts on coastal systems. In the Pacific Northwest, he collaborates on long-term studies of Rhinoceros Auklet and Tufted Puffin colonies off Washington, examining how changing ocean conditions alter prey availability and reproductive success—work directly relevant to other seabirds occupying similar trophic niches. His publication record includes peer-reviewed studies on seabird ecology, fisheries interactions, oil pollution, and behavioral dynamics such as mate fidelity, often in collaboration with leading seabird scientists. Beyond formal research, Wagner is widely recognized as an award-winning science writer whose essays have appeared in The Atlantic, Audubon, Smithsonian, and Orion, and who serves as book reviews editor for Marine Ornithology, reflecting a leadership role in shaping discourse within the field. His books—including Penguins in the Desert, After the Blast, and Once and Future River, as well as the seabird-focused Seabirds as Sentinels—blend natural history, conservation science, and narrative, often drawing on work with auklets, puffins, and broader marine ecosystems. Wagner is also deeply engaged in outreach, giving public talks, contributing to regional science platforms, and crafting essays that connect human communities to marine life; his work exemplifies how careful observation, quantitative science, and storytelling together can illuminate the fragile, dynamic world of seabirds and the ocean systems on which they depend.
creative work:
Seabirds as Sentinels
Seabirds as Sentinels (2026), by writer and scientist Eric Wagner, explores how seabirds—especially tufted puffins and rhinoceros auklets— can reveal the changing health of marine ecosystems in the North Pacific. The story centers on research conducted at Destruction Island, a rugged offshore refuge along the Washington coast, and the dedicated scientists who carefully study the seabirds to understand how changing ocean conditions and forage fish diets affect breeding success and survival. When prey shifts to smaller or less suitable species, or when adults struggle to find food, it can indicate deeper ecological disruptions and reveal ecosystem problems before they become obvious to fisheries managers or coastal communities. Wagner’s engaging account shows how these charismatic birds act as early warning systems for the health of the North Pacific Ocean.
An excerpt from “Seabirds as Sentinels”
on catching a Rhinoceros Auklet at night
“The last hint of light leaves. Soon the sky will be dark enough for the auklets, who are themselves waiting so they can fly in without any of the island’s several bald eagles attacking them. Sometimes I see the auklets in the evening, gathering by the dozens, by the hundreds, flying in restless circuits over the water. Their relationship with the island is a study in this difficult balance: to be pulled to it, to hold themselves away from it. “
“Now there is. a heavy whirrrr of wingbeats. “Here they come!” Scott calls out from below. Another whirrrr, and another, one more. The birds sound like tiny helicopters. One whirrs near, arriving at some point only a few yards from me. It seems to stall in the air so it can land, although to say “land” might give it too much credit. Branches snap! as the bird drops into the willows and salmonberry, fighting through before tumbling to the ground and skulking to its burrow. It must have entered; from within I can hear a chick start to peep. Both parents bring fish for their chick, although not like a robin does, stuffing food into a waiting mouth. Instead, once inside a burrow, the parent drops all its fish at the chick’s feet so the chick can dine at its leisure. Fish that are too big for the chick’s small bill it ignores or stomps into the dirt.”
“I settle on my haunches. That last auklet sounded close enough to pursue, but this is not a place for blind lunges. The slope here is steep, the dirt crumbly, the willow branches thick and dry, rough and sharp.”
“More birds fly in. They give the island a living, breathing quality. In the morning, it breathes the birds out, and they all fly away. At night, it breathes them back in, inhales them, and they disappear into their burrows. At last I hear an auklet drop into the bushes right behind-me, hear the light thud as it hits the ground, the faint scritch as it scuttles to its home. When the bird sounds like I could reach out and touch it, I whirl and turn on’ my headlamp, catching it in the beam. The auklet freezes, shocked and erect. A mess of fish dangles from its bill. We stare at each other, the two of us. Before I can react the auklet flings its fish to the ground and leaps at my headlamp, which it takes to be the moon, which means the safety of open sky. It smacks into my face, scrabbles around my neck with its sharp claws and then over my shoulder, hurtling off me to scamper into the dark.”