Tracking Predators. Became One
Forty-three pings in six months. That's how many times Contender surfaced, sent his location, disappeared again into the Atlantic. I know because I've been watching every single one.
Started in January—1,653 pounds of pure instinct heading wherever great whites go when they're not performing for our satellites. Florida to North Carolina to Nantucket. A thousand miles of purposeful movement while I sit here, still in the same lab chair, still refreshing the tracker app like it holds answers.
My advisor calls it 'important migration data.' I call it watching something that knows exactly where it belongs while I'm 32 years old, same age as Contender, with no idea what I'm doing. He gets tagged once and moves with certainty. I get tagged with a PhD program and spend three years circling the same failed hypothesis.
The irony isn't lost on me. I'm studying apex predators while feeling like prey—hunted by deadlines, stalked by imposter syndrome, bleeding slowly from a thousand small rejections. Contender surfaces when he needs air. I haven't come up for breath in months.
Every ping reminds me: some things are built to hunt. Others just track from a distance, hoping the data explains why they're still here.
#Science #LabBurnout #MarineBiology
