(Illustration by Kate Golden)

As an ecologist with the California Coastal Commission, Pausch works in the seam between ecological function and human ambition, guiding development so that it unfolds with an ear to snowy plover nesting seasons, California red-legged frog migrations, tiny refugia tucked beside lawns and seawalls. Life doesn’t wait for permission or perfection; it arrives where it can.

As part of the permitting process that shapes the coast, Pausch reveals the ecological stories whispered by seedheads, puddles, and animal tracks. “I am translating science to decision-makers, essentially,” she says. In a state where natural features sit side-by-side with dense development, undeveloped pockets can be scrappy sanctuaries. A few times a month, Pausch visits places where either some rule has been violated or some new development proposed. What a paper report flattens, the field reveals in full dimension.

“I visited a property owner, and they had this really nice, quiet stream running through their property,” she says. They wanted to build a stage for live music right next to it, with a lighting rig and sound system. The creek-dwellers would have compulsory front-row seats. “It was really fulfilling to point out to them, ‘Hey, take a look at this stream. You have wading birds using it right now. It looks like this is the only place on the property where they’re protected from predators. They’re nesting here. Your property is developed, but there’s open space on either side of it, so this is likely a really important corridor for other animals traveling through the area.’”

Their reaction? “Oh my gosh, I didn’t even think about that.” The creek-owners shifted their plans for the venue. People aren’t trying to get away with anything, most of the time. They just don’t always know what they’ve got. And when they learn that this small wet spot is where life begins, the reaction is nearly always an “oh my gosh.” They’ve just discovered a secret passage in their own garden.

The work follows seasonal rhythms. Rainfall, drought, tides—all influence which species appear on site, and when building can happen. Sensitive plant species are most easily surveyed in spring, when they’re trying to get pollinators’ attention. Sometimes project timelines need tweaking to align with a plant or animal’s life-cycle, a sort of ecological choreography. “People will say, ‘I need to take this tree down,’ and we’ll say, ‘Hey, can you wait until outside of bird nesting season?’”

Can you shore up your seawall after the harbor seal pups leave the beach? Can you build near the monarch grove once the orange hordes have flown off? Pausch is looking for “little golden opportunities that help make this mosaic patchwork of habitat in our cities and towns.” Small interventions, big ripples.

Back at her desk, Pausch fills out her field observations with other evidence: historical imagery, scientific articles, community science data. “I so appreciate everyone who logs into eBird, into iNaturalist, into Calflora, because I use those records,” she says. “These community scientists are incredible botanists, incredible ornithologists.” It all goes into a larger case file on a project’s potential impacts. The environment is just one consideration among public access, view-scape, cultural resources, hazard mitigation, and all the other balls we juggle to balance the coast’s needs. “I’m one small piece of the pie,” Pausch says.

The pie goes to the commissioners, a mix of public appointees and elected officials from the coast. They make the call on what can go where.. 

That’s fine. The intact dunes speak for themselves. The wading birds keep showing up. And somewhere, a grassy pocket shelters the sacred jelly of frog eggs, because someone paused to see who was already living there.

Getting Started

The job: Coastal ecologist for a state agency. 

Essentials: Patience, curiosity, diplomacy,, and adaptability—to keep your footing when the shoreline (literal or political) shifts beneath you. Also, an eye for ecological minutiae. 

Training: Start with an undergraduate science degree like marine biology, environmental science, or ecology. Then keep going. Pausch holds a Ph.D. in ecology and coastal science, but a master’s degree is usually sufficient. Pay: about $78,000–$120,000 per year, based on experience and education level​. Alternatively, you can dabble in environmental regulation, for no money: keep adding your frogs, your flowers, your flycatchers to iNaturalist and eBird; your find might become a data point in Pausch’s next analysis, guiding the fate of some half-wild place.