Growing up on the Nova Scotia coast, the ocean wasn’t a distant concept or a pretty backdrop, it was a constant presence. The sound of waves, the sharp scent of salt air, the tide creeping over the rocks and pulling back again. It shaped my rhythms, my imagination, and eventually, my work in tech.

But today, I worry that we’re losing that connection. For all our technological progress, many communities, especially younger generations, are growing up disconnected from the sea, even when it’s right outside their door. That’s why I believe ocean literacy needs a serious reboot.

It’s time we rethink how we teach people about the ocean not just as scientists or tourists, but as inhabitants. It’s not enough to memorize tide tables or watch documentaries. We need to pair traditional knowledge with digital tools, and ground both in storytelling that speaks to people where they are.

The Ocean Isn’t “Out There”—It’s Right Here

Ocean education often feels abstract, especially if you’re not already part of a maritime community. We talk about sea levels and ecosystems, but we forget to say what that means in someone’s backyard, or how it shows up in the local economy, or why it matters in everyday decisions.

But for coastal communities like the one I was raised in, the ocean is part of our identity. It feeds us, connects us, and yes, sometimes threatens us. You learn early how to read the sky before a storm, how to judge the timing of a tide, or why a full moon means the water might rise faster than you think.

That kind of practical, lived knowledge is powerful. But it often gets sidelined in favor of overly technical, top-down information. In doing so, we’re alienating the very people who could become the strongest advocates for our oceans, if only they saw themselves reflected in the conversation.

Tech Can Help—but It Needs a Human Core

Let me be clear: I love tech. I believe in its potential to bridge gaps, expand access, and inspire curiosity. But too often, we build tools that are impressive but lack emotional resonance.

There are dozens of apps that track tides, marine traffic, and coastal erosion. But very few of them feel personal. They don’t tell stories. They don’t connect data to memory, place, or people. And they’re rarely designed with local communities, let alone by them.

What if we flipped that? What if ocean education was co-created by techies and fishers, elders and students, scientists and surfers? What if a tide chart was paired with a story from a grandparent about the year the dock flooded? Or an AR app let you “walk” through a kelp forest while hearing the names your ancestors gave each plant?

When technology becomes a canvas for storytelling, it becomes a bridge, not just a tool.

Reclaiming and Updating Traditional Knowledge

In many Indigenous and coastal cultures, ocean literacy has always existed, it just wasn’t written down or delivered via slideshow. It was taught through observation, apprenticeship, and oral tradition. You learned by doing, and by listening to those who knew the rhythms of the sea better than any satellite ever could.

But colonization, modernization, and economic shifts have eroded much of that knowledge base and replaced it with generic, often Western-centric models that don’t always fit the local context.

That’s a loss not just of information, but of relationship. We need to reclaim, honor, and update traditional ocean knowledge not as something quaint or obsolete, but as a living, evolving source of insight.

And yes, we can, and should pair it with modern data, digital mapping, and climate modeling. But the goal shouldn’t just be to inform. It should be to reconnect.

Storytelling Is the Missing Ingredient

In my own work, whether it’s designing interfaces, prototyping hardware, or facilitating workshops, I’ve seen time and again that data doesn’t move people, stories do.

When you tell someone that ocean temperatures are rising, they nod. When you tell them about the bay where you used to fish with your uncle, and how that fish disappeared in just ten years—they listen. When you show them how the shoreline looked when they were born versus now, they feel something.

And when people feel something, they act.

That’s why I believe that the future of ocean education needs to be part science, part story, part software. We need to create experiences that spark memory, connection, and wonder not just deliver facts.

Saltwater and Source Code

I think often about what it means to grow up with saltwater in your veins. To know the ocean not just intellectually, but emotionally. It gives you a kind of reverence. A sense of scale. A responsibility.

That’s the kind of ocean literacy I want to help rebuild, not just for kids in Nova Scotia, but for anyone who’s forgotten that we are, quite literally, water-bound creatures.

Whether through apps, augmented reality, podcasts, or neighborhood installations, we have the tools to make ocean knowledge accessible, inclusive, and alive again. But we can’t do it from behind a desk alone. We need to go outside. We need to talk to elders, listen to fishers, collaborate with artists, and meet people where they are.

Because ultimately, we’re not just trying to save the ocean. We’re trying to remember that it’s part of who we are, and that we all have a story to tell about it.