The founding figure—a Department of Defense NASA physicist turned conservationist—left her field after witnessing how truth could be compromised within it. Yet from that experience came a renewed commitment to uphold integrity in every pursuit. Grounded in science, art, and philosophy, her perspective continues to guide the Society’s core principle: that conservation without integrity holds no meaning.

Out of that disillusionment came a change in direction—guided by Wolfgang, who helped reframe what exploration could mean. He reminded the founder that the ocean was, in many ways, more mysterious than space and closer to home.

For someone raised on an island, descended from generations who had lived along the coasts of the Philippines, the sea had long been taken for granted—reduced to scenery, softened into tourism, and stripped of its original awe. Its vastness had been forgotten until disillusionment made room for wonder again.

Seeing the ocean anew through Wolfgang’s eyes revealed that what feels ordinary is often the most extraordinary, and that the greatest mysteries do not always lie beyond the stars but at our feet.

This rediscovery shaped how the Wagenknecht Society was built. We are modeled after historic societies, not marketing-driven NGOs. That means a focus on accuracy, integrity, and timeless stewardship—science as both truth and responsibility, not as branding.

Unlike groups that drop in for a season and move on, we’re rooted here. The Society’s founders come from families that have lived beside these coasts for over a century. Our roots are literally in the sand—and that means our commitment isn’t temporary. It’s home, and it’s for the long haul.

As she began piecing together fragments from reef-keepers’ forums and more than a hundred scientific papers, what emerged was not another web of ego-driven debates, but a clear, practical record of marine aquarium care—an organized account of knowledge that had never been written down cleanly before.

The blog she started, Hermy and Stripey, soon became a resource for marine hermit crab care, drawing a steady stream of visitors who continued to return for three years, even without new updates.

At first, she wasn’t planning to go further. Too many people laughed at hermit crabs—even those who claimed to love animals—and she wanted to protect their integrity by keeping them out of the spotlight. She turned her focus to her jewelry work, carrying a long-term vision of one day returning its success to science.

But her first readers weren’t simply being polite. They followed up, asked questions, and showed genuine care. Patricia, her cousin, and Yuxin, her friend, reminded her that even if the wider public remained unaware, there were those who understood. Their encouragement—and Stripey’s story—proved that the record she was keeping mattered, not only to her but to others who had been searching for the same truth.

Still, a question remained: what came next? She was no diver like Wolfgang; she was a pilot-in-training. And after a near accident at her family’s beach in 1996—when she was only four—her family had limited her time by the sea. Years later, after moving from California to South Florida, hermit crabs appeared at her feet. It felt less like coincidence and more like return. The ocean had been calling her all along.

After Angelica began piecing together fragments from reef-keepers’ forums and more than a hundred scientific papers, what emerged was not another tangle of ego-driven debates on dated forums, but a neat, practical record of marine aquarium care—documenting what had never been written down cleanly before.

Her blog, Hermy and Stripey, became a resource for marine hermit crab care—with a steady stream of visitors returning to it and to her Instagram page for three years, even without new updates.

At first, she wasn’t going to do anything more. Too many people laughed at hermit crabs—even those who claimed to love dogs and cats—and she wanted to protect the integrity of the creatures by keeping them out of the spotlight. She turned her focus to her jewelry business, with the long-term vision of one day funneling its success back into science.

But her first Instagram followers weren’t just being polite. They followed up, asked questions, and showed they truly cared. Patricia, her cousin, and Yuxin, her friend, encouraged her that even if the general public was uneducated or unwilling to understand, there were people who did. Their encouragement, along with Stripey’s backstory, reminded her that the record she was keeping mattered—not just for herself, but for others too.

And yet, there was still the question: what came next? She was no diver like Wolfgang. She was a pilot-in-training. And after a near accident at her family’s beach in 1996—when she was only four years old—her family limited her visits to the sea. Years later, after moving from California to South Florida, hermit crabs arrived at her feet. It felt less like chance and more like pursuit. The ocean had been chasing her all along.

She came to see that the ocean had not just chased her; it had trained her. Every life in her care depended on balances so fine most people never noticed—balances that could collapse overnight if neglected.

At the same time, she was adjusting to life in South Florida while longing for California. For a neurodivergent mind, change required energy she never had to spare. As a black-and-white thinker, this was her breaking point.

What others once called “too much” or “too detailed” became, in the aquarium, the very difference between life and death. Angelica began vetting marine products marketed to the public and to researchers, uncovering how fragile systems could be when precision was ignored.

For her, living with ADHD and autism, the ocean became a tutor. It taught her that survival was never about perfection. It was about balance—delicate, persistent, unseen. The same balance that sustained her crabs was the balance she needed to sustain herself.

Her path was joined by two others:

• Wolfgang, a former German Navy mine-clearance diver trained for the most rigorous and unforgiving tasks underwater. He became the Society’s strength—the muscle and endurance that ground vision in discipline and action.

• Marc, a Silicon Valley software engineer and pilot, whose mentorship formed the “brains behind the founder.” He represents clarity, systems, and steadiness, ensuring that ideals are matched with precision and execution.

Together, these perspectives—moral compass, muscle, and mind—built the Wagenknecht Society not as another conservation brand, but as a corrective force.

In the end, Angelica realized that every path she took—through physics, through the West, through disillusionment—kept returning her to the islands she had left behind, to the seaside town where her grandparents lived, where her family’s roots ran deep in the sand. What she had been searching for in distant places had been waiting for her all along, at home.

Dr. Machel Malay and Dr. Gizelle Batolomaque of the University of the Philippines, Marine Science Institute

July of the University of the Philippines Bolinao Marine Lab

Uncle Willy and Cousin Alexis and April
Pat and Frank and Lori
Yuxin, Angelique, Liezl, and Charity