Up and down the west coast of North America, countless numbers of starfish are dying. The affliction, known as Sea Star Wasting Syndrome, is already being called the biggest die-off of sea stars in recorded history, and we're still in the dark as to what's causing it or what it means. It remains an unsolved scientific mystery. The situation is also shaping up as a case study of an unsung scientific opportunity: the rise of citizen science and exploration.

The sea star condition was first noticed by Laura James, a diver and underwater videographer based in Seattle. As they began washing up on the shore near her home with lesions and missing limbs, she became concerned and notified scientists. Similar sightings started cropping up all along the West Coast, with gruesome descriptions of sea stars that were disintegrating in a matter of days, and populations that had been decimated. As scientists race to understand what's happening, they've enlisted the help of amateurs like James, to move faster. Pete Raimondi's lab at UC Santa Cruz has created the Sea Star Wasting Map, the baseline for monitoring the issue, to capture the diverse set of contributors and collaborators.

The map is one of many new models of citizen-powered science–a blend of amateurs and professionals, looking and learning together–that are beginning to emerge. Just this week, NASA endorsed a group of amateur astronomers to attempt to rescue a vintage U.S. spacecraft. NASA doesn't have the money to do it, and this passionate group of citizen scientists can handle it.

David Lang About David Lang is the co-founder of OpenROV, a DIY community of amateur and professional robot builders with a passion for exploring the ocean.

Unfortunately, the term "citizen science" is terrible. It's vague enough to be confusing, yet specific enough to seem exclusive. It's too bad, too, because the idea of citizen science is thrilling. I love the notion that I can participate in the expanding pool of human knowledge and understanding, even though the extent of my formal science education is a high school biology class. To me, it seemed a genuine invitation to be curious. A safe haven for beginners. A license to explore.

Not everyone shares my romantic perspective, though. If you ask a university researcher, they're likely to explain citizen science as a way for the public to contribute data points to larger, professionally run studies, like participating in the galaxy-spotting website Zooniverse or taking part in the annual Christmas Bird Count with the Audubon Society. It's a model on the scientific fringes; using broad participation to fill the gaps in necessary data.

There's power in this diffuse definition, though, as long as new interpretations are welcomed and encouraged. By inviting and inspiring people to ask their own questions, citizen science can become much more than a way of measuring bird populations. From the drone-wielding conservationists in South Africa to the makeshift biolabs in Brooklyn, a widening circle of participants are wearing the amateur badge with honor. And all of these groups–the makers, the scientists, the hobbyists–are converging to create a new model for discovery. In other words, the maker movement and the traditional science world are on a collision course.

The maker movement and the traditional science world are on a collision course.

To understand the intersection, it helps to know where each of those groups is coming from.

MAKERS

The maker movement is an easy chart to plot. Over the past few years, it's become increasingly clear that makers are not slowing down. They're busy rewriting the rules of manufacturing and production. Fueled by digital fabrication tools, crowdfunding platforms, and the falling costs of sensors, microcontrollers and miniature linux computers, they're making everything imaginable. If the market size is greater than one, it's safe to assume that someone, somewhere will be taking on the challenge of making it. And when they take aim, the results are usually an order of magnitude drop in cost (see: drones, 3D Printers, phonesats, et al). The same research tools that used to require a hefty grant from the National Science Foundation are quickly becoming off-the-shelf parts. An exciting trend that shows no signs of slowing.

HOBBYISTS

Then there's the analogue hobbyists: the birders, the sidewalk astronomers, the native-wildlife gardeners. Amateurs in the deepest sense of the word. Whatever their systems lack in technical sophistication, they more than make up for in enthusiasm and coordinated participation. For example, the Audubon's Christmas Bird Count, which started in the year 1900, annually draws thousands of contributors over the course of the month-long event, with sightings numbering in the tens of millions. That data becomes essential to ornithology research. Throw in a smartphone and invite them to identify any species, all year long, and you've got iNaturalist, an easy-to-use digital interface that channels the enthusiasm into foundational ecology data. That’s just one of dozens of apps that are are turning your smartphone into the connected field journal of the 21st Century.

SCIENTISTS

On the other side of the fence, scientists and researchers are looking for any advantage they can find. The federal budget sequestration was hard on everyone, especially science. And even though there was a slight easing of the expected cuts, the writing is on the wall: expect to do more with less. This doesn't bode well for the swelling number of researchers stuck in post doc purgatory whose career prospects were already facing dismal odds.

There's also the quiet reality that science is growing a collective blind spot in regards to public communication. Over the past 30 years, the place of science in the public discourse of America has evolved into a privileged background discussion. Many scientists know they need to bridge the various cultural divides (see: climate science, ocean science, et el.) but lack the resources, time or skills to do so. Citizen science offers a glimmer of hope. By including anyone and everyone in the process, the method becomes the message.

Over the past 30 years, the place of science in the public discourse of America has evolved into a privileged background discussion.

What happens when these forces collide?

We've seen glimpses of what's coming, and we know it's going to be a weird, feral form of science. But it's something that can't be ignored. A businessman turned renegade geoengineer conducts massive "ocean fertilization" experiments off the coast of Canada, an untrained Ukrainian teen makes an unsuspecting deep ocean discovery by scouring videos on Youtube, a group from a community biolab raises nearly half a million dollars to create a glowing plant. It's not a question of if, but what next?

How these trends ultimately play out will be our decision. The potential is for both faster and slower science. It won’t work for every field of study. But for any research that also hopes to inform and educate humans to make better decisions, especially about our planet’s ecology, it’s a substantial improvement. It’s more than just data. It’s people. As WIRED’s Senior Maverick, Kevin Kelly, explained recently, the “general public” are no longer the consumers of the answers, rather the agents of the questions.

Questions become currency and science becomes the great conversation. Just in time, the dialogue expands to include a wider audience. Here come the citizen scientists and a new, golden age for exploration. It's curiosity gone wild.

Editor: emily_dreyfuss@wired.com