The common thread found on the edges of the earth

Written by Andi Cross: Edges of Earth Collective - Expeditionist, Strategist, Writer

Growing up with a dream of becoming an ocean explorer — Húsavík, Iceland.  © Marla Tomorug

Growing up, I was captivated by the idea of becoming an ocean explorer. I read stories of fearless adventurers sailing the high seas, discovering uncharted territories, documenting unknown species, and returning with tales no one could rival. They lived on the water, and were able to capture its movements with an almost supernatural instinct. I had always wondered what it must have been like to be a part of this bygone era, when the world wasn’t as connected as it is today. But even so, I couldn’t escape one glaring logistic of my fantasy. I wondered if any women had lived in such a way. The stories I read only ever depicted men in that coveted role of the explorer.

This vision of mine, fuelled by an overactive imagination, unfortunately felt entirely out of reach. I was a suburban-gone-city girl, born and raised. And while the New York and New Jersey shores weren’t far, I never had the chance to take the adventurous risks that seemed to shape the foundation of any “true” explorer. Many of the stories I read portrayed explorers as people destined for this life from birth—capable of pursuing this one thing. The idea of becoming this felt like a distant fantasy. Something perhaps defined not only by my own limitations and preconceived notions, but also by the reality that I didn’t see a clear path for women in exploration. 

So, I chose a path that felt more accessible: a traditional one. I threw myself into the corporate world and became a Manhattan-based strategist. My days were consumed by skyscrapers, subway rides, late nights, and endless deadlines. As I climbed the corporate ladder, the dream of becoming an ocean explorer faded further into the background as many childhood fantasies do.

But as social media exploded during my post-college years, I began to see women embodying the role I’d always imagined for ocean explorers.

They were diving effortlessly into the depths as if they themselves were part of the underwater worlds they explored.

These women seemed to share an innate bond with water—a connection I assumed could only come from a lifetime spent alongside it. In my mind, they must have grown up surfing unshaken by waves, master freedivers harvesting sustainably from the sea’s nooks and crannies, and expert swimmers capable of saving lives in the harshest conditions. The more I consumed the content of these “ocean women,” the more I idolised them.

Meeting heroes in ocean conservation and exploration, like Jill Henerth—Ottawa, Canada. © Adam Moore

They documented their journeys, showcasing what was possible when ingenuity, athleticism, and conservation met in the water. For the first time, ocean exploration felt less dominated by men and far more inclusive than the stories I’d read growing up in the late ’80s. While I spent my days in a concrete jungle—where “diving” typically entailed downing shots at cheap bars—these women were truly out in the wild.

Yet, as their stories filled my mind, one question persisted within me: is ocean exploration really so out of reach for someone like me?

By the time I’d accumulated a decade of gruelling yet defining work experience, I finally felt I had something to offer—something that could connect me to these women, despite our vastly different worlds. I wasn’t a diver, surfer, or conservationist, but I was a strategist, a communicator, and someone who could amplify their voices. So, I reached out to my newfound heroes—the legends of ocean science and conservation I’d admired from afar. To my surprise, all it took was asking for them to invite me into their wild worlds.

The long path of becoming a professional scuba diver with SSI—Espiritu Santo, Vanuatu. © Marla Tomorug

Working with some of the most accomplished ocean women in the world, each leading their own impactful nonprofits, felt like a dream come true. At first, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was sneaking into a space I didn’t belong in. My goal was to get close to them, absorb their wisdom, and experience the ocean through their stories rather than my own.

But over time, my perspective shifted. Maybe I didn’t need to stay on the sidelines, experiencing the ocean through someone else’s lens. These women—who grew up by the sea, became marine biologists, and learned to scuba dive in their teens—were as inspiring as I had imagined. But their journeys also opened my eyes to something I hadn’t dared to consider: I didn’t have to be an observer—I could get into the water myself.

Embracing risk and stepping out of comfort zone to better understand water—Matanuska Glacier, Alaska. © Adam Moore

And this realisation was both liberating and terrifying. It challenged everything I thought I knew about being an ocean explorer: the background you needed, the career path you were supposed to follow, and the qualifications that seemed like prerequisites. It forced me to confront my self-doubt and ask the hard question: how badly do you want this? As a non-swimming, highly unathletic, city-dweller with zero wilderness skills, the answer didn’t come easily. But one thing became clear: it was time to face this head-on, to blend my passion with my profession and maybe, discover some sense of purpose along the way. 

Sparked by an overwhelming curiosity, I set out on this mission. Supporting ocean women from the sidelines was no longer enough—I needed to experience the water firsthand. I wanted to feel it, explore it, and understand it in the way they did. My journey began with a feeble attempt at scuba diving in the dark green waters of a community pool on the Lower East Side. Surrounded by screaming kids in fluorescent floaties and their exhausted parents chasing them, I began my open-water training. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a start.

Becoming a sponsored diver with Scubapro and SSI—Perth, Western Australia. © Adam Moore

Just a few months later, I was boarding a 30-hour, one-way flight to Western Australia, ready to immerse myself in one of the world’s most raw and untamed coastlines. No better way to acclimatise than diving straight into one of the hardest conditions imaginable, right? There, amidst wild waves and rugged ocean beauty, a genuine metamorphosis began. The next five years were spent asking the same hard question—how badly do you want this?—over and over, taking every plunge that came my way. No matter how far it pushed me from my comfort zone.

Eventually, by the skin of my teeth, I became a professional diver—all while maintaining my full-time corporate career from over 18,000 kilometres away. Living this complete dual-life revealed something I hadn’t fully understood before: connecting to water doesn’t follow any sort of traditional path. This was my version of the journey, and I realised it was just as valid as those of the women who grew up by the sea and dedicated their entire lives to it—be it through nonprofit work, academia, or a life of scuba diving itself. 

Diving the Red Sea on the Edges of Earth Expedition—Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. © Marla Tomorug

And this realisation sparked an even bigger idea: what if I embarked on a global expedition to meet water women from every corner of the world? Women of all ages, ethnicities, experiences, and professions, united by their shared connection to water—but who had followed paths that were anything but linear.

I wanted to meet as many water women as possible—women whose lives were shaped by the sea, rivers, or lakes they held dear. Across every culture I’ve encountered, the ocean has been a source of identity, a keeper of traditions, and a thread that ties people to their heritage and their future. It didn’t matter if these women I'd encounter were surfers, sailors, divers, fisherwomen, or something else entirely. What mattered was our shared water bond. A connection I believed could transcend backgrounds, experiences, and geography.

And so, the multi-year expedition called Edges of Earth was born, taking us to some of the most remote and remarkable places on the planet. Spanning all seven continents, our mission was clear and simple: to meet and celebrate women whose unconventional stories of finding their way to the water so often go untold.

Connecting with water women all around the world—Gizo, Solomon Islands. © Marla Tomorug

After 20 months on the expedition and nearly 40 countries travelled, the individuals I’ve met on the water’s edges have shattered every preconceived notion I had about exploration, conservation, and what it means to be connected to the water. Many of the most exceptional women I’ve encountered, like me, didn’t grow up by the sea. Some didn’t start diving until later in life, while others only learned to swim as adults. Many are terrified of surfing and almost all have never spent their days diving for their dinner.

What surprised me most was how much these women’s journeys mirrored my own, connecting us in ways I hadn’t expected. Like me, they found their way to the water through passion, determination, and a refusal to give up—often without a life spent on the high seas or at the deepest depths. Each carved a unique path, fuelled by a burning desire for a more sustainable and just future.

Meeting water women from all walks of life from around the world on a self-created expedition—Munda, Solomon Islands. Photo  © Marla Tomorug

None of their stories aligned with the polished, idealised visions I once conjured while doom-scrolling on Instagram in my New York City office, nor did they follow the stereotypical male narrative of conquering and dominating new places. Their messy, unconventional, non-linear paths made it possible to form real bonds, even though we all were coming from entirely different worlds. 

Despite our differences, there’s a powerful and common thread that connects us all. And a universal truth has emerged, no matter where we go. Being a water woman isn’t about how close you live to the ocean, how early you get your start, or the images you share of your life at sea on social media.

To be a woman of the water is to recognise that small actions are as vital as monumental efforts in protecting our natural world—and to be willing to do whatever is possible, with the skills we have, to give back to the thing that sustains us all. 

A common thread brings water women together from around the world—Welligama, Sri Lanka.  ©: Marla Tomorug

This journey to the edges hasn’t just deepened my connection to the waters I’ve been fortunate enough to explore. More importantly, it connected me to an extraordinary network of women who teach, inspire, and create change in their corners of the world. These are women I never would have met had I not asked myself the hardest of questions and taken a life-altering plunge, all in the name of a childhood dream.

When I first fantasised about becoming an ocean explorer, I couldn’t see a clear path for someone like me. Today, I know that path exists in infinite forms, as I’ve seen many of them firsthand.

Thank you to the women who have shown us that it’s our place to dive into the world of exploration, no matter where you come from, no matter what you do, and no matter who you are.