The life of an explorer is often one that has been heavily romanticised. Those who set sail in search of exotic, uncharted territories were looked at as brave and revered individuals – be they sailors aboard ships in the Arctic, scientists trodding deep into rainforests, or divers submerging to unexplored depths. It’s an easy image to conjure, and it’s one I used to believe too: that real adventure and real progress meant going the real distance. But after three years of living out of a dive bag and chasing the edges of Earth, I’ve learned something that drastically contrasts this notion. I’ve learned that, sometimes, the most powerful expeditions happen right at the very place you started.

For me, that place is New York City. It’s a city I thought I knew inside and out, from the subway schedules to the skyline and the constant pulse of energy that flows through the streets that’s hard to put into words. But I had never taken the time to notice the life in its waters. It’s a fact I’m sure most New Yorkers are ignorant of, in that most believe that here – in the 21st Century – the polluted rivers surrounding the island of Manhattan are void of life entirely. I certainly didn’t know this harbour was once among the most productive estuaries on Earth, or that oysters helped build entire ecosystems here. And with that, I had no idea one of the world’s most ambitious restoration efforts was unfolding in the city I’ve always called home.

Everywhere we went on our global expedition – from Patagonia to the Pacific – I met people sincerely rooted in their place. They had given up comfort, even safety, to protect the land and sea that shaped them. Scientists, fishers, teachers, people from all walks of life shared the same throughline of having deep pride in protecting their home. Searching for meaning elsewhere wasn’t on the cards, because they had found it right in front of them.

So, when I finally came back to New York after years in the field and time in remote Western Australia, I braced for culture shock. But to my surprise, it didn’t last long. A new version of the “City that Never Sleeps” emerged rather quickly, with a new compass to guide my journey at home. All around me were people working toward a better future. One that’s more resilient and alive than I had ever realised.

Just a short ferry ride from Manhattan sits Governors Island, home to an urban restoration and education effort called the Billion Oyster Project. So far, the project has restored over 150 million oysters, built a system of shellfish reefs across Brooklyn, Staten Island, and Queens, and is helping to shape a generation of New Yorkers who now see their waterways as something worth protecting. I’d found my people among my people.

Oysters have become something of a personal obsession over the past three years. It started in Hong Kong, where our expedition team partnered with The Nature Conservancy and the University of Hong Kong to support oyster restoration in Deep Bay. In the shadow of one of the world’s densest cities, we saw how oysters could clean polluted water and bring ecosystems back to life. We counted spat clinging to new surfaces and dove into murky waters clouded by runoff, only to find thriving pockets anchored to freshly seeded reefs. The lesson hit hard and fast: give oysters a fighting chance, and life will follow suit.