A year of stories
One year in, the Edges of Earth expedition team reflect on the conservation stories they have told, the people they have met, and the animals they have encountered thus far.
Against my better judgment, I found myself breaking a cardinal rule I’d established on expedition. The rule in reference is that one cannot predict or anticipate any sort of natural encounter on any dive. Nature is defined by its unpredictability, and we’re simply along for its ride. Yet I found myself anxiously hoping, yearning and anticipating a marine sight: the great mobula aggregation. Here in La Ventana, in Baja California, we had timed our arrival to see 10,000 devil rays gathered to mate as they do at this location every year. And I was anxious about it. But my anxiety surpassed the desire to simply witness this marvellous sight. In my mind, I had placed so much significance on this very moment. This singular day had become the pinnacle of a vision I had held from the beginning of this expedition.
Over the past year, our team had been meticulously edging closer to Baja, journeying from the eastern hemisphere to the west. Our expedition, aptly named Edges of Earth, had us kicking off in Australia before moving on to the Pacific islands including Vanuatu, New Caledonia, and Fiji. We then ventured north to the Solomon Islands, the Philippines, Hong Kong, and Japan, with brief stops in Southeast Asia, including Vietnam, Cambodia, and Thailand. By the end of 2023, our path led us to Sri Lanka, the Maldives, and India, where we finally concluded our travels for the year.
By 2024, we had reached the western hemisphere, exploring the coastal states of the USA before venturing into Colombia and Peru in South America. Ignoring oppositional advice from the experienced, we decided to buy a car in order to embark on an ambitious overland journey through Central America, starting from Panama and traversing up to the top of the Yucatan Peninsula, following the Pacific coast and then cutting over to the Caribbean. From there, we made our way to Baja for a fortnight, anticipating what felt like the main event of our expedition.
12 months and 25 countries later, our journey had brought us face-to-face with countless individuals at the forefront of conservation, science, and discovery. These dedicated people were committed to the ocean narrative in their own ways, battling the climate crisis right at their doorstep with unwavering optimism, passion, and positivity. Along our unusual path to Baja California, Mexico we absorbed their stories and struggles, each contributing to the larger mosaic of ocean conservation. Our non-stop voyage, filled with inspiring encounters, had been purposefully scheduled to arrive just in time for the spectacular mobula aggregation.



So, why did the mobulas mean so much? When conceptualising the Edges of Earth expedition, we grappled with the immense task of mapping out a sustainable, cost-effective, and logical route to explore the planet’s critical ocean regions completely self funded. It was April 2021, and even seasoned explorers with far more knowledge and experience were questioning the feasibility of such an ambitious undertaking. The recurring question of ‘how’ loomed largely overhead, and we simply didn’t have a solid answer.
One night, while doom scrolling through ocean content on Instagram, I stumbled upon a video of mobulas. The sight was mesmerising, but the caption read, “Mobulas in Baja”. This simplistic and minimally descriptive video wasn’t enough for me. I felt like I’d just found a thread worthy of some thorough unraveling. So naturally, my curiosity expanded from a single post, to pages upon pages of tabs on the subject. Why does this incredible aggregation happen? Why does every single mobula on the planet converge at this particular site? Who were the key players in the science and conservation of these magnificent creatures? That’s when it hit me: let’s chase the world’s last remaining marine aggregations.
By September 2022, the expedition blueprint was mapped out with the help of my husband and partner in exploration, Adam Moore. With my knack for thinking big and ambitious plan-making paired with his knack for, well, “logic and reason”, we together crafted the ultimate global trek to intriguing and remote edges of the earth.
But making this ambitious endeavour come to fruition would involve meticulous planning and timing. Several factors had to be considered simultaneously: wildlife and weather seasons, exploring during shoulder periods (to avoid overcrowding at destinations), routing our travel to minimise our carbon footprint, collaborating with local communities, gathering the needed equipment and lastly, determining the feasibility of safely diving in such locales with such marine species. With so many balls to juggle, it was less a matter of if we’d run into setbacks along our journey, and more a matter of which setback would it be?
Rather than attempting to guarantee sightings of natural phenomena in only select locations, the expedition schedule was structured towards the possibility of encounters across all locations. Arriving either slightly early or marginally late for most seasons, we faced the constant gamble of whether we’d witness activity, or miss out completely. Fortunately, luck seemed to be on our side, and we managed to continually time our arrivals to coincide with nature.




Having said that, luck is only the point at which preparation meets opportunity. This was created in a sense by overcoming certain sets of challenges or throwing certain creature comforts out the window entirely. We endured red eye flights, pre-sunrise wake-up calls, prolonged layovers, as well as unpredictable weather, which often exacerbated the former points while making open-air truck rides or boat trips a true test of endurance. We quickly realised that life on the edges of the earth was anything but glamorous (and certainly not comfortable), and we had to embrace the unpredictability and discomfort that came with the territory.
But it is remarkable how quickly one can acclimate to new standards for ‘normal’. After no more than two months of being in the field had passed, the notion of ‘modern comforts’ had completely dissipated. We were washing clothes in buckets, showering in freezing water, and at times, sleeping among the elements. Hot water became a luxury, and our hair, perpetually crusted with salt, rarely saw a brush. As personal appearances were becoming less of a concern, personal relationships became the greater focus. We began to care more about the people we were meeting, the knowledge we were gaining, and how we could support those living on the frontlines of the climate crisis.
Documenting marine life was a passion, but we found that our most profound moments were in relation to the characters we met along the way. We immersed ourselves in the cultures, customs, and connections with the sea, often finding that their perspectives on the world resonated deeply with us. We started to talk less and listen more, absorbing everything these people had to say. But each day in the field left us increasingly more aware of the monumental effort needed to reverse the damage civilisation has inflicted on the planet. This awareness kept us up at night, wrestling with the enormity of the task ahead and the urgency of our collective mission.
After the four-month mark, each of us neared our breaking points at one time or another. Adam had his moment in the Solomon Islands, Marla Tomorug, who leads our content creation, faced hers in Hong Kong, and mine hit in the Philippines. We couldn’t help but contemplate returning to the comforts and ease of our lives back home, as sometimes the rigors of expedition life felt insurmountable. Our days started at 4:30am and ended, at times a little too close to midnight. But even with such active days, a good night’s sleep was often hard to come across given the environment or even amount of information to process. It was an intense, exhausting cycle, but it became our norm.




By the time we hit the eight-month mark, we needed a break. Taking a two-week pause left us with a renewed sense of self, allowing us to reflect on our journey. By ten months, we faced a new yet somewhat predictable challenge: we were starting to annoy each other. Living in such close quarters, diving incredibly challenging sites, and spending countless hours awake had us all on a different kind of personal edge. No matter how much you love your husband or your best friend, this environment demands patience, respect, trust, and above all, empathy. We saw each other at our worst and best, back-to-back, around the clock. Covered in dirt or salt, often without a shower or proper sleep, we were united in a mission.
But the beacon of light that kept us hanging on was none other than Baja. Now, Baja wasn’t just about the mobula aggregation, but about reaching a milestone that, at times, seemed unattainable. No expedition of this scale and scope was ever going to be easy. But Baja was proof that we could do this – we could successfully deliver a long-format expedition.
We also endured injury and loss. Just a week before the expedition was set to begin, I sprained my back, forcing us to delay the tour for four months while I relearned basic movements. In August 2023, Marla’s family was displaced by the Lahaina fires. Then, in May 2024, as we prepared to enter Mexico from Belize, Adam faced a personal tragedy that hit harder than anything we had experienced to date: two of his best friends passed away while travelling… in Baja.
Life kept throwing us curveballs, but one of this magnitude was beyond anything we could have anticipated. A month before our main event, the devastating news left us confused, lost, and shaken on many levels. We had to reconsider our next steps, re-route our plans to Baja, and weigh up every scenario. Despite our heavy hearts, we knew the best way to honour those we lost was to push forward – to live bigger, shine brighter, and love harder. So, by the end of May, we set off for Baja, determined to hit the year mark we had set out to achieve.



Now it’s June, marking the one-year anniversary of the Edges of Earth expedition. We boarded the boat with Dive Ninja eco-leaders to learn about the mobulas and witness them in action. Within 10 minutes, we encountered our first school, and the reality of our journey sank in – we had made it. Drifting into the calm, glassy water, we were the only boat in the vicinity of this massive school. As we sat at the surface in total silence, fins and masks on, ready to duck dive down, the mobulas came to us. In just a meter of water, they moved around us, their synchronised flaps creating a mesmerising vortex. This went on for two hours. The moment symbolised the realisation of a milestone we had been dreaming of.
We felt honoured to be among the devils, silently observing from above. Once we realised the mobulas were comfortable with our presence, we dove down to swim with them. That night, as we went to bed, we couldn’t shake the image of diving with the devil rays from our minds – and they remained with us in our dreams thereafter. It was an intensely emotional day, proving that we unlikely explorers had come a long way, covered such vast distances, shared countless stories from the frontlines, and gained profound insights generated from love and loss. Insights that had transformed us from when we began this expedition.
A year in the field will certainly change your perspective. Witnessing the stark realities of our planet’s decline, and the accompanying loss and pain, is challenging. However, two core truths have sustained us through the toughest times. First, nature itself is a profound healer, especially in its raw, unedited form. Immersing ourselves in the natural world has provided hope and inspiration. Second, we have encountered countless individuals from diverse backgrounds and cultures, all united in their fight for restoration, protection, and conservation of our natural environment. This shared mission has been a source of strength and motivation, giving us those forever-ingrained and everlasting memories
As we conclude World Oceans Month, we encourage you to reflect on your own ‘magic moment’. Where will the natural world lead you? What do you yearn to learn from it? And how can you channel your skills, passions, and dreams into actions that make a difference for our planet? These questions are vital, and their answers lie in simply going out exploring – balancing our dreaming with actually doing.


One lesson I’ve learned from our expedition is that you’ll never know unless you try. If you’re contemplating something big – like an expedition at scale – now is your time to act. Life is too short and fragile to remain on the sidelines. Had we listened to those who doubted our unconventional path, we’d still be sitting at our desks day in and day out, contributing to the very problems we now aim to solve. Instead, we’re surrounded by mobulas, reflecting on a year filled with immense personal and professional growth found only during the hardest and most transformative times out in the open.
A message from Andi Cross: Oceanographic community, thank you for following along. Your support and engagement have been invaluable. Cheers to another year ahead, filled with more positive ocean progress from the edges of earth.
Printed editions
Current issue
Back issues

Back Issues
Issue 39 Special Edition: OPY2024

Back Issues
Issue 37 Wild Alaska: River & Ocean
Enjoy so much more from Oceanographic Magazine by becoming a subscriber.
A range of subscription options are available.