SeaVoice x Edges of Earth
The Pāua’s Power: Zane Smith on Conservation, Tradition, and Commercial Diving in Stewart Island
As Told To: Andi Cross: Edges of Earth Collective - Expeditionist, Strategist, Writer
An Expedition to Stewart Island, New Zealand
In the far south of New Zealand, the Edges of Earth expedition set out to dive and learn from Zane Smith—a 13th-generation Rakiura (Stewart Island) local, a seasoned pāua (abalone) diver, and a commercial cray fisherman. Watching Zane work was one of the most impressive diving experiences the team has had in the field to date. He presented a shining example of what a true ocean steward, a master of craft, and an advocate for the sea truly looks like. After freediving the icy sub-Antarctic waters from Zane’s massive fishing vessel, the team sat down with him to talk about the shifting ocean, the changes he’s seen in his lifetime, and what can be done to adapt.
Meeting Zane Smith. Below is his first-person account about conservation, tradition and Stewart Island. © Adam Moore
A Longstanding Bond with Nature
My respect for nature comes from being a New Zealander. This place runs deep in my blood. Growing up here, I had what I believe is the best childhood anyone could ask for. Life on Stewart Island teaches you skills you don’t even realize—that is until you leave. This became clear when I started boarding school in Dunedin and began to notice the difference. Things that felt second nature to me—being out on the water, fixing a boat, navigating the bush—weren’t common knowledge for most.
Rakiura is a wild, remote coastal community sitting at latitude 47° south. The weather is unpredictable—not freezing, not hot, just ever-changing. Foveaux Strait, the body of water between us and the mainland, can get rough. A lot of people don’t like to make the crossing when the seas turn. It keeps the island feeling untouched, like a world of its very own.
Kelp forest around Stewart Island, New Zealand. ©Adam Moore
Life here revolves around the outdoors. I grew up fishing, diving, and mucking about in anything that would float from a young age. My father was a fisherman, and I spent countless hours on the water with him. When we weren’t at sea, we were in the bush, exploring what felt like an endless backyard of raw wilderness. That stretch of water between here and the mainland? It’s more than just a physical barrier. It’s part of what keeps this place truly remote.
There’s always been an abundance of fish here. The crayfish industry has been running strong since the ’60s, and it’s still going today. The pāua fishery is thriving, too. Blue cod fishing, though, has seen a bit of a decline. And no one really knows why. It could be an increase in recreational fishing pressure, especially through Foveaux Strait. But overall, the natural resources here provide everything you need to live a healthy, self-sufficient life. During my childhood, we lived off the land and sea, taking only what we needed.
I didn’t fully appreciate how special this place was until I started diving elsewhere. I always thought clear, pristine water, thriving ecosystems, and an endless variety of marine algae and seaweeds were the norm. It wasn’t until I explored other parts of the world that I realized just how unique this environment really is. Rakiura is still largely untouched, and you feel that every time you drop below the surface.
Stewart Island is a remote, biodiverse haven that represents a New Zealand of the past. © Adam Moore
Blending Conservation & Commercial Fishing
I began diving to gather seafood for the family at only eight years old. It wasn’t planned; it just happened. I went to school with two brothers whose parents had a pāua quota not long after it was introduced into New Zealand’s quota management system for sustainability. They roped me into it, and that’s how I started diving commercially. It was just part of life.
Recreational divers in New Zealand can take up to ten pāua per person per day. But in Rakiura, the limit is five per day to help maintain stock. Personally, I was never brought up to focus on limits. The goal wasn’t to hit a number; it was to take only what you needed for a meal. Commercial fishing, though, operates under an entirely different system. To harvest pāua, you need quota—or lease an ACE (Annual Catch Entitlement), which is generated from quota each year. The total allowable catch fluctuates depending on the health of the stock, regardless of species. The bigger the quota you hold, the more you can take in a given 12-month period.
Zane on a harvest dive on a single breath hold. © Adam Moore
But here, us commercial divers take it even further. Nationally, the legal minimum size for pāua is 125 millimeters, but on the east side of the island, we voluntarily fish at 137 millimeters. On the west side, it’s 142 millimeters. That extra four to six years of breeding time makes a huge difference in ensuring a sustainable fishery. And this practice is working. Pāua 5B—the Stewart Island fishery—is the only abalone fishery in the world to have shown an increase in stock. Everywhere else, from Australia to South Africa, abalone stocks have been hammered by overfishing, corruption, and black-market trade, especially with the high demand from Chinese and Asian markets. Many of these fisheries have been forced to close, cut quotas, or are on the brink of collapse.
Unlike other fisheries, we are doing strictly breath-hold diving—no scuba, no surface-supplied air. There’s been debate about whether that rule should change, especially since quotas regulate the take, but personally, I’d rather not have anyone with a tank show up and compete. It takes skill to hold your breath and work at depth, and I think that should count for something. We’re lucky in New Zealand. The management tools are in place, but more importantly, the divers and fishermen themselves have led the charge in protecting stocks—not just for pāua, but for crayfish as well.
Zane introduces the Edges of Earth expedition team to New Zealand's pāua. © Adam Moore
Crayfish have always been valuable. Initially, they were sold as frozen tails to the American market, but by the late ’80s and early ’90s, Japan began buying live crayfish—small A and B grades—kickstarting the live export trade into Asia. Over time, the market shifted, and China became the dominant buyer. Much like the pāua industry, crayfish stocks bottomed out in the mid-90s. That’s when the quota system was introduced, gradually rebuilding the fishery. If stocks weren’t improving, quotas were cut. When stocks rebounded, quotas were cautiously increased. As a result, the crayfish fishery today is in incredible shape, at least in my opinion.
Back in the mid-90s, fishermen were pulling in about half a kilo of legal catch per pot per night. Last year, that number hit 8.3 kilos per pot per night—16 times what it was at its lowest point. That’s an undeniable success story in sustainable fisheries management. And it didn’t happen by chance. It happened because of the systems put in place and the people willing to enforce them. New Zealand has become a global leader in fisheries management, and right here is proof that when done right, conservation and commercial fishing can go hand in hand.
Zane’s harvest on a single dive with the Edges of Earth expedition team © Adam Moore
Change For Better or Worse
Over my lifetime, I’ve seen gradual changes in the natural world—some for the better, some for the worse. There are things that were once abundant when I was a kid that are now harder to find, and new species turning up that never used to be here. Some of that is likely due to climate change, with warming waters bringing shifts in marine life. Sea levels have risen slightly in my lifetime. Above and below the water, certain plant species have arrived, possibly through ballast water from ships or just from people moving things around. Invasive species that never existed here before are now part of the ecosystem.
The last few years have also brought particularly warm summers—2020, and then 2022 and 2023 were noticeably hotter than anything we’d seen for a long time. And with that, we’ve seen changes in marine life. Bluefin and albacore tuna are being caught here more frequently, compared to their rarity in the past. Kahawai are showing up in bigger numbers, and kingfish are pushing further south than I’ve ever seen. Just two weeks ago, I spotted a red moki around the back of Stewart Island—something I’ve never seen in my life. I’ve only ever encountered them in the far north of Fiordland or further up the North Island. It’s a clear sign that species distributions are shifting.
Stewart Island from underwater. © Adam Moore
At the same time, some things are disappearing. The bull kelp forests, once thick and plentiful, have thinned out in a lot of areas. Meanwhile, Undaria pinnatifida, an invasive Japanese seaweed, has arrived—likely introduced through ballast water. It’s taking over parts of the Otago Coast, thriving in murky waters where native brown seaweeds struggle to photosynthesize. Around Stewart Island, where the water stays clear, the native browns are holding their ground for now. But Undaria is spreading, and it’s only a matter of time before we see more of it.
Weather patterns seem to be intensifying too—stronger, more frequent storms. The environment here is changing, sometimes in ways we don’t fully understand. But what’s clear is that Stewart Island—like everywhere else—is not immune to the shifts happening across the planet. There’s a lot of doom and gloom around climate change—talk of decline, existential threats, irreversible damage. And I get it. But I think we’re past the point of reversing it entirely. So we have two choices: fight against the inevitable or figure out how to move along with it.
Zane and his collaborators study the wildlife around Stewart Island. © Adam Moore
Collaboration is the Key
To me, the solutions all come down to one thing—collaboration. I’ve been working with Otago University on seaweed research, crayfish studies, and a project under Coastal People, Southern Skies. Here on Rakiura, I’m working to secure water space to explore aquaculture—seeing how we might farm shellfish and seaweed together in a way that benefits both species and the environment.
The goal is twofold: scientific research and training. Students from Otago can come here, conduct studies, and contribute to something meaningful. And if we find a way to do aquaculture right—with the right science behind it—it could become a model for sustainable marine farming in New Zealand and beyond. There are some questionable practices in aquaculture today, and we want to answer the big questions about how to do things in a more environmentally responsible way.
The temperate waters of Stewart Island are rich in biodiversity. © Adam Moore
Seaweed, in particular, is incredible. It’s great for the planet, and if we can farm more of it while integrating it into other aquaculture systems, that’s got to be a win for everyone. We’ve secured funding to start the research, with the long-term hope that it becomes self-sustaining and can feed back into the community. And that will keep coastal towns like this alive. Because what is a country like New Zealand without its coastal communities?
Historically, fishing and science haven’t always reinforced one another. Some scientists used to see commercial fishermen as reckless plunderers. Sure, there’s always been the odd bad apple, but in my experience, that stereotype isn’t the reality. The truth is, we can learn a lot from each other. I’ve worked with marine scientists on everything from removing invasive seaweed to studying Asparagopsis armata for methane reduction in livestock. They bring scientific expertise, but I bring daily, firsthand knowledge of what’s actually happening out there. That mutual understanding is growing, and the divide that once existed is slowly closing.
Zane showing the Edges of Earth expedition team the underwater world of Stewart Island. © Adam Moore
The younger generation of scientists I work with understand that there’s value in collaboration. They teach me a lot, but I’ve spent my life in these waters—I see things they don’t, patterns they might miss. We’re learning from each other. Fishermen aren’t just out here taking—we’re stewards of the ocean. If we don’t protect the resource, we don’t have a future.
The reality is, some things will be lost. But new things will come too. Ecosystems are shifting. Instead of resisting, we need to understand these changes and adapt. If we cling too tightly to the way things used to be, we’ll just end up banging our heads against a wall. Change is part of life. The sooner we learn to move with it, the better we’ll be able to carve out a future that works—for us, for the ocean, and for whatever comes next.
About Andi Cross, Edges of Earth
Andi is an international expeditionist fiercely dedicated to redefining how businesses coexist with the natural world and the communities they directly and indirectly affect. With over 15 years of experience helping both major corporations scale and building impact startups—as well as nearly a decade in marine and terrestrial conservation—she bridges the gap between corporate ambition and environmental responsibility. She’s constantly vying for a future where people and planet both win. Her work spans industries, guiding businesses, agencies, and venture capital firms to integrate sustainability into the heart of their portfolio’s strategies.
Since 2017, she has been the Strategist in Residence at H/L Ventures—a firm championing historically underserved founders—where she has helped build purpose-driven companies. Previously, as Vice President of Strategic Growth at Huge, Inc., she helped grow the leading digital and design firm to be more effective service-focused leaders. She’s worked with world-renowned brands such as Coca-Cola, Rolls-Royce Motor Cars, Hyundai, and Norwegian Cruise Lines during her tenure at Ogilvy & Mather and other leading agencies around the globe.
A pivotal moment in her journey came when she combined her corporate expertise with field expeditions to some of the world’s most vulnerable regions. Seeing the disconnect between ESG strategies and the realities faced by communities on the frontlines of climate change, Andi founded a sustainability consulting firm in 2018. Since then, she’s partnered with over 250 field experts in 40+ countries, guiding 50+ partners toward delivering tangible change.
Andi’s next-generation approach is rooted in lived experience, bringing practicality and positivity to even the heaviest climate and conservation challenges. While the scope of climate issues may feel overwhelming, she helps enterprise businesses and startups find actionable paths forward without compromising their financial objectives. Her work and insights have been featured in The Wall Street Journal, MSNBC, Forbes, Time Magazine, The Today Show, and more, highlighting her relentless drive to push boundaries in environmental stewardship and corporate sustainability.
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