I know we may never do anything quite this grand again. But I will also never forget what is possible.
— Caroline Van Hemert, The Sun is a Compass
Santiago, Chile | 33.3898° S, 70.7944° W | Dec. 14th, 2025
“Before you board the plane, be sure to take a minute to look around,” Nick says. “You don’t know when you’ll be back.”
As we step out of the ALE van and onto the ice one last time, we all heed Nick’s advice, staring at the snow-laden mountains and squinting at the crystalline sky. Carefully making our way across the blue-ice runway feels even more surreal than our arrival here a few weeks ago. Is it really time to go already? How is this grand adventure already over?
Andy Klesh walks right behind me as we approach the stairs to the plane. Always intuitive and thoughtful, Andy seems to hear the thoughts racing through my mind. He smiles and says, “at moments like these, I always think: to this we shall return.”
For a split second, I try to summon a clever, witty response. But my body is bone-tired and my brain can only focus on this moment.
“I certainly hope so,” I say, grasping the cold railing and heading up the stairs.
“Come this way Marley,” Nick says, motioning for me to follow him to the forward, left-side of the plane. “You’ll get the best views of the mountains from up here.”
He’s right. As soon as the plane is airborne, the ridge lines roll out beneath us like sets of massive, frozen waves. I take photo after photo, wondering if or when I will ever lay eyes on this phenomenal landscape again. Even if I don’t, I know this place — and the experiences we had here — will stay with me forever.
I shove my camera into my backpack in the empty seat next to me. Across the aisle, the brain trust (Joel and Andy) are deep in conversation, no doubt dreaming up the next epic project they will pull off in a far-flung part of the planet. I smile at their brilliance and their bond. It has been an honor to work with them.
I lean my seat back and begin to doze off. The sun shines bright through the window, warming my legs. I glance down at the grimy pants I’ve been wearing for 18 days straight, wondering if the sunlight might kill some of the bacteria accumulated on them. I can’t believe I haven’t washed my hands in almost three weeks. It will be delightful and strange to take a long, hot shower, to put on fresh clothes, and to sleep in a dark room.
But in this moment, flying over the world’s biggest glaciers and feeling the warmth of Antarctic sunshine in my lap, I am perfectly content.
To this we shall return: we bid farewell to the frozen continent, in hopes that we will come back for another adventure here one day.
Flying first-class from Antarctica: Andy and Joel smile at me from across the aisle. For what feels like the millionth time in the past month, I wonder is this real life?
Just over 48 hours later, I glance around the Santiago airport, searching for a seat near an electrical outlet so I can plug in my laptop. Christmas music blares through the terminal at an obnoxious volume. It feels unbelievable that two days ago I was in Antarctica.
I finally locate a plug, open up my MacBook, and begin writing. It always takes time to process a big expedition, and to accept that the experience is over. It’s a mental and emotional hurdle I have navigated many times during the last decade: recognizing I will never work with the same group of people, in the same place, in the same way, ever again. The ephemeral nature of this work is part of what makes it so unique and special, but it is also one of the most challenging aspects.
I may go to Antarctica again. I might even get to work with some of the fine folks from JPL or Caltech or ALE at some point. But my time with this particular group of people, and being part of this exceptional experience, is now done.
I’m feeling tired and bummed out when my phone lights up. It’s a message from Josh Hoeschen, sent to me and a woman named Brittni.
Marley — I figured you may be interested in Alaska contacts. Brittni is a logistics coordinator for a lot of operations that are happening in AK.
Brittni — meet Marley. She takes great photos and is excellent at making nerdy shit look cool. She did a wonderful job on the last contract I worked. It would be great if you two could talk about collaboration in the future.
I smile at the kind, unprompted gesture. Josh didn’t have to go out of his way to connect me with one of his contacts. Just a few minutes later Brit responds with one of the most thoughtful messages I’ve received from someone I’ve never met:
Marley! Josh sent me a link to your blog post last week. I am inspired and impressed by your work… I think it would be really cool to meet you (come visit us in Alaska!!!)
My travel fatigue and bummer mood evaporate. A warmth spreads through me, and I’m reminded of the best remedy for the post-expedition blues: start planning the next adventure. Instead of feeling a sense of loss around leaving Antarctica, I shift my energy forward — and to the north. I Google the Alaska Mountaineering School (where Josh works) and start browsing the different courses and trainings they offer. I respond to the thoughtful messages from him and Brit.
During the remainder of my eight-hour layover, I spend a lot of time writing and reflecting. I recall the first moments of gazing around our field camp in disbelief.
“This is it,” I said to Andy. “This is officially the most epic thing I have ever done.”
Andy didn’t miss a beat. “Then we need to start planning the next epic thing! I want to get BRUIE under the ice shelf here.”
I laugh, marveling at Andy’s determination to always push the boundaries and set new goals. I also understand and respect his drive.
“Well,” I said, “I’ve always wanted to get dry-suit certified to dive under the ice.”
I write about some of my favorite conversations, including this early morning chat with Pato:
When I clamber into the dining tent, I ask Pato how he’s doing and he tells me he’s tired.
“What time do you normally wake up?” I ask.
“Around 5:30am,” he says. “I could get up at 7, but I like to take it slow in the morning and give myself time.”
“I like to do the same thing,” I say. I’ve been waking up around 6am every morning here, even though breakfast is not until 8am.
“Sometimes I lay awake at night thinking about what I’m going to cook the next day,” Pato says. “I make a whole plan… but then it changes.”
I smile and nod, feeling grateful I’m not the only one who does that sort of thing.
And then Pato hits me with this perfect nugget of wisdom: “me gusta planear pero tengo que vivir día a día.”
I like to make plans but I have to live day to day.
Live in the moment: exchanging stories and perspectives with Pato was a bright point of each day.
I also read back through the daily log I kept for the duration of the expedition. A few snippets jump out, little reminders that I wasn’t dreaming. We really did live in this wild place:
11.29.2025
The first glimpse of our camp (from the DHC-6) was a tiny dot in a vast sea of white. Mind-boggling how far out we are – quite literally the edge of the earth.
When we landed, we were greeted with remarkably good weather. No wind. Bright sun. Immaculate conditions. We took photos in front of the plane. Joel and I did celebratory handstands. Awe, disbelief, and happiness abound.
12.01.2025
After dinner, Joel and Zhongwen deployed their 5K fiber, which is one of the more hilarious things I’ve filmed during field work. Nick took me on the snow mobile (once again) so that we could race ahead, set up the drone, and film them as they drove by. The light was beautiful and I got some great shots.
12.02.2025
Didn’t sleep as much last night but still woke up at 6am and got my day started early. Shortly after I got up, gray clouds rolled in and the temperature dropped. I did a short drone flight to get some shots of camp and my fingers damn near froze. NEVER TAKE THE SUN FOR GRANTED.
12.05.2025
Getting out of my tent each morning never ceases to amaze me. After I zip the fly, I just stand there and slowly turn in a circle to take in the 360-degree view. What an incredible place.
12.08.2025
Despite drinking a ton of caffeine, the sleep deprivation is catching up to me. I filmed the PEG (again) for a while this afternoon. After dinner, I chatted with Nick about expedition work and the “x factor” of being a good human, not just a good photographer.
The weather was much tougher today. Lots of cold wind and the sun disappeared for a bit this evening. Everyone is cold. And because the weather is going to keep deteriorating, we’re planning to head back to UG a day early. So tomorrow will be a long day of packing and organizing…
At home on the ice: this drone shot of our field camp reminds us how far we are from anything.
Heading out: half the team loads into DHC-6 for the first flight back to Union Glacier.
Throughout the long layover in Santiago, my phone continues to ping with messages from the team. Joel and I exchange a few photos (and potential captions for photos) that make me laugh out loud.
Just before I board my flight, I receive a thoughtful text from Nick Lewis:
I’m really glad you had such a strong, positive experience. It’s nice to hear as you’re never quite sure how Antarctica will impact people. I think that every trip down there changes each person in some way. Sometimes a lot, sometimes just a little, but it always has an effect.
It’s too soon to know how this experience will impact the rest of my life. It may mark the beginning of a shift in my career (more opportunities in polar environments, I hope) or it may end up as a singular cool story — that time I lived and worked in a field camp at the bottom of the world.
Perhaps it will mean something else entirely. For now, I will go home, rest, and remind myself that the future holds many possibilities.
Wild and free: this expedition to Antarctica was empowering and affirming on many levels. I will always be grateful for the opportunity to work with an exceptional team in a very special place.
Want to check out more stories from our time in Antarctica? Read about how our journey began here: On the Ice | Part One: Efficiency and On the Ice | Part Two: Delight.
Read more details about our field camp here: On the Ice | Part Three: Adaptation and On the Ice | Part Four: Mindset.
Learn more about our instruments, data collection, and scientific objectives here: GLASS Project | Antarctica Field Notes