The End of a Nine-Month Antartica Adventure Memories flood back as I walk alone around the sleeping summer station. It's 1 a.m. and I still haven't packed. It's not just my bags that concern me. It's also organizing my mind for the imminent return to civilization. A Twin Otter plane will fly in in the morning and take me away from the most challenging, and in some respects rewarding, year of my life. It has all happened so fast. Late last week we had our first visitors, breaking nine months of isolation. We had rushed out to greet the plane -- since the landing had been changed from a 40-minute warning to just five. I opened the front door and was hit by the usual shotgun blast of fresh cold air to the face. This time, though, it carried a vibrancy -- the sound of a 1940s twin propeller engine raking away the silence. It brought more than just the 10 people on board. There were boxes of fresh produce! Tomatoes, kiwis, salad and apples from which you didn't have to remove a centimeter of old parched skin before eating. As we unloaded the boxes I saw one fellow crew member take a kiwi and put it into his pocket, and I did the same. We deserved it -- a little treat, a luxury. I will never look at a kiwi in the same way again. It was the same Canadian pilot who had dropped us off in February; now, nine months later, he was back. He greeted me and patted me on the shoulder, joking "Still standing then!" I said yes, as my winter legs buckled under the stresses of the past months, and my pasty white face showed the signs of the long winter. With the arrival of the first plane, and our replacements, it was as if a pane of glass had been shattered. Noisily, obtrusively and quickly, everyone transformed into breezy personalities, leaving me barely able to recognize some crew members. Later at lunch, I struck up a conversation with one of the new members, and was immediately delighted -- not just at the fresh, crunchy fruit but at the fact that I hadn't lost my sense of humor and could smile again meaningfully. It felt strange as my wrinkles relaxed under the 5 1/2-inch beard (14 centimeters) that I had grown just to see how long it would become in a year away from home -- another scientific experiment. After the long Antarctic winter, life has turned from black and white to color again. And how wonderful my senses have felt, drowning in new sights and sounds. After the excitement settled and the new visitors fell into the hypoxic slumber that passes for sleep high up on The Plateau, nothing stirred, except for the occasional sounds from the newcomers as they gasped for air while acclimatizing. I took a walk out onto the roof and was greeted by a sun dog. After the plane took off, I stared long and hard into the Great White Silence. Time will tell what we will take away from such an experience, but my first reaction is: We did it. Somehow. Earlier I had stood among fellow crew members in the workshop enjoying a fine Italian glass of grappa, toasting the end of a year I will never forget. I have learned a lot about Antarctica, myself and, of course, what might lie ahead on Mars. If we can make the journey, why would we go? And, as we have debated into the wee night hours, should we go? I have learned first hand about how the body and the mind can adapt or falter, submerged in Antarctica's darkness and winter's extreme isolation. I sat intrigued throughout the winter observing as my own mind and the minds of those around me were stretched uncomfortably to their ultimate tensile strengths. Tomorrow I will take the first step back, in a five-hour flight across Antarctica to the coast in preparation for a longer eight-hour flight by Hercules aircraft to Christchurch, New Zealand, at the end of the week. Pavarotti was singing once more as I sat back and pondered my experience during "The Worst Winter in the World." That is to say, in the most extreme environment on the planet -- an environment that does not take too kindly to visitors, but has largely ignored our insignificant presence, especially when compared with the Milky Way, with which we shared this wasteland. As in any battle, if you come out standing, you feel triumphant. But down here, there is a lot more to it than that.