Life in Antarctica frozen in my mind
Steve Martaindale

Steve Martaindale is a self-syndicated columnist. Write him at penmanmail-steve@yahoo. com.

The frequency of my flashbacks has proven surprising to me, as has the wide array of triggers.

Maybe it happens when I'm lacing up my hiking boots, putting on my sunglasses, putting toothpaste on a dry toothbrush. The strangest might have been the other night when I saw the landing lights on an airplane. It took quite a mental leap, but it made me think about when I stepped onto the tarmac at Easterwood Airport in February, completing my fifth and final leg home from McMurdo Station, Antarctica. Just as I had imagined a hundred times the previous few weeks, Leah was waiting for me. I lifted her off the ground in a big hug, just as I had dreamed.

Several times a day, something makes me think about my little adventure on the frozen continent.

I bought the hiking boots for the trip south because the volcanic rock upon which the station is built is rough on tennis shoes. The prescription sunglasses are far nicer than I would have otherwise bought - polarized and UV-protected and even a wraparound design to help protect the eyes from high winds that are common on the Ice. The toothbrush? Well, I've always had the habit of rinsing my brush before applying paste. However, there was no running water in our dorm rooms, and I didn't want to carry the toothpaste to the restroom, so I started by applying paste to a dry toothbrush, brushed en route to the restroom down the hall, where I rinsed my mouth and brush.

Silly, right?

I also find myself thinking about some of my new friends. Did Etosha get into graduate school? David suffered a serious shock in an electrical accident; how is he doing? How is Amy holding up working the long winter on the Ice? Has Cori regretted changing her mind about staying? How is Steve's research going at the South Pole?

While I thoroughly enjoyed my four months in Antarctica, I figured out early on that doing this once would be enough for me. My employer did not require a commitment from me at the end of my contract, so I returned home and finally found a "real" job, negating any chance of my returning next season. Maybe it was after turning that corner that I started finding myself kind of missing the idea of going back.

Missing what? The feeling that a temperature of 10 degrees above zero is warm? Sharing a bedroom with three other guys? Washing laundry at 6 a.m. on Sundays while most people are still not moving around? The 54-hour work weeks? Bundling up in several layers before taking a walk? Seeing absolutely no vegetation and only an occasional skua, penguin and seal?

OK, the penguins and seals were pretty neat, and having three square meals a day and coffee available around the clock were nice.

But it's not that simple. First of all, I don't think I really want to go back just to go back. I did just about everything I wanted while there, except hiking up Ob Hill and that just didn't work out.

It's not that I'm wishing to return, it's just that I keep thinking about it.

"That's perfectly normal," my wife assured me. "It was an incredible experience, and it is natural that it would stick with you for a while."

I hope friends are not bored, and I hope readers don't roll their eyes when I once again make mention of something like, "When I was in Antarctica, we had to separate our trash into a dozen or more different categories for shipping back to the United States once a year."

Maybe sometime soon I'll "get a life" and return entirely to the present.

But, I'm not convinced yet that I really want that ...