In February of 1999, it was a very subdued, but also very fulfilled me that watched Mt. Erebus -- the huge volcano that had supervised my sojourn -- slip into the haze astern as the icebreaker USCG Polar Sea steamed north at the close of the season. I wrote at the time that "I find it hard to credit the very real probability, verging on certainty, that I will never lay eyes on these places again. This place has become such an integral part of me, that it is like imagining some kind of amputation of a lobe of the soul. But if that is the way it is, that is the way it is. This continent is now part of who I am, and always will be."

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But thus it was not to be, and seven years later I stepped once again out of a military transport plane onto the Antarctic ice. On the afternoon of my last day here -- 1-18-06 -- while waiting for the time to roll around for my last helicopter trip, this time to the top of Mt. Discovery, I stepped into the Chapel of the Snows. Despite my residency here before, and the weeks I have been here this time, it was my first time through the door. To me, the natural majesty all about is sufficient, and I had never felt the need, but the human animal is collectively more complicated than just that.

There has been a chapel here since the first US base was built in 1956 -- Deep Freeze 1. Several versions followed, one of which was destroyed by fire in 1978. The current structure was completed in 1989 on a rise overlooking Winter Quarters Bay, McMurdo Sound, and the Royal Society Range beyond. Full up, it might seat 100. On any other site, it would be a pleasant but nondescript village chapel, but at this location it is distinctive. It is the southernmost house of worship in the world. It hosts regular Protestant, Catholic and Latter Day Saints services.

As I wander about the interior, a small niche catches my eye, partially obscured by some furniture leaning against the wall. It contains a chalice, about ten inches high. I read its story on a nearby plaque.

The Erebus Chalice belonged to Lt. Edward Joseph Bird, who took with him this chalice when he accompanied James Clark Ross in 1841 as he became the first to enter the sea that now bears his name. The chalice stayed in the family until 1987, when Betty Bird of Christchurch, New Zealand gave it for use at this chapel. It spends its winters in New Zealand, and summers here. It is the oldest artifact on the continent.

As I reflect on this story, the chalice seems a metaphor for those who depart this continent, but who leave some part of themselves behind. The lucky ones return to visit that missing part. I am one of them.