After radiating a day's worth of crisp winter light onto our mock-Martian terrain, the Sun finally ducked down behind the silhouette of Skyline Rim. As it went, it flooded the sky with the pastel-pink hues I'd been subconsciously waiting for all day. Gone was the blue sky that marked this place out as Earth. Now things PROPERLY looked like Mars. Oh yes. And we were all loving it. Still loving it, I should say. Yesterday, when our crew truck rounded a hillock in the pitch-black desert to give us first sight of the Mars Desert Research Station -- a two storey pod with red light spilling out of the airlock porthole -- we whooped and cheered like high school kids. And we're still buzzing.

The MDRS is run by an international organisation called The Mars Society and is currently one of two sites used for "analogue Mars" missions -- operations in areas on Earth whose conditions come as close as possible to those of the red planet. While we're slapped miles from civilisation in the Utah desert, our sister station -- the Flashline Mars Analog Research Station -- is gently chilling another crew in the Canadian Arctic. The general logic is that the more humanity can learn about operating in the Mars' harsh conditions before we actually get there, the better such pioneers will fare as explorers.

That's a big part of the reason for our collective excitement: we -- MDRS Crew 23 -- are contributing to what we all feel is a worthy project. Plus, in my case -- and I'm pretty sure it applies to my crewmates too -- it's like a childhood dream come true. For the next two weeks, we're spacemen and women. More or less.

The MDRS crews of six spend the majority of their time in simulation mode, which means every member of the crew of scientists and engineers (plus even the odd journalist) carries out their research and tasks in as close as is practical to how they would perform them on Mars itself. That means putting on air-circulating Mars-suits complete with helmets and two-way radios to go outside on an EVA, spending a fixed amount of time in the airlock for mock decompression, reports to Mission Support involving a five-minute delay to allow for the transmission time to "Earth" and generally taking the whole process professionally and seriously.

As it's our first day, we haven't entered "sim" yet -- Crew 22 handed over to us last night and left this morning. But no matter, aside from assimilating the crash-courses in everything from quad-bike operation for long-distance EVAs to managing the slightly whiffy water-recycling "GreenHab", we've already had plenty to get used to. But foremost, this terrain -- with a mesmerising extra-terrestrial aura that comes from the powdery red sandstone eroded into smooth hillocks -- is almost literally a world away from where I was just 36 hours ago. Dashing outside this morning, it was like I'd side-stepped from my usual part of the rat race into some Hollywood sci-fi epic.

That said, life inside "the Hab", as it's affectionately known, ain't nearly as glamorous. It's a far cry from the sharply tailored, tricorders and transporters of the space operas on TV. Not that I'm complaining already -- we're meant to be mimicking life in a frontier situation -- and with that comes having to work hard just to keep things afloat, and learning a lot along the way. Today we've had to contend with two hours of darkness when both of our power generators refused to play ball, plus three of us humping 14 five-gallon buckets of water up two ladders to do what our broken water pump will (hopefully) soon do again. And that's without the general personal comfort sacrifices that come with "Hab" life -- the lack of regular hot showers being the prime "treat" that awaits us. Simulated water rationing means sponge baths and "navy showers" (turn water on, get wet, water off, soap up, water on, rinse, water off, get out) every few days are the closest we'll have to proper cleanliness for two week. "Safety, simulation, science, comfort" is the mantra of priorities being drummed into us by our commander, John.

But, like I said, we're still buzzing. For most of the crew, this is the experience of a lifetime. Commander John, engineer Anne, geologist Akos and astrobiologist Tiia are all Mars buffs -- certainly putting my level of red-planet knowledge to shame. Only one crew member, engineer Dusty Samouce, might be less "wowed" by the MDRS experience than us and that's simply because (aside from his 24 years in NASA) this is his fourth time here, including the time he helped erect the habitat itself. He spent his first day sorting out the radio telescope and muon detector he's brought to the Hab -- let's just say that we're feeling rather privileged to have him around.

As a crew, we're bonding pretty quickly. While Dusty and John nipped off to pick up last-minute provisions and give the Hab emergency truck a good drink of oil, this afternoon saw four of us all pitch in to help Anne put together her small "cliff reconnaissance vehicle" (CRV) -- a video camera mounted on an axle and two wheels so it can inspect cliff faces. In addition to Dusty's work, which he seems to be getting on very merrily with, Anne's CRV will be a large focus of the work we carries out during our rotation. Personally, I can't wait to get suited up, get out there and give it a try. Speaking of which, if all goes to plan, commander John says we'll be entering "sim" tomorrow lunchtime -- and that's where the mission REALLY starts...

On to Mars!