Shackleton and Wild

Scott for scientific method, Amundsen for speed and efficiency but when disaster strikes and all hope is gone, get down on your knees and pray for Shackleton—Sir Raymond Priestly

The rather grandly named Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition of 1914-16 is more commonly referred to by the name of the ship, the Endurance. There isn't any part of it that I don't find astonishing, especially now that I am actually in this part of the world and have seen the mountains of South Georgia that Shackleton, Worsley, and Crean crossed on foot, half-starved, with screws in the soles of their shoes for traction. (And having just made the very unpleasant crossing from South Georgia to Elephant Island in a big ship instead of a 22-foot lifeboat.)

In 1922, Shackleton was back in South Georgia preparing for yet another expedition, when he died of a heart attack at 47. Plans were originally made to return his body to England, but his widow requested that he be buried in South Georgia. Grytviken was a busy whaling station then, but it's still as remote a location as you can imagine. The expedition's doctor, Alexander Macklin, wrote, “I think this is as the boss would have had it himself, standing lonely on an island far from civilization, surrounded by a stormy tempestuous sea, and in the vicinity of one of his greatest exploits.”

Frank Wild, who was left in charge of the remaining Endurance crew on Elephant Island for more than four months after Shackleton set off in the James Caird, surviving on seal, penguin, and seaweed, died in South Africa in 1939 at the age of 66. In 2011, his ashes were moved to Grytviken, and buried next to Shackleton.

The ship's crew supplied whiskey for the traditional toast at the grave and I even drank a little of it.