by Tim Jarvis
For Scott, Shackleton, and Amundsen, pro patria mori ended up reigning supreme. Scott, the last to die in his tent, was writing eloquently until the end. Amundsen, having conquered the Northwest Passage by boat and the South Pole on foot, was lost in a plane searching for a former colleague, Umberto Nobile, in the Arctic. And as for Shackleton, he died only five years after the legendary journey he undertook after the loss of the Endurance.
Shackleton’s star has risen and continues to do so, his decisiveness, compassion, and ability demonstrated so ably by his salvaging victory from the jaws of defeat in saving his men, representing an ideal to aim for in a world where selfless heroic leadership is aspired to by many, practiced by few, and needed by all. Now I was committed to emulating this most difficult of journeys by this most incredible of men and hoped that I could rise to the challenge. An apocryphal advertisement for the original expedition read, “Men wanted for hazardous journey. Safe return doubtful . . . honour and recognition in case of success.”
Together alone: the Endurance crew beside their ice-bound ship.
From the Collection of the Royal Geographical Society (with IBG)
THE ICE AGE
The heroic era of exploration—to which Ernest Shackleton and his contemporaries Robert Falcon Scott, Roald Amundsen, and Douglas Mawson belonged—began with the first Antarctic landing by Carsten Borchgrevink in 1895. It ended with Shackleton’s Endurance expedition of 1914–17, which coincided with the loss of innocence on the fields of Flanders as cavalry charges were cut down by machine-gun fire.
Shackleton, Scott, Amundsen, and Mawson were seeking to conquer the three “poles”—the North and South Poles and the Northwest Passage, a near-mythical sea route above Canada. Their need to challenge themselves and find out more about the world and their place in it lies at the heart of so many spheres of human endeavor and remains as true today as it was back then. It is as much about discovering what lies within as it is about triumphing over adversity.
These heroic-era expeditions also served the dual purpose of satisfying the national interests of the countries concerned and the egos of the personalities involved. These same motivations remain—although perhaps today’s expeditions are done more with corporate sponsors in mind than king and country.
Shackleton first went south on the Discovery expedition led by Scott in 1901–03. The two men, along with Dr. Edward Wilson, got to within 720 kilometers of the South Geographic Pole. Overcome by scurvy and without sufficient food to sustain them, the trio had to turn back. They were unable to pull their sleds any farther, a problem exacerbated by their poor ski experience and dog-handling skills. Shackleton’s level of debilitation was by far the worst and his subsequent evacuation home by Scott was a slight he found difficult to live with. It began an unbridgeable rift between the two men.
Amundsen finally conquered the third pole—the Northwest Passage—in 1903–06, but not before the British Navy threw men and resources at the task in the hope of being the first to find a way through. One of its goals was to find a faster trade route from Britain to the jewel in the imperial crown, India. Attempts came thick and fast, including John Franklin’s ill-fated journey. Franklin, a former governor of Tasmania, was past his prime at age fifty-nine when the expedition began in 1845. He and all 128 of his men perished—the biggest non-wartime loss of life sustained by the Royal Navy. His ships Erebus and Terror have never been found.
In 1907–09 Shackleton organized his own attempt on the South Pole—the British Antarctic Expedition, otherwise known as the Nimrod Expedition after his ship. The goal eluded his team by only 155 kilometers (97 miles), but Shackleton’s decision to abandon his quest undoubtedly saved the lives of the entire party. To continue would have meant certain death. Again, had the party been more proficient dog handlers, taken a larger dog team, and dispensed with the ponies that proved to be a liability, they might have been more successful. Isn’t hindsight a wonderful thing? Ultimately Shackleton’s decision to turn back exemplified the compassion and fearless decision-making that came to symbolize his ability as a leader. His “surrender” was particularly brave given it ran counter to the mood of the day, where a philosophy of pro patria mori would soon result in millions dying for their country in the trenches of the First World War. As Shackleton said to his wife, “I thought you’d rather a live donkey than a dead lion.”
Shackleton was subsequently knighted for his achievements during the Nimrod Expedition. But the trip was also notable for another major achievement. During it, Mawson, together with Alistair Mackay and Edgeworth David, reached the South Magnetic Pole. Theirs was the longest unsupported sledging journey ever undertaken and included the first ascent of the 3,800-meter volcano Mount Erebus.
The austral summer of 1911–12 was a busy period in Antarctica. Mawson set sail from Hobart to begin his Australasian Antarctic Expedition (AAE) in December 1911, just as Amundsen and Scott were racing to be the first to reach the South Pole. Amundsen reached his goal on December 14. When Scott, who toiled across the Ross Ice Shelf, arrived at the Pole on January 17, he found that the Norwegian had narrowly beaten him to his prize. He and his four men—Edward Wilson, Lawrence Oates, Henry Bowers, and Teddy Evans—started the 1,500-kilometer journey back. Evans died about a month into the return trip, and was followed by Oates, who, realizing he was a hindrance to his companions, walked out into a blizzard uttering the now immortal line, “I’m just going outside and may be some time.” The remaining three men died just twenty kilometers from the final food depot that would have saved them.
Mawson would undertake his own desperate survival journey in the austral summer of 1912–13 when the Far Eastern Sledging Journey that formed part of AAE went wrong, claiming the lives of his two companions. His survival against terrible odds secured his place in the annals of Antarctic exploration history. My re-enactment of his journey of survival in 2006—in which I used the same clothing, equipment, and starvation rations—taught me the depths of resolve he must have called upon.
With Amundsen and Scott having already reached the South Pole, Shackleton embarked on the most ambitious polar expedition of all—the Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition (ITAE). It was a bid to cross Antarctica from the Weddell Sea coast to the Ross Sea coast in what he described as “the one great main object of Antarctic journeyings.” ITAE planned to use two ships to accomplish its goal. The Endurance, on which Shackleton traveled, would land at a site near Vahsel Bay adjacent to the Ronne Ice Shelf in the Weddell Sea. From here Shackleton would begin his attempt to cross the continent on a route that was very similar to my unsupported expedition to cross Antarctica in 1999–2000, which left from the northernmost tip of Berkner Island on the Ronne Ice Shelf. A second ship, Mawson’s former vessel the Aurora, would leave from Hobart under the command of Aeneas Mackintosh and land at McMurdo Sound on the Ross Sea side. Its men would then have the job of laying a series of food caches that the crossing team would access once past the Pole.
The expedition went disastrously wrong. The Endurance was crushed in the ice and Shackleton was forced to undertake a desperate survival bid in one of its lifeboats, the James Caird.
2
ENDURANCE
Terra Incognita.
Courtesy of the National Library of Australia
Great Britain, Hydrography Department, Ice chart of Southern Hemisphere, National Library of Australia, MAP RM 1658
“Victory has 100 fathers, and defeat is an orphan.”
John F. Kennedy, news conference, April 21, 1961
A boat against the odds: the James Caird on display at Shackleton’s alma mater, Dulwich College.
Courtesy of Seb Coulthard
The plan viewed from a distance was straightforward enough: build a replica James Caird, take her to Antarctica on board a larger ship, hire a dedicated support vessel for the duration of the journey, select the right team, get the permits and insurance, and do it. I would finance the expedition with corporate sponsorship and sale of the film
rights, supplemented by funds from fee-paying passengers who’d get a once-in-a-lifetime trip on our support vessel.
Through the help and networks of Zaz’s cousin Melissa Shackleton Dann, her husband, Tom Dann, and Perry Hooks, who all lived in Washington, DC, along with the Yale World Fellows Program that saw me resident in Connecticut during the second half of 2009, I was able to get National Geographic and Discovery interested in filming the expedition. Now I could put any funds I raised toward building a boat.
After multiple trips back and forth from Yale to National Geographic’s headquarters in the heart of Washington, DC, and another two all the way from Australia in early 2010, the 125-year-old company signed on. I met so many people from National Geographic—from its TV channel and production departments, its book publishing, magazine and social media arms, its speaking agency, and its expedition grants department—in an attempt to communicate the full potential of the project.
But it was all worth it. That is until a personnel change at the company coincided with a key expedition supporter and National Geographic benefactor getting cold feet. While I respected his fears for the project’s safety, I had hoped National Geographic would trust my judgment. Unfortunately, his pulling out meant National Geographic did too. To make matters worse we’d now missed our chance with Discovery. It was August 2010 and all I had to show for my lengthy efforts was a half-finished boat, a bigger mortgage, and a bruised ego.
We were back to square one, except that the tireless Seb Coulthard, my first recruit to the crew, was now working on the Alexandra Shackleton. All the while, the fluid nature of expedition planning meant that changes to any one set of logistics had a domino effect on all the others, keeping me second-guessing and fighting fires.
CVs were by now flooding in from people wanting to join the Alexandra Shackleton crew, but it was difficult to get top-notch people to commit without cast-iron guarantees that the expedition was fully funded and definitely going ahead. Without a decent broadcaster on board I couldn’t get sponsors and therefore could guarantee nothing. It was a catch-22 situation: broadcasters wouldn’t commit until I’d secured funding from sponsors. Also, to set an expedition date required locking in logistics providers one to two years in advance—and sponsor dollars were needed to pay their deposit fees.
Shackleton probably suffered similar problems, although he didn’t have to contend with the considerable burden of bureaucracy placed on modern-day expeditions. Even with the support and understanding of the UK’s Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO) and the South Georgian government, it was almost impossible to finalize permits until we knew the finer details of the expedition—and these would be determined to a degree by our as-yet-unknown sponsors and broadcast partner.
I edged forward on multiple fronts as best I could, financing everything myself, but it was a very lonely period of my life. I knew the risks for such projects started long before you reached the ice: risks to reputation, finances, career, and even one’s marriage, as the pressures abound from throwing more and more energy and personal funds behind a project with an unknown outcome.
A turning point came in October 2010, when I joined the international engineering firm Arup on a part-time basis as a spokesman and sustainability leader. Robert Care, the chair of Asia-Pacific, and his successor, Peter Bailey, were visionaries who saw the benefits of supporting the expedition. The environmental messages of climate change and biodiversity loss that I proposed to leverage off the back of it, and the broader message of bringing to fruition something inspiring but technically and logistically challenging, paralleled what Arup was all about, making it a perfect backer for the project.
About the same time, the issue of how to get the Alexandra Shackleton down south was resolved. Lisa Bolton, the CEO of Aurora Expeditions, Australia’s leading polar tourism operator, told me their ship, Polar Pioneer, took on supplies in Poland each September before heading south for the Antarctic summer season. If I could get the Alexandra Shackleton to Poland, it could piggyback on Polar Pioneer and be dropped off in Antarctica. I knew I had to make this happen even if I had to drive the trailer with the Alexandra Shackleton on board to Poland myself.
In the meantime, I had to convince sponsors to fund an expedition where the major cost was $300,000 for a support vessel—a legal and moral requirement in case things went wrong in the deep Southern Ocean, but not a very exciting budget line item as far as funding went. Salvation came unexpectedly in early 2012 through a contact in the nautical community of Weymouth and Portland on the southern coast of England. It was here that the Alexandra Shackleton was based after John Dean and Richard Reddyhoff generously allowed us to turn their state-of-the-art marina into the unofficial home of the expedition. And it was from here that Seb called me excitedly to say he’d come across a tall ship that closely resembled the Endurance. Maybe it could be our support vessel.
I went to meet the ship’s original owner and builder at the iconic Cove House Inn, nestled behind the high shingle bank of nearby Chesil Beach, not fifty meters from “Deadman’s Bay,” one of the UK’s most dangerous sections of coastline. Many ships had been wrecked in the bay with great loss of life due to lee shore winds and currents driving them onshore. Just six months earlier I had no understanding of such conditions, but now I knew we would likely face a lee shore in our keel-less boat as we approached South Georgia from the southwest with winds blowing us directly onshore. With powerful surf rumbling in the background, I knew there and then that this ship, a steel-hulled barquentine that looked remarkably like the Endurance, was the hook needed to pull everything together.
Shackleton planning his assault on Antarctica; some things haven’t changed in a hundred years.
Scott Polar Research Institute, University of Cambridge
The makers of Discovery Channel’s highly successful Gold Rush show, Raw TV in London, loved the idea of using an Endurance lookalike as our support vessel. Discovery Channel Europe loved it too. Now there was an extra story angle—life aboard the Endurance, as well as the Alexandra Shackleton—although all agreed there would be no need to crush and sink our tall ship in the ice of the Weddell Sea for the sake of realism. Plus the twenty or so berths not occupied by the ship’s crew and Raw’s team could be made available to sponsors and other interested paying parties.
About this time, PR guru Kim McKay came on board to help with publicity and fundraising for the expedition. Not only was Kim an expert in her field, she had also worked for both National Geographic and Discovery, we had mutual friends, and she was a committed greenie who cofounded the leading environmental charity Clean Up Australia and cut her teeth doing media and PR for the BOC Challenge solo around the world yacht races—in short she was a perfect choice. It took just one serendipitous meeting in Sydney, at an event to celebrate David de Rothschild’s Pacific voyage in his plastic-bottle boat Plastiki, and she was on board.
Expeditions are all about measuring your effort and picking your battles. It’s like doubling your efforts when you know a set of tennis is there for the taking but conserving energy and conceding points cheaply when you know it is lost. With Kim on board, Arup being brilliantly supportive, Discovery Europe having committed, and Seb fitting out the Alexandra Shackleton in Weymouth with an army of volunteers, the stars were aligning. Suddenly we were leading two sets to one and were a service break up in the third. I decided the austral summer of 2012–13 would be our time.
Of course, I should have anticipated the match would come down to a tiebreak in the fifth set. Eternal optimism is one thing but I was, after all, trying to pull off an expedition to re-create the world’s greatest survival journey during perhaps the worst recession the world has seen. Despite this, three wonderful sponsors signed on in 2012—Intrepid Travel became our naming rights sponsor; Whyte & Mackay Scotch whisky supported us with both funds and whisky (actual replica bottles of the same Mackinlay’s whisky Shackleton had taken on his expedition); and St. George Bank ensured we would have enough funding to at
least make the expedition happen.
With this all finalized I returned to the UK in late July 2012 to “supervise” the still formidable list of tasks needed to keep the expedition on track. I was tired but undaunted at the prospect of what lay ahead with less than six months to go: final selection of our team’s sailors, sea trials, sea-survival courses and the South Georgian government’s environmental and expedition briefings, final fit-out of the Alexandra Shackleton, answering Discovery Channel’s questions, selling twenty berths aboard our support vessel, progressing the five sets of permits required for our expedition, reviewing legal aspects of contracts with sponsors and those traveling south with us, and media events in London and New York. It was a big list all right. We also had to ensure that the Alexandra Shackleton, on board Polar Pioneer, and our support vessel all left on time for their 10,000-mile journey to Antarctica. Clearly, there wasn’t going to be much time for watching the London Olympics on TV.
Insurance for this whole operation, meantime, was morphing into a subject fit for a Ph.D. thesis: factors included age, level of risk exposure, and duration of that exposure on a journey that now involved two boats and thirty people re-creating the world’s greatest journey of survival in the roughest ocean in the world. Shackleton would have approved of the challenge and the nine weeks in which I had to sort it all out.