The Antarctic Journals, Chapter Twenty-four, Backtracking Shackleton

The men are beyond exhausted when they land on Elephant Island and a more inhospitable place would be hard to find.  Uninhabited, rarely if ever frequented by whalers and sealers, and with treacherous beaches for landing, the island is exposed to the worst of the ferocious weather for which this area is known.

The next day, they move to a slightly larger beach seven miles along the coast.  Other than offering a place to get farther away from the waves, it offers nothing more in the nature of shelter.

All of them understand that had the weather driven them past this small spot, they would surely have perished in the Drake Passage of the southern ocean.  Many of the men find themselves incapable of doing anything but lying in their wet sleeping bags.  A blizzard blows up during the night.

Ernest Shackleton, ever conscious of the well-being of his men, brings them breakfast in bed the next morning, delivered with cheering words, as the blizzard rages on.  The next day, he calls the men together and announces that he and five others will attempt to sail to South Georgia and secure rescue from the whaling stations there.

Cape Horn and Tierra del Fuego is several hundred miles closer, but that would mean sailing across the westerlies in the Drake Passage.  Shackleton chooses to sail with the wind and hopefully find South Georgia.

Dragging the James Caird up the beach on Elephant Island.  The figure seated at left most likely is Perce Blackborow, the young stowaway, whose feet are severely frostbitten.

That energizes the men, and with tasks assigned, they busy themselves making preparations for the hazardous trip.  Chippy McNish, the dour carpenter, puts his skills to the James Caird, strengthening and adapting it.  He scrounges what lumber and fasteners he can and builds a framework to enclose the open boat, over which they stretch a canvas sail, leaving an opening hardly large enough for three men to stand near the stern.

Making the James Caird as seaworthy as possible for the impossible sail to South Georgia.

None of the work is easy.  McNish has frostbitten hands.  The canvas sail is frozen and has to be thawed foot by foot.   All of the men are exhausted.  The weather is horrid.

Several days later, with 2000 lbs, of rock ballast, the James Caird is stocked with provisions for four weeks.  Even this is difficult as the supplies must be ferried out beyond the reef to the Caird by the small Stancomb Wills.  The bad weather abates and Shackleton decides this is the day to start their 800 mile journey.

Launching the James Caird from Elephant Island.

He chooses his five crew with care, noting their capabilities as well as their faults:  Capt. Frank Worsley for his exceptional navigation skills and Tom Crean for his endurance.  He added McNish, despite his rebellion of the ice, for his sailing and carpentry skills, and also because he does not want to leave him behind to cause trouble with the remaining men.

John Vincent, boatswain, is selected for the same reason.  Timothy McCarthy, able seaman, was the sixth man.  He, along with McNish, Crean, and Vincent, are some of the several men singled out for commendation during the seven-day boat voyage.

Shackleton leaves Frank Wild, his right hand man, in charge during his absence, with instructions that if no rescue appears by the austral spring, they should make their way to Deception Island where whalers are found frequently.   Unspoken is the obvious—the journey ahead for Shackleton and his men is unprecedented and indescribably dangerous, and the odds of its success are minimal to nothing.

Eight hundred miles of the most treacherous water in the world, frequent gales and blizzards, the freezing cold of austral winter, the notorious Cape Horn rollers some 60 feet high, do not make for a successful sail in a 22 and a half foot, over-loaded boat with slightly more than two feet of freeboard.

On April 24, 1916, the James Caird sets sail for South Georgia, trying to get ahead of the advancing ice pack.

On shore, the 22 remaining men give the departing crew a raucous send-off until the small boat is out of sight.  Then they turn back to their own plight.  They have little to eat, no shelter, ragged clothing, wind-shredded tents, wet and rotting sleeping bags, and endless days of boredom ahead of them.  It is a bleak situation, indeed.

The James Caird departs Elephant Island.

The green line marks the route from the ice pack to Elephant Island.  The red line is Shackleton's intended sail to get help.

Black and white photos by Frank Hurley courtesy of

         South with Endurance: Shackleton's Antarctic Expedition 1914-1917

        The Photographs of Frank Hurley

        Book Creation Services, Ltd., London, 2001

        ISBN 1-932302-04-2

        

***

I’m standing on the deck of a comfortable ship anchored in Halfmoon Cove, a part of Admiralty Bay on King George Island, part of the Antarctic Peninsula.  I wait my turn for a ride to shore in the Polarcirkle boats.  For now, I take photos.

Polish research station of Arctowski.

Before me is the Polish research station of Arctowski, named for Henryk Arctowski (1871-1958), a meteorologist who originated the notion of a wind chill factor, arguing that wind could be as damaging to human flesh as cold.

It is a glorious and clear afternoon.  We arrived here after several days at sea, fighting gale force winds, 15 foot waves and the incessant westerly wind from Drake Passage for almost 900 miles.

I thought of Ernest Shackleton and the astonishing voyage he attempted in a life boat less than 23 feet long, all the way from Elephant Island to South Georgia some 800 ,miles distant through the same waters we encountered.  It was rough enough int he comparatively moderate seas we encountered on our 350 foot ship. 

I would not have wanted to be in that tiny craft with Shackleton and five others, no matter how desperate and sick I was of penguin and seal meat and little else.

The penguin lookout.

Soon it’s time for my boat group to go ashore.  Under the terms of agreements by tour operators licensed to bring passengers to the Antarctic, only 100 passengers, plus guides and necessary crewmen, are allowed on shore at any one time.  Thus, when each boatload off-loads, the passengers are given a specific time to return for transport to the mother ship.

Waiting to return to the ship.

Since each Cirkle boat carries only eight tourists, by the time the number onshore reaches close to a hundred, many are already returning to the ship.

What a souvenir tee shirt!

I wander around a huge rock and find---a gift shop.  Cool.  I have to borrow money from another passenger to buy a tee shirt I desperately want because I'd left mine on the Fram.

Then it’s off to see the penguins.  A rocky point is tough to walk along, but eventually I reach a snow-covered area where walking is easier.  The Adelie penguins try to outwalk me.  I hang back, then try to get ahead of them, but it only makes them waddle faster.  Finally, I veer away and stop to watch three seals slumbering on the beach.  

Adelie penguins.

A little farther on, I see the one and only Chinstrap penguin of the trip, mixed in with Gentoo and Adelie.  The three are related, both genetically and in crime.  They build a nest with stones, then line it with grasses.  They are not averse to stealing stones from each other’s nests, either.

This Chinstrap penguin is standing in front of another penguin.

Gentoo penguin.

Some passengers visit the station itself, welcomed by the Polish staff there.  Somehow the penguins take up all my time and soon it’s too late for me to trudge over to the buildings.

Back on board, I watch the sunset as the Fram pulls out of Admiralty Bay headed south to the British station of Port Lockroy, 220 miles away.  It will be an overnight sail for us, but in the shelter of the peninsula islands, a quiet one.

 







 
 
 

The Antarctic Journals, Chapter Twenty-two, Grytviken

March 23, 1916:  Ernest Shackleton spots land to the west, the first they have seen in more than a year.  Hurley says they could reach land in a day if the pack ice relents and they could find open water.

The ice does not relent, and near the end of the month, Shackleton realizes they have drifted so far north there might not be reachable land ahead.

March: 30:  The last of the dogs are killed, the younger ones eaten.  The men lie in their sleeping bags and feel the swell of the ocean beneath them.  Lees suffers from seasickness.

April 7:  The tall peaks of Elephant Island are seen ahead in the far distance, but the ice shifts again and again, sometimes putting the island out of reach, sometimes making it seem a possibility.

The floe on which they are camped becomes smaller and smaller, until it is a 90 by 100 by 120 yard triangle.   A crack opens in the disintegrating ice and dumps the James Caird into the water.   The next afternoon, after a substantial meal, Shackleton and the men take to the boats.

This photo by Frank Hurley shows the 22.5 foot long James Caird after she was decked over.  However, at this point in our story, she is still an open life boat.

On the James Caird are Shackleton, Wild, and nine men.  The Dudley Decker holds Worsley and eight more men.  And finally, on the smallest boat, there are the remaining  eight men.

The ice moves crazily, constantly threatening to crush the small boats and finding open leads become an ordeal.  Wet, cold, and miserable, the 28 men had been trapped in the ice for fifteen months.

Now comes the hard part.

Shackleton's route now changes to green when the 28 men launch the three life boats as the ice disintegrates.

***

Try pot for rendering seal blubber.

Death has a strong presence here.

It haunts this place, this small bay set in nearly unparalleled, but stark, beauty.  High mountains like sharks’s teeth ring the bay while down below the spectre of death swaggers up the conveyors and swirls in the monstrous cookers and flows to the massive  tanks the color of old blood where the precious whale oil was stored.  Whale bones litter the beach and grounds.

The former whaling station of Grytviken in background.  Administration buildings are on the spit of land in the foreground.

The butchery that was rampant here a century ago and until the not-so-distant past now lingers in the trypots where seals were rendered for their oil.  This place, this place of death, is now a museum but the carnage and slaughter could still be taking place as I walk the beach behind the guide.  

We are in the long-abandoned Norwegian whaling station of Grytviken on South Georgia island, listening to the guide explain the workings of the machinery of death.  The Norwegian ship Fram, a bringer of tourists, bobs gently on her anchor in East Cumberland Bay, while the whaling ship Petrel, a deliverer of death until 1956, rots on shore in front of the museum that once was the station-master’s home.

The whaler Petrel.

“It was a different time, it was a different time,”  I silently repeat again and again, like a mantra that might somehow explain, but not excuse.  I lag behind farther and farther and turn my eyes away when my imagination becomes too vivid until, eventually, I can listen no longer.  I turn my back and wander away.

The pressure cooker where whale blubber was rendered into oil.  Slabs of blubber were loaded into the conveyor buckets  in front, lifted up and deposited into the cookers.

Relics of the whaling industry.  Try pot for rendering seal and penguin blubber in foreground.

Note all the seals on the beach in front of the administration and science buildings.

Former barracks.  Station ledgers show numerous orders of cologne.  Why?  Alcohol was forbidden here and cologne is mostly alcohol.

The white buildings at right are the former station manager's residence now converted into a museum and gift shop.  The church is an iconic landmark in Grytviken.

I look for life, instead. 

Around me, in this small, placid bay, elephant and fur seals were once slaughtered for their precious oil.  They now sleep unmolested but for the clicking of camera shutters, on the beaches, along the walking paths, beneath the bows of small boats.   

The administration buildings are barely visible behind the Fram.

A young male elephant seal offers me what I seek.

When fully mature, this male elephant seal can weigh up to 8800 lbs and measure 15 to 19 feet long.  He will be several times larger than female elephant seals.

The enormous proboscis of a mature bull elephant seal.  I'm still trying to orient what's what in this photo.  I think we are looking at this seal upside down, with the bottom of his head lying on the grass.
   That is his eye on the left of the proboscis and his whiskers and mouth on the right.  That is a cut above (below in the correct orientation)  the eye.

The King penguin with its fins up is trying to cool off.

Penguins in various stages of moult.

When he stops beyond another penguin, he provides a perfect shot of front and back.

Once aboard the Fram, the ship leaves this protected cove and heads east-southeast towards the southern tip of South Georgia, then into the open waters of the Scotia Sea once again.  They meet us with gale force winds, but this time we take the waves bow-on, rather than at the stern.

We have a two-day journey ahead of us before we see land again, all of it into the face of the prevailing westerly winds that whip unimpeded around the globe.

We will return to this place later in these journals (though not on our voyage).  It is here we will find the dénouement of the adventure that is Shackleton’s.

Remnants of skis used by the Norwegian whalers for recreation.