Endurance: Surviving Antarctica


January night. Nineteen o nine. Ernest shackleton groans as he trudges through the hard packed snow now. A bitter headwind cuts through his jacket freezing his breath among his hands. The temperature is minus nineteen degrees pulled by any standards but with the wind chill. It's closer to minus fifty shackleton's feet and ears are covered with blisters and the black char frostbite. He's weakened by hunger and head splitting altitude sickness. He and his crew have trekked over seven hundred miles south across the vast expanse of antarctic snow their goal is to reach beyond engine the known world and be the first humans to ever reach the south pole. An expedition the public had been calling the nimrod after the name of his ship. Their journey has taken almost two and half months still before them an endless white plateau of snow and ice. The poll is out there somewhere. Shackleton has been on this continent once before six years ago. It was his first antarctic expedition under the leadership of captain robert. Scott scott was brooding and temperamental. he ruled by bullying. An absolute authority. Shackleton was the opposite. he was optimistic. Open and warm as conditions grew more difficult on that eight month journey tension was deck when frost by and low rash slowed them to a crawl. Scott yelled keep going you bloody fools but they turn back from the poll. Nearly five hundred miles out by the time shackleton got back to the ship. He was coughing up blood now. He has another shot this time. His leading a four man through and he isn't going to make scott's mistakes. The last month has been slow going. He looks at his men's haggard faces for weeks now. They've had little to eat

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