–T.S. Eliot, from Section V, What the Thunder Said, of The Waste Land
Ernest Shackleton’s Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition had produced nothing but extreme terror. The ship Endurance, stuck in pack ice for nearly a year, shattered and sank; the men camped on ice floes for months, waiting for a clear ocean; when the mass finally disassembled they tossed in the dangerous ocean on lifeboats until they stumbled upon a deserted island; Shackleton and five others hopped in one of the boats to sail over 700 miles to a whaling outpost on South Georgia, persisting through monster waves, hurricanes, lack of water, salt ice, and psychic damage. More than two weeks in the small vessel, the six men, barely alive, arrived on the isle of their potential salvation, only to realize they were on the wrong part of it.
Standing between the lives of all the humans of the expedition and survival was over 25 miles of uncharted mountain range. Only three of the six retained enough strength to attempt a crossing. On 19 May 1916, Shackleton, Frank Worsley, and Tom Crean pushed into the unknown.
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