Endurance: Surviving Antarctica | Determination | 3
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Frank Wild paces back and forth among the tents. It's January 1st, 1916, New Year's Day. But he doesn't feel festive. Since they set up camp, it's been a tough go to keep everyone's spirits up. No one expected they would still be here on the ice. After days of attempting to get through the mushy snow with 900-pound sledges, Shackleton called the 27 men together and said they had to stop and set up camp.

The ice was bigger than them. The priority now is food. They have maybe 50 days of provisions left. Time to begin the hunt for penguins and seals. But so far, they've had little luck. Just a handful of seals and one emperor penguin. It's a start, but they'll need more if they're going to survive. One of the most enthusiastic hunters is Ord Lees. Lees was a royal marine before he joined the expedition.

specifically requested by Ernest Shackleton as a motor expert. He's not the easiest guy to get along with. He likes to be alone and do things his own way. Most hunting trips, he goes out with the others, but comes back alone with tall tales of chasing a seal or a sighting of penguins. While Wilde appreciates Lee's high spirits, he's also frustrated. He's warned him a hundred times not to travel alone. Anything could happen out there.

And this afternoon, he's done it again. The other men returned without Lee's. Wilde sighs and heads back to his tent to grab some gear. If it gets close to twilight, he'll need to look for the man himself. And that's when he hears a crack of ice and shouts from the edge of camp. Help! Wilde, bring your gun! Wilde grabs his rifle and starts running towards the sounds. A quarter of a mile away, he sees Lee's skiing towards camp.

It looks like he's being chased by a demon. Sea leopard! Sea leopard! The brown-spotted sea leopard is huge. It's at least 12 feet long and moves fast like a snake across the ice. One snap of its jaws could break a man's leg in half. Wilde runs toward the cries, cursing under his breath. What is Lees doing out there on his own again?

Wilde tracks the animal with his gun, but it's still too far away to take a shot. Then, out of nowhere, it dives into the water between the two ice floes. Lee's look of fear turns to puzzlement. Something isn't right. Suddenly, the sea leopard erupts out of the water, right in front of Lee's. It lunges viciously, snapping its jaws. It's so close, Wilde can see the glint of sun and water on its enormous teeth.

Lee rears back and swings to the right, desperately trying to ski away. The sea leopard launches up into the ice and resumes the chase. It's right behind him. Wild screams in frustration. Faster, man, faster! The seal turns its head and catches Wild in its sights. It throws the front of its long body into the air and roars. Wild takes deep breath.

and drops to his knees. The animal charges forward closer and closer until Wild can see down its throat. Steady, steady. Wild walks over to inspect the animal. It's bigger than he thought. It must weigh over a thousand pounds. He hears distant cheers from the men. They'll eat well tonight. "Lise, go and tell the boss and get a dog team together. We're gonna need help dragging this thing to camp."

Lee's grins. It's a good day in the end, but Wilde knows the meat from the sea lion will only last a few weeks. And then what will they do? Winter is coming. That night, when Wilde lays down, his sleeping bag is wet. He feels around. The snow is melting. He immediately goes to Shackleton's tent. The whole flow is starting to melt around us. We can't stay here much longer, boss.

Shackleton nods. He's had the same thought. When the men exit the tent, they're surprised to find Lee's. He tells them in his solo scouting missions he found a new, better ice floe to pitch camp on. It's only 150 yards southeast. A few weeks later, they're settled in. They dub the new spot "Patience Camp" because that's what they'll need. Here, the waiting game will begin again.

Either the ice pack will open up and let their boats through, or they'll die here in the frozen tundra. In our fast-paced, screen-filled world, it can be all too easy to lose that sense of imagination and wonder. If you're looking for new ways to ignite your creativity and open your mind to fresh perspectives, then let Audible be your guide. Whether you listen to stories, motivation, or any genre you love,

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From Wondery, I'm Cassie DePeckel, and this is Against the Odds. In our last episode, Sir Ernest Shackleton and his crew of 27 men witnessed their ship, the Endurance, crushed by the unforgiving ice off the coast of Antarctica. When it sank, the men were forced to build camp and spend the winter on an ice floe. Now, it's been 10 months of waiting for the ice to melt, and they're still here, unsure of how or when they'll get home.

Meanwhile, 100 years later, Henry Worsley and two other descendants of the Endurance crew began their own journey to recreate another Shackleton expedition. Their goal? To trek across Antarctica 800 miles on foot to reach the South Pole. But what Henry is learning is that their greatest obstacle isn't the weather or the rough terrain. It's themselves. This is Episode 3, Determination.

Ernest Shackleton is worried. The morale of his men has never been lower. It's mid-February, and for more than a month, the ice floe has been traveling only two miles a day, bringing them no closer to land than when they began. He's not even sure what direction they're going in anymore. Without tasks or purpose, the men are getting soft. It's like they've been rocked into a dull hibernation. It worries Shackleton. They need to be prepared for anything out here.

So he decides to order a drill, see how quickly the men can get the boats off the sledges and into the water, with their rations and tents. The exercise just sets the men more on edge to see how low the rations are. A gnawing hunger takes over everyone's bellies. And then, to add insult to injury, the temperature dips to 10 below.

The men spend most of the day huddled in their sleeping bags, pouring out frustrations into their journals. Even his captain, Frank Worsley, who is normally larger than life, is withdrawing into himself. To try and raise their spirits, each day Shackleton visits each tent to inquire about everyone's health. "Kareen, how are you holding up? McNish, is your leg any better?"

He laughs and shares jokes. If he has any tobacco in his pocket, he shares it with those who seem most down. He tells them this will pass. But still, he sees the desperation on their faces. Something has to change. It's December 17th, 2008. Henry Worsley unzips the tent and heads out for his morning stroll across the snowy landscape of Antarctica.

His teammate Will Gow calls after him, laughing. "Don't fall in!" They are four weeks into their expedition to reach the South Pole, to follow in the footsteps of Ernest Shackleton and finish what he and his men weren't able to do. They are all descendants of Shackleton's Nimrod and Endurance crews, and the journey is personal on many levels, perhaps more for Henry than anyone.

Walking through the quiet landscape has become a daily ritual for Henry. He loves the feeling of being somewhere so few people have explored. The view is infinite, and he is so small. It's exhilarating. It gives him time to think and focus. He tries to imagine Shackleton out here a hundred years ago. Look for signs. He picks up rocks and pieces of old skeleton and drops them in his pocket.

This ancient continent brings you face to face with who you really are. He just hopes he can make it to the end. Today is day four ascending the vast Beardmore Glacier, one of the most dangerous parts of the journey. It's 25 miles wide and 125 miles long. Shackleton described it as the highway to the pole, but that's deceiving.

The glacier is riddled with deep crevices, massive cracks in the ice so large they can swallow a man whole. They're often buried beneath snow and ice, making them hard to see. Even the small ones could twist an ankle or break a leg, and if any one of them gets hurt, there's no place for a plane to fly in. As one of his advisors told him before he left, you either get yourself out or you don't.

No wonder only 12 people in the world have ever reached the top of it. But today, Henry is taking the lead. He's done all his research on the route and read Shackleton's book more times than he can count. But if there's one thing he's learned out here, preparation is only half the battle. Their progress has slowed to a crawl, despite years of polar training. The glacier is more formidable than he could have imagined. Each step has to be planned.

It's as if they're climbing up a sheet of ribbed glass. Any fall could be fatal. And knowing that adds a whole other level of challenge. He'll need to focus and block out any thoughts of defeat. Climbing is a mental game as well. On March 23rd, Ernest Shackleton is up early for his morning walk. The air is brisk. A blanket of fog drapes over the ice like a coat.

When he gets to the edge of the ice flow, he stops and stares. Nothing but an endless slate of gray sea and ice. The same view he sees every day. But then the fog parts and he sees something in the distance. Is that an iceberg? No, it's much too dark for that. Could it be land? He's off at a run back to camp.

He rattles the flaps of Frank Hurley's tent. Hurley is one of the best photographers in the world. He's been out here before and knows the shapes of the land like the back of his hand. "'Hurley, get up. I see something out there. I need your eyes.' The two men rush to the edge of the island and peer through foggy mist. "'I'll be damned, boss. That's land all right. See the dark mountains poking into the sky? Looks like it's about 60 miles west.'

Shackleton is so excited, he sprints back to camp, yelling at the top of his lungs, land in sight, land in sight. This is what the men need. It's been 16 months since they've seen any coastline. But the crew's reaction is odd. A few rush out, but others refuse to get out of their bags. There have been so many wishful sightings, they don't believe it. Let us know when it's confirmed, one grumbles.

Shackleton spends the rest of the day at the edge of the flow with his captain, Frank Worsley, watching the fog blow in and out. Frank pours over his charts. Those are the danger isolates. See here? Beyond that is Paulette Island. If the ice pack opens up, we could be there in a day.

But the pack doesn't open up. As the day goes on, the land gets no closer. It's locked in place by massive icebergs, like sentinels guarding them from escaping. There is simply no way to get from here to there. The men know it too. Their hopes are dashed once again. That night, Shackleton writes in his diary, "'Please, God, we will get soon ashore.'"

It's a cloudless day in December 2008. The sky above the Antarctic continent is brilliant blue, but Henry Worsley isn't looking at the sky. He's staring up at the steep ridge of the Beardmore Glacier, wondering how they will ever get across. The Beardmore is a river of icy blue hills and valleys 120 miles long. It's dotted with deep crevices.

Henry and his two teammates have been preparing for this moment for nearly four years. They have better equipment than Shackleton did. But still, the fact remains, if trouble happens, they'll have to get out of it alone. Once their sledges are packed and loaded, Henry clicks into the harness around his chest and tests it. It's locked and secure. He and his teammates are using crampons for most of the trek.

The surface of the glacier is stone hard, not good for skiing. Everyone ready? Will gives him the thumbs up. Let's do it. As they set out, Henry marvels at the sounds. With each punch of his ski pole or shoe, he hears the faint tinkling of ice rolling across the surface. Soon, they are in a rhythm, surrounded by a wall of whites and blues. Above them, the jagged mountain peaks reach into the sky.

It's deceptively beautiful. Two days ago, when he went to get his bag off his sled, the ice cracked under his foot. In a split second, he was thigh-deep in a crevice. Adams saved him. Each time one of them has a near miss, he feels like his luck is running out. But he also feels responsible. He's supposed to lead them to safety. They are completely on their own out here and only have each other to rely on.

A few days ago, Henry lost his cool with Adams and Will, shouting at the two of them after they left him behind. They all know the first rule out here is do not separate, and they disregarded it. After he blew up, Henry apologized, but he still feels bad. Shackleton rarely yelled at his men. Henry needs to be more measured, calm. As Shackleton once wrote...

Tomorrow may see the end of all our difficulties. Difficulties are just things to overcome, after all. Henry steps slowly, careful to balance his weight. If he steps wrong and stumbles, he'll be dragged down the slope. He takes a look over his shoulder to check on the others. Will is struggling as usual. It's not easy to be the man in the middle. The weight from behind, the pull from above.

The rope keeps getting tangled up around him, and he's cursing. Henry stops to see if he can help, but when he shifts his weight, he feels his crampon bend. Then he starts to lose his balance. The weight of the sled pulls him backward. He reaches out, trying to find something to grab onto, but nothing is there. Finally, he jams his ski pole into the snow and manages to right himself. He's breathing hard.

If any of them fell up here, it would be the end of the expedition. He gives his teammates the all-good thumbs up, pulls out a ski pole, and takes another step. But now he's shaken. Focus, Henry. Focus. He knows Shackleton leaned into optimism when fear crept in. Henry thinks about his wife and his two children, family holidays with everyone gathered around the farmhouse table.

All the while, he keeps his eye out for crevices. He's so immersed in his thoughts, he doesn't even hear the voices of his teammates bickering at first. When he does, he's annoyed. Can't they just have one day without something going wrong? Apparently, Adams isn't happy with the route they're taking. He's pointing to a distant area of the glacier. "We should be over there." Will's voice is loud. "Absolutely not. We have to stay the course. We don't know what's over there. We don't know what's here."

It's one of Henry's biggest fears: dissension in the group. They need a decision. Now. He turns around mid-step and looks both of them in the eyes. Then he says quietly, "We need to keep heading south and up." He's surprised at how calm he sounds.

Adams says nothing, but he nods and gets back in line. One day later, they reach the top. They stand together looking back, the glacier falling away below them. It's one of the most beautiful sights he's ever seen.

A sea of blue and white. Somewhere out there is the start of the long path they took from the edge of the ice shelf. And somewhere behind the frozen beards, Henry can make out the two faces of teammates grinning. The hardest part is behind them, he hopes. He pulls out his map. Well done, guys. Now we just have to get across the polar plateau. Will squints his eyes. That's a map?

Henry nods. It's a pilot map, with their whole journey plotted out in tiny lines and dots across the page. It's the only representation of the area he could find. They're lucky to have this. When Shackleton and his crew crossed the continent, they had nothing.

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It's March 28th, 1916. Ernest Shackleton sits alone in his tent, shuffling a deck of cards. It's all part of the waiting game. Keep the mind occupied. Don't dwell on the worst that might happen. They're still trapped on the ice floe, drifting out to open sea. The island they saw days ago disappeared when the winds shifted east.

Still, each morning, Frank Worsley heads out to the edge of the flow, looking for another spit of land. His chart is now showing that Elephant Island is close, but he hasn't spotted it yet. Meanwhile, their rations are dwindling. They have less than a week's worth for all the men. Five days ago, Shackleton was forced to dispatch the dogs. It was a dark day, but a necessary decision. The dogs were taxing the food supply.

The only things the men have to eat now are the remaining dog food and powdered milk. At 9 p.m., Shackleton puts his cards away and lies in his bag, listening to the sounds. It's so quiet out here, except for the damn ice. It's shifting again. At night, it booms and groans as it expands and contracts. It makes Shackleton uneasy, but he tries to sleep anyway.

The night watchmen will call if there's a problem. And then all of a sudden, he hears a heavy thump. He's out of his tent in an instant. He hears Frank Worsley shouting across camp. Help! All hands now! The flow split under the cairn.

The James Caird is their large whaling boat, the one they've dragged across the ice pack for months. When Shackleton gets to the boat, he sees a large crack ripping through the flow. It's like the ice is trying to swallow her up. Men rush from their tents, trying to pull the boat free as the crack splits wider. Finally, they manage to get her out.

They sit on the floe, breathing hard, listening to the sounds of ice moving in the distance. And then it stops. Two hours later, the crack closes up as if it were never there. But the next morning, the ice splits again. This time it's wider. There are now open patches of water running through the floe, and more are forming. It's a full-scale attack.

Their flow is disintegrating beneath them. Shackleton runs through the camp. "Strike the tents! Get the boats ready!" The men quickly rush into action, ripping down the tents and stuffing their supplies into packs. As they run for the sledges, deep fissures form under their feet. They quickly push the boats to the edge.

Behind them, the ice splits again. Shackleton looks back. It's the exact spot where his tent was resting just a few minutes before. Finally, the men manage to get the boats into the water. They stand on alert, waiting for the order. Shackleton knows once he gives it, there will be no turning back.

If they launch, the pack could close in and crush them inside the boats. But if they stay, the ice could break up beneath them, throwing them into the frigid waters. At 12:40 p.m., he gives the command: "Launch the boats." The men push off the floe and into the icy sea. Channels of water open up around them, creating a turquoise maze that winds out into the ocean.

In a matter of minutes, they're weaving through the pack, heading for the open water. Behind them, the ice slams shut. Camp patience is gone. Shackleton looks out into the hazy distance. They're committed now, but he knows land is out there. Somehow, they have to find a way there, together.

It's January 1st, 2009. Henry Worsley scrapes away at the built-up snow and ice chunks hanging from the outside of the tent. Then he dries his sleeping bag and socks before rolling them up and slipping them into his pack. The words, you get wet, you die, play on repeat in his mind. It was a mantra imparted to him by their trainer before this polar expedition. Will Gow and Henry Adams pack up the rest of the camp.

Ahead of them is the next leg of their journey, the long trek across the polar plateau. 300 miles lay between them and the South Pole, and this next leg of the trip will be rough. The air is getting thinner the closer they get to their destination. He can already sense the elevation change in his body, and everyone is moving more slowly. They're speaking less.

After conquering Beardmore Glacier, they spent Christmas Day resting. As much as he hates to admit it, Henry really needed to recuperate. His body is wearing down. He's losing weight, and with it, his energy. But he has to keep going. He can't let his team down, or his family.

He was able to call his wife, Joanna, on a satellite phone for a few minutes yesterday to wish her well. He even got to speak to his daughter and son. The brief contact with home throws him, though. Henry hates spending the holiday away from them, but they understand. His wife believes everyone has a place they go to find out answers about themselves. Antarctica is Henry's.

Henry clicks into his cross-country skis and takes the lead again today. All around him is an endless field of snow and ice rising and falling in subtle ridges. It reminds him of meringue. He smiles to himself. Everything reminds him of food these days. The first leg of the plateau is uphill and into the wind. Henry braces himself and tries to get into a rhythm, but his breathing is already labored.

He even struggles to get over a small icy incline. This isn't a good way to start the day. They aren't even a mile out. This is the mental game. The first half hour has the power to color the entire day. It's the power of thought, and only he can decide. But today, he can't push away the gremlins. They sit on his shoulder, telling him he can't do this.

He wills his mind to focus on something positive. That's what Shackleton did. But he's so tired, it doesn't help that the windchill is almost 40 below. Every time they get to the top of a ridge, he says to himself, this must be the last. But then there's another, and another. The gusts of frigid air meet him head on, taking his breath away. He pulls up his fur hood, trying to keep out the worst of the cold.

but his breath is rapidly freezing up his beard. The further they push into the landscape, the slower he moves. The sledge slows him down even more. It's filled with all of his food, his clothing, and his gear. It weighs 250 pounds. Each step is an effort. An hour later, the air is getting so thin he starts to feel lightheaded. It's not helped by a hacking cough he's developed.

He tries to push back his anxiety. He needs to be strong, but he's no match for the wind. Finally, he signals his teammates. Hey guys, I need a little break. He takes a seat on the ground and leans against his sleigh, closing his eyes. They're a week away from the 97-mile mark, the spot Shackleton and his crew had to turn back. How will he make it that far? He feels a shadow fall over his face. It's Adam's.

"'You okay, General?' Henry nods. He just wants to be left alone. "'Let me carry some of your load. Some fuel, some food, the camera kit.' Henry knows he's right. They talked about this before they left, that they would help one another if things got tough. No heroics, but he can't let his crew carry his things. "'Sod off, Adams. We're all exhausted. It's up to me to solve this.' "'Okay, man. Your choice.'

As they make their way to the next camp, he knows he needs to do something. He won't be able to pull this load alone. What if he drops some of the weight? He does the math in his head, trying to figure out how many days it will take to get to the 97-mile point and then to the pole. If there are no emergencies and he continues to travel at this rate, he could drop maybe eight days of food. He would be hungry, but he could push through that.

When he gets to the campsite, he tells his teammates his plan. I'm going to offload 18 pounds. Okay, Henry, if anything goes down, we'll pool our emergency rations. Henry knows it's a calculated risk, but something inside him tells him it will work. He'll manage. At least he's made a choice. It feels good. The gremlins are gone. It's April 9th, 1916.

Ernest Shackleton mans the tiller of the whaling ship, called the James Caird. There are 11 men total on this boat, and they're all taking turns at the oars. They've been out on the sea for four days now after escaping the ice flow. And so far, the spirits of his men have been high. Everyone is pleased to be out of that frozen prison and making some headway towards something again.

While the men row through the sea, Shackleton keeps them in rhythm by shouting, stroke, stroke, stroke. Behind him are two other boats, the Cutters. They're slightly smaller, filled with the other 17 men. All of the boats are filled to the brim with gear. There's not one comfortable berth, but at least everyone has gotten off the flow safely.

They're headed northwest, hoping to hit Elephant Island. Captain Worsley has determined it's the closest land, but they still haven't seen any signs. All around them, the sea ripples with life. Whales appear beside their crafts, dwarfing the 22-foot vessels. The sky is dotted with birds who fly overhead, keeping pace with the boats, snow petrels, terns, and pigeons. It's the most life they've seen in a year.

The men row past a massive iceberg. It's a towering block of crystal blue ice. Mist sprays up in the air over them. It's majestic. Shackleton sees the smiles on his men's faces. But then, he hears something he doesn't like. A rumble in the distance. He shifts his gaze to the starboard side of the boat, and his stomach sinks.

In the distance, a churning river of ice is moving through the ocean waves on a rip current. It's more than two feet high and it's headed right for them.

The ice tumbles over itself, writhing like a sea snake, and places it higher than the sides of their boats. Shackleton wrenches the tiller and shouts to the men, Turn to port! Pull! The three boats move in synchronicity, forming a line, rowing as fast as they can. But the riptide is gaining on them. If it reaches the back of their craft, they'll sink. Pull harder! Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!

It's a race for their lives. Shackleton stomps his feet, keeping the rowing cadence. For 15 minutes, the men pull with all their might. And then the water falls slack and the ice dissipates into a swirling pool. The chase is over. They have outrun the ice this time.

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Head over to Symbiotica.com and use code ODDS for 20% off and free shipping on your subscription order. Henry Worsley drags his skis through the snow. It feels like wet sand. His legs are aching, and it's taking all of his strength to keep pushing on. He keeps his head down and tries to breathe deeply, slowly. The gorgeous view from the Beardmore Glacier is far behind them now.

All Henry can see in front of him is an endless frozen expanse of white, tiny ice crystals fall gently from the sky. They float on the breeze. It's beautiful, a sort of diamond dust that looks magical, like a scene from a movie. But Henry knows that can only happen in extreme cold. The windchill today is hovering right around minus 62 degrees, and he's tracked the wind at 40 knots, almost hurricane force.

This is by far the coldest day of their journey yet, and the snow only makes matters worse. It always finds a way to penetrate their clothing, sneaking in behind their balaclava and beards. They have to keep an eye out for frostbite. If they could only stop to warm up. But there's still a three-day ski away from Shackleton's stopping point, the 97-mile mark where he had to turn back due to a blizzard.

There, they will meet up with three other descendants of Shackleton's crew and head to the South Pole. It's become a personal mission to reach that spot the same day Shackleton did, to achieve what he and his crew weren't able to 100 years ago. It's a test of his own fortitude and a nod to his hero. They just have to make it on time. Henry looks over his shoulder to check on his two teammates. He can just make out their shadows in the snow.

It looks like they're moving, so he keeps pushing forward. Will catches up to Henry mid-afternoon. But where's Adams? He turns around and he's a small shadow across the white. They should stop. Henry crouches down out of the wind, trying to keep himself warm.

When Adams catches up, his face is white. "I'm sorry guys, I got sick back there. Must be the altitude." Henry looks over to Will. He doesn't look so great either. Henry thinks about Shackleton and wonders what he would do. The man dealt with sickness and despair of his crew in countless situations. Henry and his team agreed to rest up if any one of them fell ill, but they're behind schedule.

Even a half-day delay will jeopardize making the rendezvous for the 100th anniversary. He looks at the faces of his teammates to see what they think, but they're looking at him. In that moment, he decides to make the decision for all of them. Let me help, Adams. I'll take your sleigh and you can take mine. Mine's lighter. And Will, I'll stay up here as lead. You guys can keep on slow and steady. You'll be amazed at how much less weight frees you up.

Will and Adams look at each other. "Sure, why not?" And after a brief rest, they all agree and start up again. As they continue on, the freezing wind picks up again. Henry realizes his left cheek is burning. It's probably frostbite, but he can't worry about it now. It feels good to be helping his teammates. He's starting to sense that they're seeing him as a leader, and he's starting to feel like one.

When they stop for the evening and set up the tent, Henry makes a point of telling Gao and Adams how well they've done. 12.3 miles today, in spite of what they all agree was the worst day of weather yet. Henry watches as the men eat well. He notices the color coming back to their cheeks. They're going to be okay, and tomorrow is another day.

The only thing troubling him now is that when he looks south, he sees huge dark clouds rolling through the sky. It's ominous. If the weather is even worse tomorrow, will they even be able to travel? If they want to make it on time, they won't have a choice. It's 5 a.m., April 11th, 1916. The sun is just coming up over the ice, but the weather is grim.

Shackleton sits on the deck of the whaling boat, peering out into the snow. A sudden squall has obscured everything in front of them. He can't even see the two boats behind him that carry the rest of the men. They've been out at sea for nearly a week after escaping the ice flow, and there's still no sign of land. Frank Worsley estimates either Clarence or Elephant Island is somewhere north, maybe 40 miles away. That's where they're headed, they hope.

But the wind refuses to cooperate. For two days, it feels like they've been moving so slowly, it may not have made any progress at all. But today, the wind picks up and takes hold. Freezing water sprays over them, and icy cold gusts hit them in the face. Two of the men immediately drape their heads over the side of the boat and are sick. But no one complains. Land is out there somewhere, and eventually, civilization.

They're going to find it. But as the days pass, it's only open water and ice. And one night, conditions inside the boats worsen. There's no room to move anywhere. And the pain is getting to the men. Their palms are blistering from rowing all day. They're also dangerously dehydrated. But they've run out of water. To ease their thirst, they've resorted to sucking chips of ice.

Then there's the non-stop spray from the ocean. It's made everything wet and frozen their clothes. At night, they do their best to sleep, but it's impossible in the small boats. There's nowhere to lie down. Some try to stand to get blood flowing. Others sit huddled together, shivering. When the sun comes up, Shackleton looks at the faces of his men. Crean's cheeks are almost white from the cold.

Worsley's eyes are bloodshot from the sea spray. Everyone's beards are matted and frozen stiff. He turns away, wondering how much more his men can take. He's got to try something to lift his men's spirits. Wild, light the stoves. Hot milk for everyone.

But two days later, the weather's even worse. A gale force wind kicks up the ocean and pushes the boats forward over waves almost a quarter mile long. At the top, they hear an unearthly sound, almost like a witch's shriek. The men cling to the sides of the boat to keep from falling overboard as they're pushed to the crests.

Then they are dropping down at a sickening speed, only to meet another wave a minute later. And so it goes on, one wave after the next. The crests are so tall, Shackleton can no longer see the other two boats from the top. A poem he once read races through his head. Alone, alone, all, all alone. Alone on a wide, wide sea.

At 5 p.m., the two other boats finally catch up. Worsley leans over the side and yells into the wind. Keep going? Shackleton yells back. Absolutely not. It's dark. We'll lose each other. The most important thing is to stay together. Anchor in. The wind dies down long enough for them to turn the boats away from the swells. Then they rope in, end to end, hoping for sleep. But there will be no sleep tonight. First, the wind starts to howl.

Then the temperature drops to eight below. Water splashes over the side and freezes in place on the way back down. In the Caird, the men bury themselves under the tents to try and protect themselves, but the wind tears the flaps out of their hands. The bottom of Worsley's boat fills with ice water, soaking all the men's feet. The third boat has it the worst. The water is almost up to the men's knees, and ice is starting to close in around the bow.

Each gust, each shift of the boat is sheer misery. There's nothing left to do but curse. They curse everything they can think of, even each other. One of the men begins to sing. When the others try to shush him, he refuses to stop. Another drops his head in his hands and begins to weep. In the last almost 500 days, they have had a lot of cold, hungry nights. But this, by far, is the worst night of their lives.

And then, at 5 a.m., the dawn breaks and the wind lets go of its hold on the night. The men suddenly find themselves bobbing in gentle water, staring with amazement at the pink and gold light coming up over the water. But it's Frank Hurley, the photographer, who sees the rocky peaks first. Land! Land!

Shackleton claps him on the back. Yes, it sure is. He turns to his captain in the adjacent boat and calls out hoarsely. Skipper, you were right. That has to be Elephant Island, and she's no more than 30 miles away. A few of the men shout and hug each other, but most of them are quiet, staring at the distant island as if by their gaze they can hold it in place until they reach safety.

This is the third episode of our five-part series, Endurance, Surviving Antarctica. A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this event, we recommend the books Endurance, Shackleton's Incredible Voyage by Alfred Lansing, South by Sir Ernest Shackleton himself, and In Shackleton's Footsteps by Henry Worsley.

Henry Worsley and his team also created the Shackleton Foundation to support inspirational leaders looking to help disadvantaged young people. For more information, go to www.shackletonfoundation.org.

I'm your host, Cassie DePeckel. Anthony Del Call wrote this episode. Our editors are Matt Wise and Maura Waltz. Our consultants are Chris Turney and Tim Freight. Brian White is our associate producer. Our audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez. Sound design by Rob Zaliga. Our executive producers are Stephanie Jens and Marshall Louis. For Wondery. Wondery.

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