Think of them and their resilience when you get trapped in a hail storm with your family on a springtime day in the park. Think of them as you wake up in the morning after a nice eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Think of them as you adjust your thermostat from 68° to a balmy 70° to take the chill out of the morning air. Think of them as you enjoy your warm breakfast with eggs-over-easy, crispy bacon, with melted butter on soft toast. Think of them when you take a warm shower and get dressed in clean clothes. Think of them--the explorers of the Endurance--trapped in the ice flows of an Antarctic winter having to endure the extreme deprivation found only in fictional stories—and remember—the story of the Endurance is anything but fiction.
It's hard to count the number of stories that have emerged during the retelling of this true-life adventure over the last 106 years. One story, told in 1959 by the American journalist, Alfred Lansing, stands out as the very best. The book he wrote—Endurance—would become the definitive text on deprivation, survival, a stiff upper lip, leadership, team work, and of course resilience. As with many retellings of this story, Shackleton, the leader of the expedition seemingly takes center stage. As a seasoned and already famous Antarctic explorer looking to make an even bigger name for himself, so he could stand toe-to-toe with the other great South Pole explorers, Amundsen and Scott—he does seem to reach his goal. The theme of the Shackleton legend has been, “For scientific discovery, give me Scott; for speed and efficiency of travel, give me Amundsen; but when you are in a hopeless situation, when you are seeing no way out, get down on your knees and pray for Shackleton”. Yet this book, by Lansing, is called Endurance, for another reason beyond the obvious. Yes, the ship is called Endurance, but for me, in Lansing’s mind, the word endurance is a tribute to the tale of the resilience in all of these men. All of them. Not just Shackleton. Just read it and you will understand why.
What Lansing has done, through his writing, defies belief. If this were a book of fiction, one would certainly be convinced, he made it all up. No one can endure, let alone, survive these conditions—both bone-crushingly brutal and mind-numbingly boring at the same time. But yet it is all true. Painstakingly researched with the availability of the men’s journals, multiple interviews with them (as they were much older but still alive in the 50’s) as well as many photographs and drawings. Every hour on the ice-pack and so much more. Why are there photographs, you might ask? As mentioned, Shackleton was quite proud of himself. He definitely fancied himself a star. He certainly knew that taking pictures of his attempt at walking across Antarctica would come in handy for the publicity and lucrative nature of multiple speaking engagements upon his return. He brought with him both a photographer and an artist…he also brought a poet. In the darkest days of their survival, when they abandoned much of their equipment and were forced by necessity to destroy all of their sledge dogs, Shackleton allowed them to keep their personal journals. Somehow the photos, or at least the film made it back. Strangely, multiple sextants for navigation, were lost. The only remaining sextant, hung around Frank Worsley’s neck. Worsley was the actual captain of the ship Endurance. Shackleton was the leader of the expedition. Shackleton hired Worsley to be the captain. It was an excellent choice as some historians believe it was Worsley who is the true hero of this saga. But I digress, as compelling and nuanced as the adventure can be to tell to everyone, this is a review of the book not the adventure.
With so much at his disposal, Lansing has done, what any really good writer would do. He’s has written. Not having to invent content, he was free to take the research material, think and rethink the conditions, timeline, the multiple stories of each man, with their perspectives, and in some cases, exactly what they were thinking—because he had their written journals with notes sometimes down to the hour of the day—and weave everything together in a fluid, seamless narrative, that has you believing you are along for the expedition. Along with very bump, every sound, ever pain, every taste, and every hidden fear in their minds.
You feel the cold and dampness all around you. You smell the smoke from the burning seal blubber in their stoves. You hear Endurance moan under the crushing grip of the ice. You taste the fatty and bloody seal meat. At one point sledge dog--a delicacy given what they were used to with their rationed diet including penguin. You sense the relentless boredom and creeping fear as days become weeks and weeks become months. When the Antarctic winter fades completely into darkness and blizzards blow with gale force winds across a cracked and unstable ice pack—merely a 10 ft plate of flowing of living ice floating above the abyss of a 10,000 ft deep, dark, sea. Ten months they lived on the ice pack moving with the currents and winds for several hundred miles, with Worsley pin pointing their position with incredible accuracy. Lansing has you feel it all. Including the arguments of the men, their frustrations, their hopefulness and hopelessness, and the retched nature of Shackleton’s decision to destroy their beloved animal workers and companions, all the dogs, and one lovely ship cat. Over and over again, Lansing has you feel the repetitive nature of their routine. Most of us would go insane. Most of us would give up. Most of us would die. I died at least three times during this story. Somehow, the men were driven to keep trying, and Lansing has you keep reading. It’s a page turner. I could not escape from its grasp. The plight of the men remained with me through out each day, until I returned to read in the warmth of my bed. I used a flash light to read at night and imagined, in the depth of the Antarctic winter without sunlight, how these men continued to read the few books that they had salvaged. They kept going so Lansing kept writing. Had they all died early there would be nothing more to write about—but they did not. Thus, beyond their 10 months of floating on the ice, there are the truly fearful days they spent in small life boats on open and fearful sea trying to make it to Elephant Island. As well as the months of lost hope for the 22 men who remained on Elephant Island as 6 men set sail for the 800-mile journey across fierce sea to the Island of South Georgia. And then three of those men who hiked across the uncharted alpine glaciers on the interior of South Georgia to reach a whaling village finally signaling their ultimate rescue. Every man survived.
As inspirational a story as there has ever been. Perseverance in the face of hunger, thirst, fatigue, bitter cold, and the chill of continuously being soaked to the bone, sleeping on the sea of ice, or rocks, or wet beach. Sleeping in wet bag of reindeer hide the natural animal skin disintegrating into hair and gunk literally in your face. Their discomfort knows no parallel from which humans could emerge, alive. And Lansing has you feel every hunger pain, every moan in the night, right down to the pain you feel as frostbite takes hold of your stiff wet hands pumping water out of the boat, for which, you cannot stop, because the boat is sinking. The descriptions of the daily rigors of life required discipline, endurance, and of course resilience. And it’s not without humor, these men could still laugh at their fate. I laughed in the face of imminent death as one of the survivors, trudged across the slushy ice pack, sinking down to his knees, as a one-thousand-pound leopard seal, able to move much faster than he could, closed in. Only after a fellow survivor with a rifle—liberated him from the pursuit—and earned the crew, half-a-ton of seal meat and blubber. This is key to the telling of the story and Lansing gets it right. Since you feel the cold, you feel the pain, you no longer get to complain if your own home feels a bit chilling in the morning…screw you. In fact, after reading this story you never get to complain again about the discomfort of hunger, thirst, fatigue, illness ever again. One of the survivors suffered a heart attack on Elephant Island. He made it. Another, survivor had his toes amputated on that same beach, he also made it. Shackleton, with Worsley providing the map, brought them all home. This is such a Five-Star book. With the topic of resilience training in vouge these days, I can’t help but wonder if “Endurance” should simply be required reading in high school English. As we debate political correctness and cancel culture in our schools, perhaps we can all agree, this book has no political agenda, makes no attempt to rewrite history, contains no statements of toxic masculinity, and there isn’t even a cuss word—although I can assure you these men cussed. Perhaps the most politically incorrect statement uttered by the men, was their evening toast, as they waited out the Antarctic winter from inside the room, midship the Endurance, which they called the Ritz. Pulling everyone together from out of their individual berths and into this hold, so they could all be together and preserve precious resources, like coal and heating oil. They thought of their families and their loved ones back home and they hoisted a cup of drink. “To our wives and our girlfriends, may they never meet”. That’s resilience in the face of death…that’s endurance…
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