South to the Pack

Twenty-eight men stood committed to an outcome they could not foresee, their fortunes bound to a wooden vessel and an audacious scheme that owed as much to persuasion as to preparation. The Endurance rode at Plymouth Sound on 8 August 1914, her three masts stark against a gray sky, her hull low in the water under the weight of coal and provisions. On the dock, families gathered in the summer drizzle, watching the final preparations with expressions that ranged from pride to poorly concealed apprehension. Frank Worsley, the New Zealand captain who had secured his position through sheer enthusiasm, supervised the stowage with a merchant sailor’s efficiency. The ship was embarking on her maiden voyage, bound first for Buenos Aires under Worsley’s command while Shackleton remained in Britain finalising organization and fundraising.

Three days earlier, British newspapers had carried the declaration that Germany was at war with France. The expedition’s sponsors and supporters began sending frantic cables. The Royal Geographical Society, which had lent its prestige to the venture, questioned publicly whether the moment for such undertakings had passed. The First Lord of the Admiralty, Winston Churchill, faced the task of mobilizing the Royal Navy for a conflict that would demand every able seaman and every seaworthy vessel.

Shackleton had spent eighteen months raising funds, recruiting personnel, and convincing skeptical audiences that crossing the Antarctic continent was worth attempting. He believed, as he later wrote, that there remained ‘one great main objective of Antarctic journeyings—the crossing of the South Polar continent from sea to sea.’ Now, with war declared and the expedition ready to sail, he faced a choice no explorer had confronted before. The Admiralty sent its message: the Endurance was to proceed. Churchill’s single word carried the weight of a government that understood the symbolic value of the enterprise even as it mobilized for war. But official permission addressed only half the question. The other half belonged to the men.

He gathered the crew on deck and explained the situation. The nation was at war. They had signed on for an Antarctic expedition, but circumstances had changed. If any man wished to withdraw his commitment and join the military instead, Shackleton would release him without prejudice. The offer was unprecedented. The men looked at each other, at the ship, at their commander. The decision, Shackleton told them, was theirs to make.

The crew voted by acclamation to proceed. Not a single man asked to leave.

Worsley recorded the moment in his characteristic style, matter-of-fact and slightly bemused. The men had committed themselves to an expedition that might take two years, crossing a continent no human had traversed, at a time when the world was descending into a conflict that would reshape nations. The decision, once made, seemed to settle something in the ship’s company. They were no longer merely employees. They were volunteers in a cause.

The Endurance sailed from Plymouth on the evening tide, her decks crowded with men waving to the diminishing figures on the dock. The ship made her way down the Channel, past naval vessels already mobilizing for war, and turned south toward the Atlantic. The last of England faded into the August haze.

The voyage to Buenos Aires took six weeks. The ship stopped briefly at Madeira to take on coal, then continued across the equator and down the South American coast. For the crew, it was a period of adjustment and acclimatization. The scientists began their observations. The seamen learned the ship’s routines. The dogs, forty-nine of them housed in specially built kennels on deck, adapted to their new environment with varying degrees of success. Frank Wild, the second-in-command, organized the watches and established the daily schedule that would govern life aboard. Built for the ice, her rounded hull was considered by many of her crew too rounded for the open ocean, making this a shakedown voyage.

Shackleton had remained in Britain to attend to final arrangements, planning to rejoin the ship in South America. In his absence, Worsley commanded. The New Zealander was a capable navigator but an inexperienced leader of men, and his management style differed markedly from Shackleton’s. Where Shackleton socialized with the crew each evening, leading sing-alongs and organizing games, Worsley maintained a more traditional distance. The men noticed the difference. Thomas Orde-Lees, the expedition’s storekeeper and a former Royal Marine, recorded his observations in a diary that would become one of the expedition’s most detailed records. Orde-Lees was a careful diarist with an eye for the telling detail and a tendency toward pessimism that contrasted sharply with Shackleton’s relentless optimism.

The crossing of the equator brought the traditional ceremonies. Those who had never crossed the line before appeared before King Neptune and his court, receiving the customary drenching and shaving. The ritual served its purpose: it broke the monotony of the voyage and gave the men something to discuss. The scientific staff continued their work. The ship functioned as a floating laboratory, and the weeks at sea provided opportunities for observation and experiment that would not come again.

The ship reached Buenos Aires in late September. Shackleton had traveled separately on a faster liner and was waiting when the Endurance arrived. His return brought an immediate shift in atmosphere. The commander was back, and with him came the energy and optimism that had characterized the expedition from its beginning. He moved among the crew, asking questions, telling stories, making each man feel that his contribution mattered. Here Shackleton rejoined the expedition; photographer Frank Hurley also came on board, together with seaman William Bakewell and the stowaway Perce Blackborow, while several others left or were discharged.

But Buenos Aires brought complications. The war news was grim. The British Expeditionary Force had suffered heavy casualties in Belgium. German naval vessels were operating in the South Atlantic. The expedition’s supply ship, the Aurora, was preparing to leave Australia for the Ross Sea, and coordination between the two parties required careful timing. Shackleton dealt with cables, correspondence, and the endless logistics of an expedition that had become more complex with each passing week. Organisational and financial problems had already delayed the Aurora’s start until December 1914, shortening its first depot-laying season.

The Endurance remained in Buenos Aires for nearly a month. The delay allowed the crew shore leave, and the men explored the city with the enthusiasm of sailors on foreign soil. The ship took on additional stores: coal, food, equipment, everything needed for a voyage into waters where no resupply would be possible.

Alexander Macklin, one of the ship’s two surgeons, kept his own diary. Macklin was a different sort of observer than Orde-Lees—younger, more optimistic, more inclined to notice the natural world than the state of his own comfort. The medical officers had limited work during the voyage south; the crew was healthy, the weather mild, the conditions favorable. Macklin occupied himself with observations and the care of the dogs.

The ship left Buenos Aires in late October, heading south toward South Georgia. The weather began to change as they entered higher latitudes. The temperature dropped. The seas grew rougher. The men broke out their cold-weather gear and began to prepare for the conditions ahead. The scientists continued their observations, noting the changing bird life and the first signs of the southern ocean’s characteristic fauna.

South Georgia appeared in late November. The island rose from the sea in a mass of snow-covered peaks, its harbors filled with whaling vessels and its shores lined with the infrastructure of an industry that had reduced the southern whales to a fraction of their former numbers. The Endurance anchored in the harbor at Grytviken, one of several whaling stations that dotted the island’s coast. The station manager, Carl Anton Larsen, was a Norwegian whaler and explorer who had led a Swedish Antarctic expedition a decade earlier. He welcomed Shackleton and offered what assistance he could. After a month-long halt, Endurance would depart for the Antarctic on 5 December.

The stay at South Georgia lasted nearly a month. The ship needed repairs and adjustments. The crew needed rest and preparation. The scientists found plenty to occupy their attention; the island’s wildlife, geology, and meteorology offered abundant opportunities for observation. Hurley, the expedition’s photographer, began his work in earnest, capturing images of the whaling station, the landscape, and the ship’s company.

But South Georgia also brought news. The whalers had experience with the Weddell Sea, and their reports were not encouraging. The pack ice had been particularly heavy in recent seasons. Ships had penetrated the ice in some years and been turned back in others. Filchner’s German expedition of 1911-12 had intended to establish a base from which to cross the continent to the Ross Sea but failed to land, though his reports of possible landing sites in Vahsel Bay, at around 78° latitude, were noted by Shackleton. The whalers spoke of years when the ice extended far north, blocking access to the coast. They spoke of ships caught in the pack and crushed.

Shackleton listened. The whalers’ reports were valuable intelligence, the kind of information that could not be obtained from charts or books. But the expedition had come too far to turn back. The Ross Sea party was already preparing to depart from Australia. The depots had to be laid. The crossing had to be attempted. Shackleton had committed himself and his men to this enterprise, and he would not be dissuaded by reports of heavy ice.

On 5 December 1914, the Endurance departed South Georgia for the Weddell Sea, making for Vahsel Bay at 77° 49’ S, where a shore party was to land and prepare for a transcontinental crossing of Antarctica from sea to sea via the Pole. The whalers came to the dock to see them off, offering handshakes and good wishes. The ship moved out of the harbor and into the open sea.

The first few days brought favorable conditions. The Endurance made good time, steaming south through waters that were cold but clear. The temperature continued to drop. The routine of shipboard life continued, but with an undertone of anticipation. They were heading into unknown waters.

The pack ice appeared sooner than expected. On 7 December, two days out of South Georgia, Shackleton was disconcerted to encounter pack ice as far north as 57° 26′S, forcing the ship to manoeuvre through scattered icebergs that had calved from the Antarctic ice shelf. The bergs were magnificent, towering above the ship, their surfaces sculpted by wind and water into shapes that resembled cathedrals or fortresses.

Then came the pack proper. On 10 December loose fragments bumped against the hull; by 14 December it was thick enough to halt the ship for 24 hours. Three days later it stopped them again. Shackleton later wrote: ‘I had been prepared for evil conditions in the Weddell Sea, but had hoped that in December and January… the pack would be loose… What we were actually encountering was fairly dense pack of a very obstinate character.’ For weeks Endurance worked her way through this pack, averaging less than 30 nautical miles per day as Worsley picked his way through narrowing leads.

Shackleton watched from the bridge. His face showed nothing but confidence. He had expected this. The Weddell Sea was known for its pack ice; the expedition had always known that penetration would be difficult. The ship was designed for ice navigation, her hull strengthened with extra timbers and her bow reinforced. The crew was experienced. They would push through, find the open water beyond, and reach Vahsel Bay.

The days that followed tested that confidence. The pack thickened. The leads narrowed. The ship’s progress slowed to a crawl as Worsley picked his way through the maze of ice. The temperature dropped further. The wind picked up, driving the floes together and closing the channels that the ship had used. The Endurance was still moving, but barely.

Orde-Lees recorded his observations in his diary. The tone of his entries shifted as the pack thickened. Where he had once noted the food and the weather with casual interest, he now wrote of the ice with something approaching alarm. The ship was surrounded. The leads were closing. The expedition that had seemed so straightforward in London and Buenos Aires was beginning to reveal its true nature.

Macklin’s diary from this period shows a similar shift. The young surgeon had joined the expedition with enthusiasm, drawn by the adventure and the opportunity to work with Shackleton. But the ice was different from anything he had imagined. It stretched to the horizon in every direction, a vast frozen landscape that moved and shifted with the currents. The ship seemed small and fragile against such immensity.

The scientists continued their work. The geologist studied the ice with professional interest, noting its composition and structure. The meteorologist recorded the temperature, wind, and barometric pressure. The biologist observed the wildlife that inhabited the pack: seals, penguins, and the microscopic organisms that formed the base of the Antarctic food chain. Their observations would contribute to scientific knowledge, but they also served a more immediate purpose. They gave the men something to do, something to think about besides the ice.

The dogs adapted to the changing conditions with varying degrees of success. Some seemed to thrive in the cold, their thick coats providing insulation against the dropping temperatures. Others struggled, their paws cracking on the ice and their bodies losing heat faster than they could generate it. The crew tended them as best they could, building shelters on deck and providing extra food. The dogs were essential to the expedition’s success; they would pull the sledges across the continent.

The ship pressed south, or tried to. The pack ice made navigation difficult, and Worsley found himself constantly adjusting course to find open leads. Sometimes the ship made good progress, steaming through channels of clear water that opened unexpectedly between the floes. Sometimes it stopped entirely, held fast by ice that closed around the hull and refused to release it. The crew waited during these stoppages, watching the ice, listening to the sounds it made as it pressed against the ship’s sides.

Those sounds were unlike anything the men had heard before. The ice groaned and creaked, a constant background noise that varied in intensity with the movement of the floes. Sometimes it was a low rumble, felt more than heard. Sometimes it was a sharp crack that made the men jump. The ship’s hull flexed under the pressure, the timbers straining against the force that surrounded them. The Endurance was designed for ice, but no wooden ship could match the power of the pack.

Shackleton maintained his routine. Each evening, he gathered the crew for sing-alongs and conversation. He moved among the men, asking about their work, their concerns, their families. He told stories of his previous expeditions, of the Nimrod journey that had taken him closer to the Pole than any man had been. He projected confidence, and his confidence spread to the crew. The ship might be surrounded by ice, but they would get through.

The crew responded to Shackleton’s leadership. Whatever private doubts they might have harbored, they kept them to themselves. The expedition was a team, and Shackleton was its captain. They had committed themselves to his command, and they would follow where he led. The discipline and morale that would prove essential in the months ahead were being forged in these early encounters with the ice.

But the ice had its own logic. It did not care about their plans or their confidence. It moved according to currents and winds, according to temperatures and pressures that no human could control. The pack that had seemed penetrable at first grew thicker as the ship pushed south. The leads that had opened now closed. The channels that had provided passage narrowed and disappeared. The Endurance was still moving, but her progress was measured in miles per day rather than miles per hour.

The morning of 18 December 1914 found the Endurance proceeding amongst large floes with thin ice between them. The leads were few. There was a northerly breeze with occasional snow flurries. We secured three crabeater seals—two cows and a bull,’ Shackleton recorded in South. ‘The bull was a fine specimen, nearly white all over and 9 ft. 3 in. long; he weighed 600 lbs.’ Shortly before noon further progress was barred by heavy pack, and we put an ice-anchor on the floe and banked the fires.’ The seal hunt provided fresh meat but underscored their stalled progress.

But the larger picture was less encouraging. The ship’s position was approximately 57 degrees south latitude, still hundreds of miles from Vahsel Bay. The pack ice stretched ahead, thicker and more consolidated than anything they had encountered. Worsley studied the charts and the horizon, looking for a way through.

The temperature continued to drop. The days grew shorter as the ship moved south, the sun hanging lower on the horizon and the nights lengthening. The Antarctic summer was approaching its peak, but the warmth was relative. The temperature hovered near freezing during the day and dropped below at night. The wind cut through clothing and drove ice particles into exposed skin.

Shackleton gathered the officers for consultations. The ice was thicker than expected, and the ship’s progress was slowing. They discussed options: push forward and hope for a break in the pack, look for a different route, or wait for conditions to change. The Ross Sea party was counting on them. The depots had to be laid. The crossing had to begin before the autumn storms made the Weddell Sea impassable. Time was not on their side.

The decision was to push forward. The Endurance would continue south, threading through whatever leads opened, until they reached Vahsel Bay or until the ice made further progress impossible. Shackleton believed that the pack would open as they approached the coast. The whalers had told him that the ice often consolidated in the central Weddell Sea but broke up near the land. If he could reach that coastal zone, the ship would find open water.

The days that followed tested that belief. The pack thickened and thinned in patterns that defied prediction. The ship would find a lead and steam forward, only to have it close ahead. The ice would open on one side and close on another. The currents and winds that governed the pack’s movement were invisible and unpredictable. Worsley navigated by instinct as much as by observation, feeling his way through the maze.

The crew adapted. They learned to read the ice, to anticipate where leads might open, to recognize the signs of pressure that meant danger. They learned to work in the cold, to move efficiently despite their heavy clothing, to perform their duties with gloved hands and fogged glasses. The scientists learned to conduct their observations in conditions that made every task harder. The dog handlers learned to care for their charges in an environment that challenged even animals bred for the cold.

Shackleton watched everything. He stood on the bridge for hours, studying the ice, talking with Worsley, making decisions about course and speed. He walked the decks, checking on the crew, asking questions, offering encouragement. He maintained the routines that kept the ship functioning: the watches, the meals, the evening gatherings. He projected the confidence that the crew needed, even when the ice gave him reason to doubt.

The ship’s company was a mixed group. There were experienced seamen and men who had never been to sea before the expedition. There were scientists with advanced degrees and men who had left school at fourteen. There were officers and ratings, gentlemen and working men. In normal circumstances, these differences might have created friction. But the ice imposed its own discipline. Everyone had a job to do, and everyone’s job mattered. The ship was a single organism, and its survival depended on each part functioning properly.

The diaries from this period reveal the different ways that men processed the experience. Shackleton’s own account, later published as South, emphasized the challenges but downplayed the dangers. He wrote of the ice as an obstacle to be overcome, not a threat to be feared. His tone was matter-of-fact, almost casual, as if navigating through pack ice was the most natural thing in the world.

Orde-Lees was less sanguine. His diary entries grew longer and more detailed as the ice thickened. He recorded the ship’s position, the temperature, the state of the pack. He noted the behavior of the crew, the mood on board, the small incidents that revealed larger truths. He was not a pessimist by nature, but he was a realist. The ice was closing in, and he could see it.

Macklin’s diary showed a different perspective. The young surgeon was still finding his place in the expedition, still learning what was expected of him. His entries focused on the natural world: the birds, the seals, the ice itself. He found beauty in the landscape that surrounded them, even as he recognized its danger. His optimism was genuine, not forced, and it carried him through days that might have discouraged a different temperament.

Hurley, the photographer, saw the ice through a lens—literally and figuratively. He photographed everything: the ship, the crew, the dogs, the ice. His images from this period show a world of white and gray, of towering bergs and endless floes, of a small wooden ship making its way through a landscape that seemed to belong to another planet.

The ship continued south, or tried to. The pack ice made every mile a negotiation. Some days they made progress. Some days they barely moved. Some days they went backward, carried by currents that pushed the ice—and the ship trapped within it—north instead of south. The Weddell Sea was a vast rotating gyre, its currents moving in a clockwise direction that carried ice and ships alike. The Endurance was not just navigating through the pack; she was being carried by it.

By late December, the ship had reached approximately 60 degrees south latitude. They were still hundreds of miles from Vahsel Bay. By 15 January 1915, Endurance was within 200 nautical miles of her destination—so close yet impossibly far—but heavy pack ice was sighted and a gale developed soon after dawn on the following morning.

Shackleton faced a decision. The Antarctic summer was already half over. In another month, the autumn storms would begin. In two months, the winter darkness would descend. If they could not reach Vahsel Bay soon, the expedition’s timetable would collapse. The crossing could not begin in autumn. The depots could not be laid in winter. The Ross Sea party would wait in vain for a crossing that never came.

But the decision, in the end, was not Shackleton’s to make. The ice was making its own calculations. The pack was thickening around the ship, the leads closing, the channels disappearing. The Endurance was still steaming when she could, still pushing south when an opening appeared. But the openings were becoming rarer. The ice was becoming more determined.

On 18 January 1915, the Endurance entered a particularly dense section of pack. The floes were large and thick, pressed together by currents and wind. The ship maneuvered through them, looking for a lead, a channel, any opening that would allow them to continue south. Worsley stood on the bridge, binoculars to his eyes, searching the horizon. Shackleton stood beside him, watching the ice.

They found a lead and steamed into it. The channel narrowed as they moved forward. The ice pressed closer on either side. The ship slowed as the passage tightened. Worsley gave the order to reverse engines, to back out before the lead closed completely. The propeller churned the water, but the ship did not move. The ice had hold of her.

The temperature was 15 degrees below freezing. The wind was light. The sky was overcast. The Endurance was at approximately 76 degrees south latitude, still more than a hundred miles from Vahsel Bay. The ship was beset—held fast in the pack ice with no way to move forward or back.

Shackleton looked at the ice that surrounded them. He looked at the horizon, where floes stretched to the limit of vision in every direction. He looked at the ship, the wooden hull that had carried them safely across the Atlantic and through weeks of ice navigation. The hull was strong, but it was not invincible. The ice was patient, and it was powerful.

The crew waited for orders. The scientists waited to continue their work. The dogs waited in their kennels. The ship waited in the ice, held fast by forces that no human could control. Ordinary navigation was over.