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Although he was not physically overpowering, he competed as if something were gnawing at him, diving head first after balls and skiing off marked trails to plunge through murderous woods.
There was the hut, crammed with a stove and canned goods and a phonograph, where Shackleton and his men had wintered on Ross Island, off the coast of Antarctica.
I certainly made a dog’s breakfast of the first three hours, at one stage wondering why the wind had suddenly switched from the east to the north. Anyway, I’m back on track and now happy I can part a straight line, even through another day of the white darkness. His feet were blistered and his toenails were discolored.
By the middle of January, 2016, he had travelled more than eight hundred miles, and virtually every part of him was in agony. His fingers had started to become numb with frostbite. a little further.” He had just reached the summit of the Titan Dome and was beginning to descend, the force of gravity propelling him toward his destination, which was only about a hundred miles away.
Each day, after trekking for several hours and burrowing into his tent, he relayed a short audio broadcast about his experiences.
(He performed this bit of modern magic by calling, on his satellite phone, a friend in England, who recorded the dispatch and then posted it on Worsley’s Web site.) His voice, cool and unwavering, enthralled listeners.While growing up, Henry had heard stories about how his father, Richard Worsley, had fought with distinction during the Second World War, helping his regiment win battles in the deserts of North Africa and on the streets of Italy.