Free 1912 by Chris Turney

newest products in the most extreme of environments, and the newspapers loved it, raising the profile of the expedition yet further. Hoping the Great Ice Barrier surface would be solid enough, Shackleton took the first motorcar south, so it could be used to help transport stores on the snow and ice. His patron Beardmore had just taken over the bankrupt Arrol-Johnston manufacturers and was more than happy to provide a new vehicle, showcasing a company that was desperate for publicity. In anticipation of the freezing conditions, the expedition took special low-temperature oil and a cornucopia of wheels, along with wooden skis, that would hopefully be able to cope with the different surfaces.
    As if that was not enough, Shackleton also planned to drag a light portable boat, the Raymond —named after his son—3200 kilometres to the other side of Antarctica, where he might rendezvous with the Nimrod . This ambitious plan was soon dropped.

    Just after six o’clock on the morning of 16 January 1909, three men clad in polar gear wearily stepped out from a small green tent on an icy plateau of the eastern Antarctic, and fastened themselves to a laden sledge. For 103 days the men had hauled themselves and their supplies, the tent and a range of scientific equipment across sixteen hundred kilometres of wind-blasted ice, dodging the constant threat of crevasses. Buffeted by snowstorms and blizzards, they had battled hunger and extreme isolation. Now, finally, their objective was within reach. Hooked up, they pushed their aching bodies forward, pulling on the assorted harnesses and straps, and slowly the sledge followed.
    Led by Edgeworth David, these three men from Ernest Shackleton’s British Antarctic Expedition were proceeding north to the South Magnetic Pole. David’s successful assault on Mount Erebus at the end of the past summer had not only provided valuable geological observations of the volcano but also familiarised the men with the equipment and sledging gear. By October 1908 the men had rested after the Antarctic winter and were ready to set out. Making excellent progress, David’s team was more than thirteen hundred kilometres from Shackleton’s simultaneous assault on the South Geographic Pole by mid-January the next year.
    Seen from afar the 51-year-old David cut a diminutive figure. His age was beginning to tell, and he whispered encouraging words to himself while he pulled forward. Accompanying David was his protégé, the tall 26-year-old Douglas Mawson, and Alistair Mackay, a stout Scottish medic, aged thirty. It might sound like the beginning of a bad joke, but this Welshman, Englishman and Scotsman were setting out to do something extraordinary: to complete the journey Ross had started nearly seventy years earlier, and fulfil one of the great hopes of Shackleton’s expedition.
    The Arrol-Johnston car had promised much but delivered little. Although it looked impressive on the ice, the vehicle proved wholly inadequate for its new climes. As soon as it strayed off the ice the tyres sank. The gleaming metal casing and trappings were stripped off, leaving the driver to sit on the barest of frames above a single engine. The exposed engine had to be regularly defrosted, sometimes by the potentially explosive method of putting a small bowl of petrol under the carburettor and setting it alight; if stuck in the snow, the car would have to be pulled out and a different type of wheel tried.
    David later wrote: ‘After travelling a little over two miles, just beyond Cape Barne, the snow had become so thick that the coastline was almost entirely hidden from our view. Under these circumstances I did not think it was prudent to take the motorcar further, so Mackay, Mawson, and I bid adieu to our good friends. Strapping on our harness, we toggled on to the sledge rope, and with a “One, two, three” and “away”, started on our long journey over the sea ice.’ Setting off