Stranded on a sheet of floating ice deep in the Antarctic seas, Frank Worsley was in what you’d call a bad spot. Civilisation was more than 1200 miles away, and the ship Worsley had been travelling on was submerged in ice. To make matters worse, Worsley had no radio transmitter to broadcast an SOS. And as the doomed 144-foot ship groaned from the force of ten million tonnes of ice driving through her starboard, Worsley felt as though his fate, too, was equally assured. As he looked across the vast sheet of ice, he needed to find something a little stronger than courage.
If Worsley thought about it, this whole fated journey began one night in a hotel room in London. That night, he dreamt he was navigating
