Книга - Extreme Survivors: 60 of the World’s Most Extreme Survival Stories

Extreme Survivors: 60 of the World’s Most Extreme Survival Stories
Collins Maps


Extreme Survivors tells the illustrated story of 60 of the most daring escapes, famous shipwrecks, and ultimate survival stories. These are astonishing stories of human endurance and endeavour.The statistics, descriptions, archive photographs and illustrative maps will give the reader a full understanding of how Joe Simpson crawled to safety in the South American Andean mountains, how Anthony Farrar-Hockley evaded capture after the Battle of Imjin River in the Korean War and how Shackleton’s men survived the incredible journey by boat to South Georgia.Sixty of the world's greatest survival stories. Here is a selection of them:Survival Stories• The Miracle of Stairway B, and how 16 people managed to escape death in the Twin Towers on 9/11.• The infamous story of the Montevideo rugby union team’s plane crash in the Andes, and their subsequent admission of cannibalism – 2012 is the 40th anniversary of the crash.Prison Escapes• Mary Queen of Scots and her escape from a remote Scottish castle.• Three men pull off what is possibly the only successful escape from Alcatraz.• Henri Charrière’s (Papillon) five escape attempts from the Devil’s Island penal colony.Wartime Escapes• The story of Dith Pran, the Cambodian journalist who escaped the genocide of Pol Pot.• How the German soldier Cornelius Rost escaped from a labour camp in Siberia and trekked for 3 years to Iran.Shipwrecks• Ernest Shackleton’s incredible journey to South Georgia to save every man on an expedition.• The story of 18 year old William Shotton and how he navigated his ship after most of the crew perished from a mystery disease in 1893.Hostage Situations• Naheeda Bi’s ten years in captivity after her notorious tribal kidnapping in Pakistan.• The dramatic rescue of Íngrid Betancourt by Colombian security forces after six years as a hostage.








EXTREME SURVIVORS









EXTREME SURVIVORS


EXTREME SURVIVORS

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First Edition 2011, revised 2012

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Source ISBN: 9780007368457

Ebook Edition © September 2011 ISBN: 9780007450299

Version 2017-08-17




CONTENTS


Cover (#u4a4a12ff-f16d-5ea0-a151-fb61d85bdfb1)

Title (#u0d1ccfc0-4ecf-5405-933f-ce6d015c534c)

Copyright (#ua2699764-7054-5695-9270-0d3b0a131683)

Foreword (#u8ab246d6-3371-59cd-b853-e20bdf91bace)

Location map (#u2f961cb0-5f0d-5e23-800c-94ce6bdaa399)

SURVIVAL (#ue806458b-597d-57b2-84a9-e2e6dd1d3a2f)

Into the Frozen North, 1895 (#ub2c8e4ff-6719-5923-86a5-2f266d7d7b6f)

Another Antarctic Winter, 1912 (#u6673d93e-320e-5250-a7bd-67b852d0daed)

The Day the World Shook, 1923 (#ucdde909a-6860-55b5-b750-34fdb4102068)

The Long Walk Home, 1931 (#u6584eb85-551d-5c29-af8b-2ed7637d0a9d)

Survival by Sacrifice, 1957 (#u084c8caa-e5a5-5bcd-8c48-d71f9e9549a0)

The Inconvenient Survivor, 1960 (#ufef032bd-2f07-5400-b7ac-88394eae8d49)

Disaster on the Dark Side of the Moon, 1970 (#ucbf45afa-1cfc-5cf0-a86e-9a996117619b)

Two Miles Up without a Parachute, 1971 (#uf62d24cf-a31a-5383-b0d0-fda7e57473a9)

The Cruel Cost of Survival, 1972 (#uc07ab46d-1bbb-5e48-b9cc-99626899d5a2)

The Boy who Fell Out of the Storm, 1979 (#ucba3b5aa-4b63-5aa9-b32f-5ca207c22af0)

Under the Rumbling Mountain, 1980 (#ucfe96c18-b7c0-57c0-9d5e-63be20888426)

The Kindest Cut, 1985 (#ua2ee5d06-b352-5f3e-ad5f-eee4edd47903)

The Miracle of Stairway B, 2001 (#ub4ddd412-4227-5cce-bd78-dcb67a7e1259)

A Rock and a Hard Place, 2003 (#u97c20181-20f7-56b9-8ff0-428b060ff04b)

Alone in the Death Zone, 2008 (#uac535d75-24b7-54b3-af3f-93ef89b4272f)

The Sole Survivor of Flight 626, 2009 (#u87a6774e-9034-5292-9733-2ebe3dff68a9)

The Miracle on the Hudson, 2009 (#u9d7627cd-6ffe-59f0-be55-cba4a4b601b1)

Journey from the Centre of the Earth, 2010 (#u4a3b5bba-b005-56f7-aa6f-5e09aec584a8)

The Survivor of Circumstance, 2010 (#uc80d777f-f910-568c-bb83-a9c9c84dc3ea)

Entombed for Two Weeks, 2010 (#ua188b142-a968-5386-a816-695a7bb2525f)

PRISON

Charmed by a Renegade Queen, 1568 (#uc5c12500-ac74-5111-bc06-b5412655eefa)

Flight of the Philosopher, 1621 (#u0f71299f-7aa3-5518-9f55-3e814e70f286)

Escape from Devil’s Island, 1932 (#u36376ef1-c6bc-56d3-be8c-23919f885814)

The Escape from Alcatraz, 1962 (#u5ca7aa50-dbfd-5c74-9c9c-f56f34396443)

The Dan Cooper Hijack, 1971 (#u41722adb-fb7f-5327-90d0-851e8631bda5)

The Storming of Fresnes, 2003 (#u78da61c3-c3c0-5d00-9f40-c034280c3990)

WAR

The Man who Might be King, 1746 (#u08861d1d-7f9b-58f5-9bdd-a62ff3042f19)

The Last of the Sixteen Thousand, 1842 (#u8c244f6b-6e79-597b-8f48-19cc43f47a64)

Back to the Fatherland, 1915 (#u48b2745c-acd9-5deb-b35e-b5266d71b6d5)

The War on the Run, 1938 (#uc827c243-bcbb-5191-aad7-2e3b82eab90a)

A Midget Submarine and Malaria, 1942 (#u8e8f6431-249f-5afd-9cf7-41f171d2365e)

Canoeing into History, 1942 (#u4e5bd0b4-df6b-5623-b5e7-3ff6ee67db08)

The Incredible Journey of Jan Baalsrud, 1943 (#u9c3edaaa-d0e7-5bda-ad28-8fdc5ffe1036)

The Great Escape, 1944 (#u2c0f307f-dca7-56ef-a12d-19448dc1ddf5)

Across the Roof of the World, 1944 (#u649238b5-4ed8-531f-86ec-aa2bd34fe2c0)

Escape from a Siberian Gulag, 1949 (#u0818c553-2065-54c8-b5ad-52f73d6dbd4c)

The Six Escapes of ‘Farra the Para’, 1951 (#u3f416381-2f24-5a31-a777-bc02783f471e)

Across the Killing Fields, 1975 (#u6b2b9182-95e9-583a-9858-763f2ce4ade7)

The Jungle and the Genocide, 2000 (#u65311a85-77fc-5ac9-9029-aeca2016ade5)

SHIPWRECKS (#u63fb1b07-ea9c-5514-b49d-120def0861dc)

The Trials of the Wager, 1740 (#uf26dc0c2-6676-5b1e-9515-2bb801a423c8)

After the Mutiny, 1789 (#u57611bfc-163b-5713-be81-358746742dc4)

Shipwreck, Slavery and the Burning Sand, 1815 (#u93a20c15-9966-534d-982c-102472850203)

The Whale and the Pacific, 1820 (#u6bf9e4e7-f34e-50ae-8934-5d09701cd24c)

The Teenage Captain, 1893 (#u044ab6ee-48ba-5865-96e0-32142d5d2155)

Not a Man was Lost, 1914 (#u5378c4ce-dab9-5b8f-875b-baa5ba6e093f)

1,700 Miles of Ocean, 1923 (#u42957cf8-82dc-5406-8ab1-0ecf8ff8bf82)

The Two who were Spared, 1940 (#u5f45c99e-aaca-54f5-9c46-7bb5f49da6b9)

The Longest Journey, 1942 (#u62151996-a269-50e8-b8dc-5eaeb9b47e88)

Five Days in a Deadly Sea, 1945 (#u674a5b80-a280-568e-96f1-998658115711)

The Widowmaker, 1961 (#u16f66b5b-fa95-51e8-a165-a29de2b81796)

Together Alone, 1973 (#ubb6d5d76-3e46-5c8f-beb8-9751cafffdcf)

The Life Raft, 1982 (#ude30936f-5d7b-5f82-a182-0144aceb51df)

The Last Friend, 1995 (#uc5e1a1e8-b3ca-5090-b066-1fac5d425251)

HOSTAGES

Six Years in Beirut, 1985 (#ubba00bc5-7e1f-5e55-9c55-bbede953b9b1)

The Girl from the Secret Cellar, 1998 (#u9093fd85-4c5f-5acf-b3b5-6e5418fd828d)

Ten Years as a Secret Slave, 2000 (#u859285c3-25bc-5348-94f6-2770f6a2d0e9)

Kidnapped by the FARC, 2002 (#u05094e22-7222-5a61-8684-474a6cdc8f15)

Buried Alive, 2004 (#u5796e06a-f9af-54b1-8bcb-83f4e6211db3)

Christmas Day Heroics, 2009 (#u77f8bec2-803d-50ba-bdf7-bb603e1cc1cf)

The Hostages who Fought Back, 2009 (#u2f27394c-cde0-5076-bb8a-56f73b8ac7b9)

Index (#u04e0beb8-b0cc-5509-ac41-e467dbbeaedc)

Bibliography, Image credits (#uce5a4f11-c829-5a15-940d-495578fb373c)

About the Publisher (#ueda54507-edb1-5556-ad09-10dabe3d032e)




FOREWORD


Having spent my life in so many dangerous and at times unforgiving terrains, I have learnt that to come out the other side alive you have to find the spirit to keep going, whatever the cost. Each of the stories in this book tells of that same spirit in those who endured. As individuals we cannot conquer a mountain or a storm, but we can learn to harness nature’s elements, and our own limitations, to see almost any ordeal through.

Appropriate preparation and experience are essential for any expedition, but they are no guarantee of safety. Even the wariest of adventurers can fall foul to difficult conditions, faulty equipment or lapses in concentration. Only by keeping calm and finding confidence in their own abilities will they stand a chance of passing through the constant threats thrown up by nature. Within this book are stories of those who ventured out with an awareness and appreciation of the danger ahead, but who faltered, rallied and survived: Joe Simpson’s horrific fall on Siula Grande in 1985; Aron Ralston, trapped by rocks and forced to amputate his arm; Ernest Shackleton’s epic South Georgia expedition and his determination to return his stranded men alive.

Alongside these, are the stories of great difficulty and suffering, but endured by those who survived without that experience and equipment. These are the horror stories that defy the statistics. Tales of plane crashes, kidnappings and prison escapes, the stories of ‘everyday’ people unprepared for the hardest conditions: eleven-year-old Norman Ollestad, the sole survivor of a light-aircraft crash, who descended over 8,000 ft engulfed in a blizzard; Cambodian journalist Dith Pran’s four years of starvation and torture under the Khmer Rouge, and his desperate escape when the regime was overthrown; the three young Australian girls who walked for 1,600 km through the desert to find salvation.

There are so many compelling character traits to admire in all the survivors featured in this book, even in the ‘bad-guys’ – the bank robbers and prisoners who escaped or the hijacker who vanished into legend. These people, too, show the enduring spirit for survival, adventure and for freedom. They were motivated to escape whatever it was that restrained them. It is the same motivation felt by many adventurers to avoid the nine-to-five, the desk job and the pension scheme. Fear of injury and death must be ever-present during a daring escape, just as on a dangerous climb, but the fear of the mundane, of accepting the humdrum, can be far more terrifying. And, of course, there is a price to pay for high adventure – in unending sweat, fear, discomfort and pain.

But no one ever said it would be easy.

BEAR GRYLLS








image/svg+xml Double tap on map and activate links to navigate to details (not all devices support this functionality) or select from links below. 14 Survival14 Fridtjof Nansen 88 Prison152 Cornelius Rost 114 War138 Jan Baalsrud 174 Shipwrecks142 The Great Escape 230 Hostages234 Natascha Kampusch 208 Soviet submarine K-1928 Gary Powers 30 Apollo 13230 Terry Anderson 240 82 Ruben van Assouw 218 Steven Callahan118 William Brydon 200 Robert Tapscott Roy Widdicombe246 Roy Hallums 188 Whale ship Essex236 Naheeda Bi 174 Commodore George Anson64 Wilco van Rooijen 124 Leo Bretholtz24 Climbing Haramosh 122 Gunther Pl146 Heinrich Harrer 108 Antonio Ferrara130 Freddy Spencer Chapman 250 Jasper Schuringa252 Freighter Maersk Alabama 222 Richard Charrington70 Bahia Bakari 212 Maurice Maralyn Bailey164 Dith Pran 202 Poon Lim204 USS Indianapolis 192 Ernest Shackleton158 Captain Anthony Farrar-Hockley 182 Captain James Riley20 Tokyo earthquake 168 Major Phil Ashby178 Mutiny on the Bounty 134 Operation Frankton198 William Shotton 114 196 Cargo steamer Trevessa 102 Dan Cooper98 Escape from Alcatraz 94 Henri 90 Hugo Grotius 88 Mary, Queen of Scots84 Darlene Etienne 76 Chilean miners rescue72 Flight 1549 Hudson crash 60 Aron Ralston56 9/11 terrorist attacks 50 Joe Simpson46 Mt St. Helens eruption 40 Norman Ollestad22 Aboriginal relocation 32 Juliane K18 Douglas Mawson 34 Flight 571 Andes crash











Into the Frozen North


















Nansen prepares to leave his shipFramand begin his sledge journey to the North Pole on 14 March 1895.

Sailing to the North Pole


Fridtjof Nansen was an explorer with a very bold plan. It was 1890 and no man had yet made it to the North Pole. Nansen proposed a mission to do just that, by sailing a boat into the pack ice and using its natural drift to journey north.

There was a scientific basis for this theory. In June 1881 the US Arctic exploration vessel Jeannette was crushed and sunk off the Siberian coast. Wreckage from this ship was later found on Greenland.

Henrik Mohn, a distinguished Norwegian meteorologist, predicted the existence of an ocean current that flowed east to west across the polar sea, possibly over the pole itself. If a ship could be built strong enough it could, in theory, enter the ice by Siberia and simply drift to Greenland via the pole.

Nansen kept this idea in the back of his mind for the next few years as he cut his adventuring teeth. He made a triumphant expedition to Greenland then began to develop a serious plan for a polar venture in earnest.

In February 1890 he presented his plan to the Norwegian Geographical Society. He needed a small, manoeuverable and immensely strong ship. It must be able to carry fuel and provisions for twelve men for five years. He would sail this ship through the North East Passage to where the Jeannette sank and then enter the ice. The vessel would then catch the ice’s natural drift west towards the pole and beyond, eventually coming out into the sea between Greenland and Spitsbergen.

‘an illogical scheme of self-destruction’

Many other experienced explorers laughed at him, including Adolphus Greely, Sir Allen Young and Sir Joseph Hooker.

But Nansen was driven, passionate and eloquent. He persuaded the Norwegian parliament to give him a grant. Several private investors also chipped in and the remaining balance came from a public appeal. Crazy idea or not, he was going to do it.




The mission


Nansen asked Norway’s top shipbuilder, Colin Archer, to create the unique vessel that would take him to the pole. Archer rose to the challenge, building a squat, rounded ship that the ice could not grip. He used South American greenheart, the hardest timber available. The hull was 60–70 cm (24–28 inches) thick, increasing to 1.25 metres (48 inches) at the bow. The ship was launched by Nansen’s wife Eva at Archer’s yard at Larvik, on 6 October 1892, and was named Fram (‘Forward’ in English).

Thousands of men applied to join the expedition, but only twelve could go. Competition for places was so intense that the dog-driving expert Hjalmar Johansen had to sign on as ship’s stoker. Nansen appointed Otto Sverdrup from his Greenland expedition as captain of Fram and his second-in-command.

Fram left Christiania on 24 June 1893, cheered on by thousands of well-wishers, and headed north round the coast of Norway. After a final stop in Vardø, the expedition set out through the North East Passage along the northern coast of Siberia.

These waters were largely uncharted and their progress through the treacherous fog and ice floes was slow. They also spent days hindered by ‘dead water’ where a layer of fresh water lying on top of heavier salt water creates enough friction to stop a boat.









Fridtjof Nansen (foreground) and Hjalmar Johansen.


‘At last the marvel has come to pass—land, land, and after we had almost given up our belief in it!’

Eventually, they passed Cape Chelyuskin the most northerly point of the Eurasian continental mass. Then, on 20 September, Fram reached the area where the Jeannette had been crushed. Nansen followed the pack ice northwards to 78°49’N, 132°53’E, before cutting the engines and raising the rudder.

It would be two and a half years before they were back on the open sea.




Drifting north


To Nansen’s frustration, the ship zigzagged for the first few weeks, rather than moving towards the pole. On 19 November, Fram was actually further south than where she had entered the ice. It was only in January 1894, that she started to progress more steadily north. On 22 March they passed 80° of latitude. But the drift was slow: just 1.6 km (1 mile) a day. At this rate it would take them five years to get to the pole.

Nansen thought of a new plan – to leave the ship at latitude 83° with Hjalmar Johansen and drive a dog sledge to the pole. They would then make for the recently-discovered Franz Josef Land before crossing to Spitsbergen and picking up a ship home. The Fram would meanwhile continue its drift until it popped out of the ice in the North Atlantic.

Preparing the clothing and equipment for this plan took up the whole of the 1894–5 winter. The crew built kayaks, which the polar pair would need when they reached open water on the return journey. Nansen also had to master dog-driving, which he practised on the ice.




The sprint for the pole


On 14 March 1895, with the ship’s position at 84°4’N, above Greely’s previous Farthest North record of 83°24’, Nansen and Johansen set out. The men had 356 nautical miles (660 km; 410 miles) of ice between them and the top of the world, and fifty days’ worth of provisions. That meant a daily trek of seven nautical miles (13 km; 8 miles).

At first they set a good pace, averaging nine nautical miles a day, (17 km; 10 miles). But the ice became rougher and their progress slowed. They were also marching against the same drift that had previously carried their ship, in effect pushing them two steps back for every three they took forward.

It was soon clear that they didn’t have enough food to make it to the pole and on to Franz Josef Land. Nansen’s heart must have been breaking when, on 7 April, he saw that the way ahead was nothing but ‘a veritable chaos of ice blocks stretching as far as the horizon’. That was the final straw. The men turned south. They were at 86°13.6’N, almost three degrees further north than any man had previously ventured.









Retreat


For a week they moved smoothly south, but then on 13 April both of their watches stopped. This made it impossible for them to calculate their longitude and find their way accurately to Franz Josef Land.

Two weeks later they crossed the tracks of an Arctic fox, the first trace of a living creature other than their dogs that they had seen since leaving the Fram. Within the next few weeks they also came upon bear tracks, and started to see seals, gulls and whales. But they could not catch any and were running low on food. They had no choice but to start shooting their dogs, starting with the weakest. They then fed this animal to the others, allowing them to eke out their rations a little further.

At the end of May, Nansen calculated that they were only 50 nautical miles (93 km; 58 miles) from Cape Fligely, the northernmost known point of Franz Josef Land. But their luck turned again: the weather was getting warmer and the ice was breaking up.

On 22 June they camped on a stable ice floe, resting there for a month. The day after leaving this camp they spotted land, far in the distance. Whether this was Franz Josef Land or a new discovery they could not be sure, but it was their only hope. On 6 August they ran out of ice – they would have to trust their lives to the homemade kayaks. They shot the last of their dogs, lashed their two kayaks together and sailed for land.

Nansen soon identified Cape Felder, which lay on the western edge of Franz Josef Land. But time was against them, and towards the end of August the weather grew colder again. They would have to spend another winter in the frozen north. They found a sheltered cove where they built a hut from stones and moss. It would be their home for the next eight months. It was 3 m (10 ft) long and 2 m (6 ft) wide, and had a stone bench on each side with bearskins and woollen sleeping bags. A chimney of bear hide led from the hearth to the roof, which was made with walrus hide. Heat and light was provided by oil lamps, and the partially submerged door made of skins. A primitive dwelling, but sufficiently warm and comfortable.

Their food supplies were long gone, but they still had ammunition and now there was plenty of bear, walrus and seal around. Although they would not go hungry, the feeling of settling in to a long arctic winter in their tiny refuge must have been disheartening in the extreme. Christmas and New Year came and went, and the severe weather continued through the early months of 1896. Finally, on 19 May, they restarted their journey south.

‘[Nansen made] almost as great an advance as has been accomplished by all other voyages in the nineteenthcentury put together.’




Rescue and return


In mid June their kayaks were attacked by a walrus. After scaring the beast off, Nansen and Johansen stopped to make repairs. Cursing their luck, Nansen was astonished to hear a dog barking and then, human voices. He rounded the headland and to his amazement saw a man approaching.

It was Frederick Jackson, the British explorer who was leading an expedition to Franz Josef Land. Jackson was equally dumbfounded and it was some moments before he asked: ‘You are Nansen, aren’t you?’ and heard the reply ‘Yes, I am Nansen.’

Jackson took the Norwegians to his camp at nearby Cape Flora on Northbrook Island. As they recuperated from their ordeal, Nansen came to thank the feisty walrus; had it not been for that beast they might never have encountered Jackson.









The meeting between Fridtjof Nansen (right) and Frederick Jackson at Cape Flora, Franz Josef Land, 17 June 1896.


Nansen and Johansen boarded Jackson’s supply ship Windward on 7 August and set sail for Vardø which they reached a week later. To their surprise they were greeted by Hans Mohn, the polar drift theorist, who just happened to be in the town. Telegrams were dispatched to tell the world about Nansen’s safe return.

Nansen and Johansen caught a mail steamer south to reach Hammerfest on 18 August. There they learned that the Fram had emerged from the ice north and west of Spitsbergen, as Nansen had predicted. The men immediately sailed for Tromsø, where they joined their old shipmates.

On 9 September 1896, Fram sailed into the harbour at Christiania. The quays were thronged with the largest crowds the city had ever seen. Nansen was reunited with his family more than three years after setting out and they spent the next few days as special guests of King Oscar. He may not have reached the North Pole, but Nansen’s epic tale of survival ensured his lifelong celebrity.





Another Antarctic Winter


















Australian geologist and Antarctic explorer Douglas Mawson (1882–1958).

Way down south


The average wind speed at Cape Denison was 80 km/h (50 mph). It regularly gusted at 320 km/h (200 mph). But Douglas Mawson and his colleagues would have to get used to it. For the next two years this was going to be their home.

Mawson was born in Yorkshire in 1882 but grew up in Australia. A geologist by education, he had been bitten early by the exploring bug. He was the principal geologist on an expedition to the New Hebrides (now Vanuatu), and he wrote one of the first major geological studies on the area. He was just 21 at the time.

The early twentieth century was the age of the great Antarctic explorers. In 1910 Mawson had turned down an invitation from Robert Falcon Scott to join his ill-fated Terra Nova Expedition.

Instead, Mawson organized his own adventure, the Australian Antarctic Expedition. This would carry out geographical exploration and scientific studies of King George V Land and Adelie Land, the part of the Antarctic continent directly south of Australia. At the time this region was almost entirely unexplored. Mawson also wanted to include a visit to the South Magnetic Pole.




The Australian Antarctic Expedition


Mawson and his team departed from Hobart on 2 December 1911, on board the SY Aurora. They landed at the wind-buffeted Cape Denison on Commonwealth Bay on 8 January 1912, where they built the hut that would serve as their Main Base for the expedition. They also established a Western camp on the ice shelf in Queen Mary Land.

Mawson had initially wanted to explore the area by air and had brought the first aircraft to Antarctica, a Vickers monoplane. But it suffered damage and the engine struggled in the cold. All their exploring would have to be done on foot, with dogs and sledges. However, by the time they had fully established their camp, the weather was worsening and it was soon too severe to travel in. The men stayed in the hut to see out the long, dark months of an Antarctic winter.




Sledging to disaster


By November 1912, the nearly constant blizzards had eased and the exploration program could begin. Mawson divided the men into seven parties: five would operate from the Main Base and two from the Western camp.

Mawson himself would lead a three-man sledging team along with Xavier Mertz and Lieutenant Belgrave Ninnis. They set out east on 10 November 1912, to survey King George V Land. For five weeks all went smoothly. They mapped the coastline and collected many fine geological samples. Then, as they were crossing what was to become the Ninnis Glacier, disaster struck.

Mawson was driving the sledge, which spread his weight evenly over the ice, and Mertz was skiing. But Ninnis was on foot and his weight breached the surface. He plunged into a snow-covered crevasse, taking the tent, most of their rations, and the six best dogs with him. Mertz and Mawson could see one dead and one injured dog on a ledge 50 m (160 ft) down the massive crevasse, but Ninnis was gone.




A long way from home


Mawson and Mertz said a brief service for their colleague and then turned back. They had a primus stove and fuel but only one week’s provisions and no food for the dogs. They were separated from home by 480 km (300 miles) of the most brutal terrain on earth.

Their first goal was to get to a spare tent cover that they had stashed behind them on their journey. To reach this they sledged continuously for twenty-seven hours. They rigged up a frame for this outer shell of canvas from skis and a theodolite.









Douglas Mawson peering over the edge of the crevasse into which his comrade Lt. Ninnis has fallen along with his sledge, dogs and supplies.







Mawson’s teams had explored large areas of the Antarctic coast and discovered much about its geology, biology and meteorology. They had also accurately determined the location of the South Magnetic Pole.






The trek back was slow going and they soon ran out of food. They had no choice but to kill their huskies one by one and eat them. There was hardly any meat on the animals, and even though they mixed it with a little of their tinned food, the men were almost constantly hungry. The bones, guts and sinew that they could not digest they gave to the remaining dogs.




Poisoned


Mawson and Mertz were so desperately hungry that they ate the huskies’ livers. Unfortunately, these contain a toxic concentration of Vitamin A. Although Vitamin A was only identified in 1917, Inuit peoples had long known about the poisonous nature of these organs. The livers of polar bears, seals and walrus are similarly dangerous.

The two men got very ill very quickly on their journey back. They were racked with sickness, diarrhoea, abdominal pain, dizziness and became irrational. Their skin turned yellow and began to peel from their muscles. Their hair and nails fell out.

Mertz ate more liver than Mawson because he found the dog’s tough muscles too hard to eat and he suffered the worst. As well as the physical deterioration, he became gripped with madness. He would lie curled up in his sleeping bag refusing to move, or would rage violently. At one point Mawson had to sit on Mertz’s chest and seize his arms to stop him wrecking their tent. He even bit off the tip of his own frostbitten little finger. After several major seizures, Mertz finally fell into a coma and died on 8 January 1913.




Walking home alone


That left Douglas Mawson to trek the last 160 km (100 miles) alone. At one point he tumbled into a deep crevasse. He was only saved from plummeting to certain death by his sledge, which jammed itself into the ice above him. He then hauled himself back up the slender rope that attached him to the sledge.






In 1916, the American Geographical Society awarded Mawson the David Livingstone Centenary Medal. He was later awarded the OBE and was also knighted.






Mawson finally made it back to Cape Denison in February, but further misfortune awaited him. The Aurora had sailed away just a few hours before. Mawson and the six men who had stayed behind to look for him were forced to spend a second winter in the brutal arms of Cape Denison until they were finally rescued in December 1913.





The Day the World Shook


















A world turned upside down


The scene could have been taken from a romantic movie: a beautiful ocean liner snug against a wharf, cheering passengers lining her rails, streamers and confetti falling like coloured rain on the hundreds of well-wishers on the dockside.

Seconds later the movie would become a tragedy as one of the most devastating earthquakes in history shattered the scene.

Thousands would die in the initial shocks and the catastrophic fires that followed. But thanks to the cool leadership of the liner’s captain and the selfless actions of her crew and passengers, many thousands more would survive.




Disaster on an unprecedented scale


It was 11.55 a.m. on Saturday, 1 September 1923 and the Empress of Australia was making ready to depart from her berth at Yokohama, Japan.

Then, without warning, the entire dock moved several feet up in the air. Suddenly it plunged back down again, cracking into pieces. Seized by panic, the people screamed and ran, but there was nowhere to go. The dock fell into dust beneath their feet.

More shocks hit, making the land around the bay roll in waves over 2 m (7 ft) high, as if it were the ocean.

‘The 23,000-ton liner was tossed from side to side like a toy boat in a bath.’

The sky was lit a sickly orange from the fires now raging across the city, and a low, near-continuous rumbling sound filled the air as hundreds of buildings collapsed into rubble.

The Empress had been hit by the Great Kantō earthquake. This measured 8.3 on the Richter scale and had its epicentre beneath Ō-shima Island in Sagami Bay, just 80 km (50 miles) from where the ship was moored.

The earthquake devastated Tōkyō, the port city of Yokohama and the surrounding prefectures of Chiba, Kanagawa, and Shizuoka. Between 100,000 – 142,000 people perished, either from the initial tremors, subsequent building collapses or the vicious firestorms whipped up by 110 km/h (70 mph) winds from a nearby typhoon, which struck the area soon after the earthquake. Many people died when their feet got stuck in melting tarmac. In one single incident, 38,000 people who had taken refuge in a yard at a clothing depot were incinerated by a fire whirl.




Peril in port


Individuals were facing disaster at every turn. Captain Robinson of the Empress of Australia had the lives of more than a thousand people on his shoulders.

Although the shocks lessened and eventually ceased, Robinson knew his vessel was in a very dangerous position.






What remained of the docks was engulfed in flame and the Empress was still tied to the wharf.






If she stayed tied to the dock, she would burn. And if that happened, there would be nowhere for the people on board to go.




Taking action


Normally, the Empress would have been able to simply move astern, but a freighter, the Steel Navigator, was moored close behind her. Now she would need tugs to pull her out sideways, but these had been destroyed or crippled in the initial tremors. Furthermore, a ship moored to the east had lost her cable and drifted across the harbour, smashing into the Empress amidships.

First Captain Robinson ordered all available crew – and passengers – to turn the ship’s hoses on the decks and extinguish the embers that were drifting from the burning docks.

He then had ropes and ladders cast over the side to let the survivors trapped on the crumbling dock climb aboard. Next he tried a risky manoeuvre, engaging the Empress’s engines to shove the Steel Navigator enough to allow them to manoeuvre away from the flaming docks.

With metal grinding on metal the Empress managed to shift the freighter, inch by agonizing inch. But just as she was slowly pulling away her port propeller fouled in the Steel Navigator’s anchor cable.

She had edged about 18 m (60 ft) away from the flames; it probably wasn’t going to be enough. Sparks and embers continued to rain down on the deck. Then, fortunately, the wind turned and eased. The ship was safe – for the moment.

Now the captain turned to helping other people. He had the ship’s lifeboats lowered and formed rescue teams of crew and volunteer passengers. They then set out to shore, working through the night to ferry survivors to the ship.




The burning waters


By Sunday morning the Empress was a haven for 2,000 people, but now they faced another danger. A huge slick of burning oil was moving across the harbour towards the ship. The fouled propeller meant the Empress was still unable to steer. Captain Robinson asked the captain of a tanker, the Iris, to help. This vessel managed to tow the bow of the Empress round, allowing her to move slightly out of port to a safer anchorage.

The rescue teams kept working despite the blazing sea.




Staying behind


On 4 September, three days after the earthquake, the Empress’s fouled propeller was freed by a diver from the Japanese battleship Yamashiro, which had arrived at the harbour. The propeller was undamaged and the Empress was now free to leave.









Damage caused by the Great Kantō earthquake in Tōkyō.


But Captain Robinson decided that she should stay to help with the relief work.






For the next week the Empress of Australia re-entered the devastated harbour every morning and sent her boats ashore.






The lifeboats continued the trips, returning full of refugees, who were then either transferred from the ship to other vessels or taken to Kōbe. The ship’s crew and most of the passengers donated their personal belongings to help the survivors.




Sailing into history


Finally, on 12 September 1923, the Empress of Australia departed Yokohama. The heroism of her captain, crew and passengers was not forgotten. Captain Robinson received many awards, including the CBE and the Lloyds Silver Medal.

A group of passengers and refugees commissioned a bronze memorial tablet, which they presented to the ship in recognition of the relief efforts. When the Empress was scrapped in 1952, this tablet was handed on to Captain Robinson, then aged 82, in a special ceremony in Vancouver.





The Long Walk Home


















Old rabbit-proof fence remains along Hamersley Drive, Fitzgerald River National Park, Western Australia.

The rabbit-proof fence


Rabbits are not indigenous to Australia. In 1859 an English settler in Victoria, southeast Australia released two dozen into the wild. ‘The introduction of a few rabbits could do little harm and might provide a touch of home, in addition to a spot of hunting.’ But Austin seemed to have forgotten what rabbits are good at and they were soon spreading across the continent like a plague.

Between 1901 and 1907, the government constructed one of the most ambitious wildlife containment schemes the world has ever seen. The plan was simple: cordon off the entire western side of Australia so that the rabbits couldn’t get into it. Three rabbit-proof fences crossed the country. They were one metre (3 ft) high and supported by wooden poles. No.1 Rabbit-Proof Fence ran for 1,833 km (1,139 miles) clear across the continent from Wallal Downs to Jerdacuttup. The total length of all three fences was 3,256 km (2,023 miles).

Bold though this act of segregation was, it was doomed to failure. Rabbits had already crossed west of the barrier and it was near-impossible to maintain such a structure in the harsh conditions of the Western Australian deserts, despite regular patrols by inspectors with bicycles, cars and even camels.




The stolen generation


The fence also acts as a metaphor for another act of segregation imposed on the country by the government of the time.

The white settlers of Australia had many different attitudes to the Aboriginal population. To some they were simply an inferior race. Others believed they could be assimilated into white society and have their heritage ‘bred out’ of them. Some were tolerant and understanding and of course there were many mixed-race children. It was the most divisive issue in that period of Australian history.






From 1920 to 1930 more than 100,000 mixed-race Aboriginal children were taken from their families.






Children were relocated to be educated for a useful life as a farmhand or domestic servant. The government built harsh remand homes where Dickensian conditions were the norm. The children, many as young as three, shared prison-like dormitories with barred windows. Thin blankets gave little protection against the chill nights and the food was basic. These grim educational centres, or ‘native settlements’, were often many hundreds of miles from the place the children called home. Any children caught escaping would have their heads shaved, be beaten with a strap and sent for a spell in solitary confinement.






The food in the workhouse-like ‘native settlements’ was no better than gruel. The children had few clothes and no shoes.






Molly Craig, 14, her half-sister Daisy Kadibil, 11 and their cousin Gracie Fields, 8, arrived at the Moore River Settlement north of Perth in August 1931. They had been taken from their family in Jiggalong nearly 1,600 km (1,000 miles) away and they immediately decided to return home no matter what the consequences. Their plan was simple: they would follow the rabbit-proof fence.




Walking home


The girls only had two simple dresses and two pairs of calico bloomers each. Their feet were shoeless. The only food they had was a little bread. Nevertheless, on only their second day in the settlement they hid in the dormitory and then, when no one was looking, they simply walked out into the bush. It held far fewer terrors for them than the settlement.









The girls route following the rabbit-proof fence.


The fence itself was several days’ walk away. Once they reached it they would then have several more weeks of trekking through dusty scrubland before they reached Jiggalong.

But the girls were confident that they could live off the land. Their biggest fear was getting caught by the inevitable search parties; all previous escapees had been found by Aboriginal trackers. To outfox them they would have to hide well and move fast: Molly set them a goal of covering 32 km (20 miles) a day.

‘We followed that fence, that rabbit-proof fence, all the way home from the settlement to Jiggalong. Long way, alright. We stayed in the bush hiding there for a long time.’

They made good progress at first. They hid in a rabbit warren and managed to catch, cook and eat a couple of the creatures. The weather was wet, giving them water and removing their footprints. They met two Aboriginals who gave them food and matches.

Often, when they came upon a farmhouse they simply walked up to the door and asked for help. Despite the news of their escape being widely publicised, none of the white farmers turned them in. Some gave them food and warmer clothes.

The police were on their trail, now genuinely concerned for the girls’ welfare as well as eager to return them to Moore River.

But by the third week in September the strain of life in the bush was beginning to show. Gracie, the youngest, was exhausted and the other two often had to carry her. Her legs had been slashed by thorny underbrush and become infected. After hearing from an Aboriginal woman they met that her mother had moved to nearby Wiluna, she crept aboard a train to travel there.

Molly and Daisy kept walking towards Jiggalong. They could now move faster without their younger cousin to support, but it was still brutally hard going. The rains had gone, as summer crept up on them. Every day it got hotter yet every day they were determined to cover more ground to get home quicker.

At last, in early October, the two dusty, bedraggled girls walked into Jiggalong. They had trekked for more than 1,600 km (1,000 miles) through some of the most unforgiving terrain on Earth. They were still wanted by the authorities.

But now they were home.




The story wasn’t over


The families of both girls swiftly moved house to stop the authorities taking their girls again. But, perhaps aware of what a powerful tale the girls had to tell, the government called off the chase a few weeks later.

However, although the girls’ escape is a triumphant display of endurance and indomitable human spirit, their journey didn’t bring total happiness. They were still in a land where the law discriminated against them.

Gracie’s mother wasn’t in Wiluna and she was sent back to Moore River. She became a domestic servant and died in 1983.

Molly also became a domestic servant, marrying and having two daughters. But in 1940, after she was taken to Perth with appendicitis, she was sent back to Moore River by a direct government order. Amazingly, she once again walked out of the settlement and trekked back to Jiggalong. Unfortunately, she could only take one of her daughters with her; her 3-year-old girl, Doris remained in the settlement where she was brought up. Doris later wrote the book Rabbit-Proof Fence about her mother’s first journey, which was made into a film in 2002.

Daisy’s story had the happiest outcome. She stayed in the Jiggalong area for the rest of her life, where she became a housekeeper, married and had four daughters.





Survival by Sacrifice


















The snow-covered peaks of the Karakoram Range, Pakistan.

The height of ambition


It was no wonder that the young students were bursting with enthusiasm for the climb. Several extraordinary recent mountaineering achievements had fired the imaginations of all men who loved the mountains: Tensing and Hillary had climbed Everest just four years previously and the savage K2 had succumbed the year after. It seemed that no peak was beyond the reach of determined and able men.

But the three lads from Oxford University Mountaineering Club took their enthusiasm one step further. They wanted to be the first men to conquer the virgin spire of Haramosh, a towering 7,400 m (24,270 ft) mountain in the Karakoram range of northern Pakistan.

They would pay dearly for their high ambition. They would also display depths of bravery and self-sacrifice that belied their years.




The team finds a leader


The project was the brainchild of 23-year-old Bernard Jillott, a grammar school boy from Huddersfield. With him were John Emery, a medic who delayed his finals to join the expedition, and Rae Culbert, a 25-year-old forestry graduate from New Zealand.

The students were young, but also wise enough to know that to get a climbing permit they would need an older, more experienced leader. They asked Tony Streather, an army officer who had been on the 1950 Norwegian expedition that made the first ascent of Tirich Mir, the highest peak in the Hindu Kush at 7,690 m (25,223 ft). Initially the expedition’s transport officer, he ended up being part of the four-man team that reached the summit. He had also climbed Kangchenjunga (the world’s third highest mountain) in 1955 and two years later he was in Oxford lecturing on his experiences when the lads from the university mountaineering club collared him.

Streather was recently married and had a very small child, but it wasn’t long since he had left Pakistan and he yearned to return and see his old friends.

‘They got me into a bar, plied me with several whiskies, then asked if I would lead their expedition to Haramosh…. I suppose they caught me at a vulnerable moment and I said, “Yes, fine”.’




The team starts planning


The four didn’t always see eye-to-eye but good climbers are, by necessity, highly driven individuals who dislike compromise. Groups of them are rarely harmonious.

They decamped to the Streathers’ army bungalow in Camberley and set up their expedition headquarters. Preparations went well and by July 1957 the team was in Pakistan.

On 3 August the climbers established their base camp below the towering northern face of the mountain. They then began working their way up a long flanking route to the east.

Although it was still late summer, the weather was turning against them. Heavy snowfall often kept them in their tents for days on end. For several frustrating weeks they made little progress and by early September it was obvious (to Streather at least) that they were not going to conquer Haramosh.

But then the weather broke. The sun shone and the team decided that they could at least climb to a new high point on the mountain. It would make all their efforts worthwhile.




A step too far


On the afternoon of 15 September 1957, the four men crested a ridge at about 6,400 m (21,000 ft) and what they saw nearly tore their hearts out. The view was beautiful: a dazzling bird’s eye vista of the high Karakoram, something that only a tiny percentage of men have ever seen. No one had ever climbed higher on Haramosh. But they could also see that there was a huge, yawning gulf between them and the ultimate summit. Streather knew instantly it was time to turn back.

But Jillott insisted on continuing a little bit further, just to see over the next crest. He was roped to Emery.

Streather waited with Culbert, watching the other pair plough ahead through the crisp snow of the ridge. The north face dropped sheer away for 2,400 m (7,875 ft) on one side of the ridge but the gentle convex slope they were on seemed harmless enough. Then, suddenly, the climbers crumpled and twisted, their arms and legs flailing like marionettes.

For a split second Streather thought that Jillott and Emery were larking about. Then horror seized his heart: the whole side of the mountain was moving, dragging the two men with it. There was an eerie silence as they slid out of sight and then reality came thundering back with a roar as the avalanche cascaded over an ice cliff taking their friends into the abyss.









A spectacular view across the hundreds of mountain peaks in the Karakoram Range, Pakistan.










An avalanche in the Karakoram Range.

The rescue attempt


Streather and Culbert moved quickly. If their friends were still alive they would need supplies. They threw down a rucksack containing warm jackets and food. Agonizingly, it overshot the pair below and tumbled into a crevasse. There were more supplies cached at Camp 4, so Streather and Culbert tramped back to the tents.

Already shattered from their efforts, they had no time to rest; at that height every second counted in the race for survival. They collected vacuum flasks, food, warm clothing and rope and started to reclimb the four hour route to the accident site.

Night fell and still they kept climbing. Luckily the moon was up and the sky was cloudless so when they reached the ridge they were able to continue down into the basin.

By the time they got close to their friends the sun was rising. To their joy they heard Emery and Jillott shouting at them. Then they realized the shouts were a warning: they were about to step over the vast ice cliff that Emery and Jillott had been swept over. The fallen men told them to traverse several hundred feet right, to a point where the cliff’s steep gradient eased.

Streather had to cut steps with his ice axe all the way across the giddy traverse. They were nearly across when one of Culbert’s crampons fell from his boot and disappeared into the void.

By the time they reached Emery and Jillott it was late afternoon. Both men were weakened after a night in the open and Emery had suffered the agony of a dislocated hip when he fell although mercifully this had clicked back into its socket. Streather knew they had to start climbing back out of the basin immediately, even though he and Culbert had now been continuously on the move for thirty hours.

They had climbed 60 m (200 ft) when Culbert’s cramponless foot slipped. He fell from the ice wall and pulled everyone back down into the basin. The men tried again. This time the exhausted Jillott fell asleep in his ropes and again they tumbled back to the bottom.

They tried for a third time but Culbert’s exposed leather sole gave him no grip. Despite valiant efforts he slipped from the sheer ice and swung in space like a pendulum. He was roped to Streather who tried but could not hold his weight. Ripping his partner from his holds, Culbert hurtled back down the same cliff over which Emery and Jillott had tumbled two days earlier.

With savage irony the rescuers had become the victims.




Another night in the arms of death


The sun had set and now it was Emery and Jillott’s turn to climb through the night, returning to the ridge to collect supplies. Meanwhile Streather and Culbert shivered in the darkness of the basin below.

At dawn on 17 August, Emery and Jillot had not returned. Culbert was very weak and frostbite had numbed all feeling in his feet. Streather knew that they had to try for a fourth time to get out of the basin; their colleagues might not have made it.

They would normally have been roped together, but Streather had lost his ice axe and couldn’t have held the younger man if he had fallen. There was no point in both men perishing when one slipped, so they climbed by themselves. Now the full consequences of Culbert’s lost crampon became apparent. He was unable to get the purchase he needed to haul himself up the ice wall. As he tried to follow Streather to the ridge he kept sliding back down. Streather could barely put one foot in front of the other himself; he had no choice but to keep climbing on his own. That climb was the most savage test of endurance he would ever face.

‘I thought I was dead and I didn’t know why I was climbing, but I just knew I had to keep moving.’

Streather eventually reached the ridge and found the rucksack they had left. He was frantic with thirst, but the water bottles were frozen solid. Now all he could do was crawl back to camp.

On the way he was surprised to see a set of tracks diverge from the correct route. Back at the camp he found Emery lying, utterly exhausted, with his cramponned feet sticking out of the tent.

‘Streather asked where Jillott was. Emery said: “He’s gone.” “What do you mean – gone?” “He’s dead. Over the edge.”’

The divergent footprints had been Jillott’s. He had strayed over a precipice and fallen several thousand feet down the south side.

Emery had nearly died himself: he had tumbled into a crevasse and only managed to crawl out that morning, reaching camp a few hours before Streather.




The two who were left


Streather and Emery then talked about going back up for Culbert. But in the cold light of day they knew that was out of the question.

Streather could only get to his feet by levering himself up with ski sticks. Emery was even weaker. Physically they wouldn’t be able to accomplish it and the sad truth was that Culbert was almost certainly already dead after another night in the open.

It was time to face facts: Jillott and Culbert were dead. And unless they got a grip, they would soon be too. Streather got the stove going. Emery, the medic, gave them both penicillin jabs to protect their frostbitten hands and feet from infection.

It took them four more days to get down to base camp. Then they had the heartbreaking job of sending telegrams home to the families of Jillott and Culbert.




Home


The two survivors returned to England where Emery had emergency surgery. All his fingers and toes were amputated. The surgeons managed to leave enough of a stump of his thumb and first finger for him to hold a pen. He got a first in his medical finals. Incredibly he returned to climbing, but died in a fall in the Alps in 1963.

Streather escaped without any amputations. But he still had to face the families of the young men who had died. Doubts, regret and sadness would haunt him ever after.

But beside the tragedy there is another truth. Tony Streather pushed himself to the edge for his friends and Rae Culbert, tragically, gave even more. It was only thanks to their bravery that any men came off that mountain alive. Haramosh was finally climbed on 4 August 1958.








Climbers roped together in search of a way out between the crevasses.





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