Like depoted XS rations on the Ross Ice Shelf, Cherry-Garrard's writing is as fresh and nourishing as the day it went between covers eighty-eight years ago. "The Worst Journey" contains so many good things, not the least of which are the entwined stories of Cherry-Garrard's own mid-winter's march to collect egg samples from brooding Emperor Penguins and Scott's disastrous trip to (and most of the way back from) the South Pole. In between are long stretches of brilliant nature writing, kind but frank character study, technical analysis of sledging materials and conditions at a range of temperatures between -70 & 0 Celsius, etc., etc. (Tellingly, Cherry-Garrard survived three brutal years on McMurdo Sound, only to be invalided home from WWI in a matter of months. Likely the experiences of the first had weakened him for the second, but it says a great deal that the worst the Antarctic could throw at him was as nothing compared to the trenches of France.)
Despite my best intentions, I'll probably continue to grumble about cold winters in an Edinburgh flat, or the rigours of an eight-hour day spent tracking birds on Scottish moors. After having read this book, however, I'll blush every time I catch myself doing so.