The Adventures of Tom Crean

From the doorway of his pub, Tom Crean felt a new chill. Winter was coming to Annascaul, Ireland. His wife had already checked their three girls’ coats for holes. She knew she didn’t have to get Tom’s winter coat yet—to him, an Irish January barely counted as cold. He’d felt much, much worse. He didn’t talk about those days. His pub was the only clue he offered about his adventures as a young man. He rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and went back inside. Above the door, painted letters spelled out the pub’s name:

In February 1877, Crean was born near the place where he would eventually open his pub. He grew up on his family’s farm as one of 11 siblings. When the British Royal Navy came to recruit local boys, the 16-year-old Crean didn’t think twice before enlisting.

He zigzagged across the seas from Nicaragua to Canada, back to England, then to Australia and New Zealand. There, everything changed. A passing ship—the HMS Discovery—was one crewmate short. Crean volunteered to step in, even after he learned its destination: Antarctica, the mostly undiscovered home to the South Pole.

At the helm of the Discovery was Captain Robert Falcon Scott. This was his first time in Antarctica, and under his leadership, the crew traveled farther south than anyone had before. Although they never reached the South Pole, Scott wanted to try again. He knew he needed Crean by his side. The Irishman’s loyalty, strength, and bravery were unmatched.

In 1910, Crean found himself sailing back toward the South Pole aboard the Terra Nova. He had joined Scott’s second expedition to Antarctica. But the expedition already faced a major problem: an enormous glacier stood between the crew and the South Pole. The block of ice rose more than a mile high and stretched 125 miles across. Dogs, ponies, and tractors usually dragged the men’s sledges of supplies—but they couldn’t make the crossing.

It was too treacherous, and there weren’t enough provisions for the animals. Crean and his crewmates hauled the sledges by hand across the dangerous ice.
With about 150 miles to go, Scott announced he would take four men with him the rest of the way. Crean wasn’t one of them. Scott wanted Crean to guide the other men back to camp. He and two others, William Lashly and Edward “Teddy” Evans, were ordered to head back.

Slowly, they put 100 frozen miles behind them. Then another 100. And another. But Evans grew so sick with scurvy that he couldn’t walk.

Crean and Lashly dumped whatever they could spare into the snow and loaded Evans onto their sledge. They dragged him until Lashly had no strength left.

There were still 35 miles to go.

Crean knew they had one chance to survive: he had to hike the rest of the way alone, as fast as he could. All he had to eat were a few biscuits and some chocolate. He had packed no shelter. Somehow, he arrived at the camp 18 hours later. He had just enough energy left to tell the others where to find Evans and Lashly.

Both men were rescued.

In 1914, Sir Ernest Shackleton, an Antarctic explorer, set off south. He wanted to cross the entire continent. By then, Crean had already journeyed to the Antarctic twice. Shackleton immediately signed him onto his team.
Disaster struck on the way. Their ship, the Endurance, became trapped in floating ice and was slowly being crushed. Shackleton ordered his crew to abandon ship. They unloaded supplies and lifeboats onto the ice. The Endurance sankinto the black ocean with a crack and a groan. The men
were trapped.

For months they drifted, camping on the ice. Then, in April, the men saw a welcome sight: land!

Shackleton and his crew dropped their lifeboats into the freezing, choppy water and headed for solid ground. Each day brought them closer, but the closer they got, the less they liked what they saw. Rocky, cold, and battered by the wind, Elephant Island wasn’t much better than their floating chunk of ice.

With their feet on land and a fire started, Shackleton made an announcement: Nobody was looking for them. They were all going to die here—unless some of them crossed 800 miles of open ocean to get help. The route was dangerous. The water was icy, and the waves were huge. The lifeboats weren’t designed for journeys like this. Still, Shackleton asked for volunteers.

Crean raised his hand.

He, Shackleton, and four other men climbed into the largest lifeboat, and their friends watched them vanish among the icebergs.

That boat was their home for more than two weeks. Thanks to brilliant navigation, sheer doggedness, and Crean’s singing (which Shackleton called “a comic revolt against the conditions”), they reached the island of South Georgia. But their destination—a whaling station—was on the opposite side.
No maps. No hiking boots. Crossing the island had never been done before. They navigated by guesswork, scaling mountains slick with ice and dodging a thick, freezing fog that almost killed them.

But when they heard the whistle from the whaling station, they knew they had achieved the impossible. Today, well-trained and well-equipped hikers have no idea how they did it.

Like Evans and Lashly, everyone Crean had left behind on Elephant Island was eventually rescued thanks to his heroism.