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      Maritime detective and expert traditional sailmaker Philip Rose-Taylor, hard at work.

      Courtesy of Seb Coulthard

      Finishing his kitchen with no further misadventure, Seb arrived at the marina in early March to find a group of fourteen volunteers from the local community patiently waiting to be assigned tasks. Seb thanked them profusely for coming and asked each in turn why they wanted to be involved. Without prompting they all gave a single-word answer: “Shackleton.” It was a powerful moment and showed how the legend of the explorer and his achievements remained undimmed with the passage of almost a century. Among this gang of honorary shipwrights were doctors Philip Ambler and Robert Goodhart; two qualified boatbuilders, Ian Baird and Fiona Lewis; local photographer Scott Irvine; Dave and Jackie Baker; and the charming Yvonne Beven, whose house became a home away from home during the sea trials. All were tireless workers for whom no job was too big or small.

      Robert Goodhart took charge of fitting the life raft and preparing the safety equipment on board. Philip Rose-Taylor set about rigging the boat and erecting the shrouds. Slowly an empty hull began to turn into a mighty craft. Fiona Lewis helped Philip get the sails on board and rigged with sheets and blocks, while Philip Ambler and Ian Baird took charge of fitting toe rails and oarlock chocks. Seb, in the meantime, wisely did anything that didn’t involve power tools, given his recent track record.

      Twelve days of what Seb called “expedient engineering” followed, with the team of volunteers working around the clock under the guidance of Seb, Paul, and Philip Rose-Taylor. Seb joked that the spirit of Chippy McNeish was among them during those feverish days of improvisation and working to a tight budget funded largely by my mortgage. Each time they came up with a novel solution to a problem—including, on occasion, using recycled materials—the call would go up, “We’ve McNeished it!” (Of course they never took shortcuts if it meant compromising safety or performance.) The final piece to be fitted on board was the hatch. Given how hard it was to open, it seemed appropriate that an outfit called Houdini Marine made it. Too fiddly for numb hands in the bitter cold of the Southern Ocean, we replaced it with something with bigger, easier-to-grasp handles.

      The launch date came around quickly. Unless you looked very closely, the Alexandra Shackleton was essentially finished, a great testament to her hardworking team. It was amazing to see her transformed from the basic shell of a boat Nat and I had project-managed. Now she was the James Caird in all but name. Zaz, dignitaries, Shackleton supporters, and a large crowd of onlookers were at the launch event, with Baz Gray, our second recruit, and Seb in full military regalia. The skipper of our proposed support vessel was notably absent. It was a surprise to all of us and almost certainly a bad omen.

      Neptune, god of the sea, we ask that you record our boat’s name in your “Ledger of the Deep.” . . . Let it be recorded, that on this day, Sunday 18th of March 2012, and forever more, this fine vessel shall be named Alexandra Shackleton. May God bless her and all who sail in her.

      It was the kind of ceremony Shackleton would almost certainly have enjoyed and approved of, with Zaz laying a branch of green leaves over the deck to remind the boat that she must always return to port and Trevor Potts placing a silver coin under the mast for luck. We dispensed with breaking a champagne bottle over the prow for fear of damaging Seb’s handiwork, instead splashing some of its contents on the woodwork and consuming the rest, feeling Shackleton would have approved. We toasted the four winds, but secretly I hoped for just three—easterly winds, we didn’t need.

      The next few months consisted of Seb continuing with sea trials and buying gear and equipment together with Paul Swain and Philip Rose-Taylor. I meanwhile returned to Australia to focus on fundraising and organize broader expedition logistics, which were now consuming all of my available time and energy. As we each focused on our niches, I left the Alexandra Shackleton in Seb’s capable hands. He became totally immersed in old sailing technology and language, telling me on one occasion with great pride that he’d fixed a leak to the “port aft garboard strake.” I was glad but had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

      Trevor Potts placing a silver coin under the mast for good luck.

      Courtesy of Nick Smith

      Seb was a master of detail, not only sourcing period gear and equipment and establishing its provenance but taking the time to test its adequacy for the conditions. For example, our 1916 Elgin pocket watch was bought, repaired, waterproofed, and tested in a freezer to -20˚C (-4˚ F) for twenty-four hours. Gear appeared steadily, with great stories attached to much of it, adding to the romance of the expedition. Captain Bob Turner, RN, a former captain of the ice patrol ship HMS Endurance, donated a Sestrel sextant similar to the Heath Hezzanith sextant used by Huberht Hudson, Shackleton’s navigator on board the Endurance. We also acquired an E Dent compass filled with alcohol to prevent it from freezing, which was made by the same family as the original chronometer carried on the James Caird. And it was virtually identical to the one used by Frank Worsley.

      It was an odd juxtaposition of old and new. As Seb, Paul, and Philip put in place hundred-year-old gear, Ed from Raw TV, together with marine electrician Robert Sleep, went about fitting the fixed camera rig of standard and high-definition cameras that would not have been out of place on a space shuttle. According to Ed, it was by far the most complex camera rig ever fitted to a boat of this size (and probably the most expensive).

      Old and new: (left) the 360-degree infrared camera and (right) the 174-year-old wooden block.

      Courtesy of Tim Jarvis

      In June the Olympic Games sailing events began moving in to our Portland home, so the Alexandra Shackleton was relocated to Weymouth Marina. Best to distance her from the sleek modern Olympic boats that served

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