Peter Potterfield near the remains of the Stromness whaling station at the end of the Shackleton Crossing. Photo: Dave Hahn

Huddled under the cooking tent with Jim Williams, Tuck and the good Doctor, a stove sputtering away, standing in a few inches of water and leaning against the world's wettest snow, I tried one more time. Darkness would come in about 30 minutes. "Grigoriy Mikheev, Grigoriy Mikheev, this is the South Georgia Crossing Team, come in, please." And then there was a nice loud reply with a strong Russian accent, "Who's calling Grigoriy Mikheev?"

We looked at each other, four wet faces, huddled together, and we broke up laughing now. Really, who else would be calling the Grigoriy Mikheev? Contact made, and the ship pointed our way, I decided to walk that last hundred yards to the beach to see where the Zodiacs could come in. I found myself wetter than I'd dreamed was possible and shivering good and hard after even a few hours of lessened activity. Talking then with Bill Davis, our ship's expedition leader, he said the Zodiacs were on their way and dinner aboard would be at 9pm. Not bad.

We dried out and touristed about while the weather cycled through some more, and then we landed to ski and walk the last few hours into Stromness, completing our goal and wondering how Shackleton had felt as he took the same steps years ago. To know that he and his men were going to survive, that for a little while they'd all be safe and sound once again — against all odds. Our own challenges will never be so great, but surviving always does feel good, even a third grader knows that.