In one of the lesser-known tales of polar survival, a Russian voyage in search of whales, bears, seals, and the Northeast passage goes spectacularly wrong, and after two winters drifting north in the grip of the pack ice, ten of the 23 on board decide to trek south with sledges and kayaks in the hope of reaching Franz Josef Land. Only two of them live to tell the tale.

There’s all the usual stuff you expect from the genre: frostbite, scurvy, raw birds and polar bear liver for breakfast, and frequent dunkings in frigid brine. But what makes this one especially interesting compared to the likes of Nansen, Shackleton, Cherry, Mawson etc. is that none of these guys signed up for an arctic death-march. The crew of the Sant Anna, a mix of ordinary sailors, hunters, general adventurers, and, extraordinarily, a woman (who, however, stays behind on the ship) has almost no polar experience and is unprepared even for the planned itinerary. They have hardly any maps or geographical knowledge, not enough fuel, one sleeping bag between them, they have to improvise their sledges and kayaks out of stuff lying around the ship. The author and ship’s navigator, Albanov, shows some leadership ability by his own account, but the men in general are resigned, indolent, querulous bordering on mutinous, and habitually uncooperative — just as you’d expect ordinary people, rather than intrepid British/Norwegian arctic hands, to be. Where Scott and Shackleton and their men have nightly revues and singalongs to keep their spirits and stiff upper lips up, this lot always look on the gloomy side of life. In a way, it’s as miraculous that 10% of them made it out alive as it is that 100% of Shackleton’s did. In a dark and somehow very Russian twist of fate, the author only lived a few more years — blown up in a freak munitions train explosion.

Don’t skip the afterword, which contains a fascinating revelation about Albanov’s fellow survivor.