Routinely in my e-mails I use sig files that consist of Frank Worsley quotes. My friend Melissa, webmistress for frankworsley.com contacted me and asked about using some of them in a feature on the site.

I have been fascinated by the story of the Endurance and her crew ever since I saw a documentary on it in a class I took called "Adventures in Film and Literature." A great deal of the class focused on the psychological make up of people who survive extreme ordeals. As someone born and raised in the American Desert Southwest I have a particular aversion to cold, and the fact that these men underwent these incredible trials while constantly cold and wet has always added to their heroism in my eyes.

Somewhere along the line, I became intrigued by Frank Worsley. Shackleton, deservedly, gets smothered in glory, but the more I read about the expedition, the more I came to realize that Worsley had pulled off several amazing feats of seamanship, most notably the voyage from Elephant Island to South Georgia. Feats that would be worthy of respect even in a vessel equipped with today's modern equipment and amenities. Who was this master mariner?

The more I read about Frank Worsley and all of his varied adventures, the more I learned of his high sprits and lust for life, the more I regretted that, dammit, I would never get to meet him.

Then, in the course of reading a book about the Endurance, I discovered that Worsley had written two books about The Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition, Shackleton's Boat Journey and Endurance. It says a great deal about the kind of man Frank Worsley was that the former is titled Shackleton's Boat Journey. He, Worsley, played an equally important part in the success of that desperate journey to South Georgia, and could have by all rights called the book "My Boat Journey" or "Worsley's Boat Journey". Not only was Worsley a great man in his own right, but he was also humble. Humility: a virtue often dismissed in the present age where everyone is looking for his or her fifteen minutes of fame.

Somewhat nervous, I checked both books out of the library. I had read Shackleton's South, and although in every quantifiable respect (as much as one can quantify literature) a good book, it was... well... a little dry.

Worsley's books aren't like that. At all.

I come from a family of storytellers. It's what we do when the family gets together. Weddings, funerals, holidays -- we all tell stories about things we've done, people we've met, things we did together as children; we laugh and reminisce about the old days.

Worsley's books are written with the same narrative structure. They don't march straight through from beginning to end. Instead, like a conversation, they meander. They go off on tangents about wildlife, icebergs, reindeer hide sleeping bags, and shipbuilding. They leap back and forth in time as Worsley recalls how one event connects to something that happened years later. They're funny. Worsley has a keen eye for both human greatness and human failings, and never hesitates to tell amusing tales about human nature -- even at his own expense.

They are also two of the most wonderful stories of love and friendship ever written. Ernest Shackleton was the love of Frank Worsley's life, in a manner of speaking. Their love was kind of love that comes from being lucky enough to find that friend who is the other half of your soul, and forging a friendship so deep and profound that the only regret you have that you haven't known each other longer. Both of you consciously knowing at the time that this friendship is altogether different because you will never have another like it in your life, no matter how many other good friends you make. How fortunate these two kindred souls were to find each other, and how fortunate we are to read Worsley's moving words of deepest admiration for his friend, Shackleton. (And how human this makes Shackleton. Instead of a remote "great explorer" he becomes a man. He makes mistakes. He worries. He has friends. He has a sense of humor.)

But I'm getting off the point. Both books read just like those stories told at family get togethers. It's as if "Uncle Frank" is sitting by the fire and telling us awe inspiring tales the of the adventures that he had with Ernest Shackleton, his best friend ever, and one of the neatest men who ever walked the earth. And let me just say that Uncle Frank really knows how to tell a tale; you'll want to be in the room for these ones.

Frank Worsley is over 50 years dead, but after reading his books, I can honestly say that I no longer have regrets about never having met him. I have met him.