At some point -- dates were hazy by then -- Wilson decided to turn the Crozier party for home. Their tent had blown away on the 22nd, and the day after that the canvas roof and door of their igloo were ripped off by a blizzard, leaving the three men to lie in their bags in the open igloo, buried in snow. After forty-eight hours, they got up to make a meal of pemmican and tea, and during a lull in the blizzard, Bowers went out and found the tent on the slope below, folded up on itself like an umbrella. "Our lives had been taken away and given back to us," Cherry wrote simply. "We were so thankful we said nothing." 
 Apsley Cherry-Garrard, The Worst Journey in the World, ch.VII.