Polar climates are a preservationist’s dream: with sub freezing year round temperatures, Robert Falcon Scott’s 1911 hut has remained exactly as he left it when he set out on his doomed race to the South Pole, never to return again. The kitchen shelves are lined with tins of haddock, mustard, anchovies and preserved rhubarb chunks (“A little lemon peel is an improvement” advises the label). The bunks have family photos and a dog collage tacked up; one explorer was halfway through reading A Broken Promise. Wilson’s taxidermied penguin is still sprawls on his desk, alongside scientific vials and odd colored liquids labeled Invicta Touching Medium and Sublimed Pyrogallic Acid. The entire space feels perfectly frozen in time, down to the socks hanging to dry above the stove. As my friend Anne said, you feel that at any moment the door could burst open and the lost expedition could walk back in, stomping boots and shaking off snow.