I have been fascinated/haunted by the death last week of an Englishman named Henry Worsley, who succumbed to an infection the day after he was air-lifted by a rescue team after giving up his attempt — 30 miles from success — to cross Antarctica alone.

He had begun his quest back on November 14, dragging a sledge that weighed 148 kilograms (325.6) — almost twice the body weight of the 55-year-old military veteran — that carried all the supplies he believed he would need to make the solo crossing, by way of the South Pole.

That included two satellite phones so that he could call in a report each day during the brutal trip in sub-freezing temperatures across the coldest, highest and driest continent.

Those phones produced daily podcasts posted on the shackletonsolo.org website, which chronicled the attempt, as well as the photos posted daily.

The audio from Day 70, when he concedes he does not have the strength to cover the final 30 miles and will call to be picked up, is like listening to the final words of someone who has nothing left to give.

Two lines of thought on this:

First, the crass.

How many screenwriters and directors already are plotting a way to turn this into a movie? “Coming to the screen in 2018, Henry Worsley and the doomed attempt to make a solo trip across Antarctica.”

Second, the ethical.

No one has crossed Antarctica alone probably because it is nigh on impossible. And what would it prove?

The record of Worsley’s journey, in photos and audio on the website, is watching the slow destruction of a very fit man, but one who may have not been realistic about the odds of his survival.

He had lost 50 pounds, before he was pulled off the ice.

He was killed by an infection, but he also could have been killed along the way by falling down crevasses or by some equipment failure or misjudgment.

Which takes us to the topic of … “who signed off on this? And why?”

The media has been full of stories praising Worsley’s courage and determination — it was his third trip to the South Pole — but an op-ed piece in the New York Times wonders about the value of the attempt.

Author David Roberts notes that the Antarctic explorers of a century ago, who “drove themselves to the edge of survival” … were serving a very basic human desire to fulfill “the unquenchable urge to discover what was there. At the time, Antarctica was a virtual blank on the map.”

Roberts added: “Today, the continent has been completely mapped. Adventurers strive for ‘firsts’ — fastest times from A to B, or long-distance treks with a minimum of support. The goal is not discovery, but setting records.”

Roberts suggests Worsley’s grueling attempt added nothing to the store of human understanding of Antarctica. “… he followed a well-planned course across terra cognita. Nothing he found was new.”

Thus, do we cheer on men and women who are taking on a dangerous task when the goal is to succeed in doing something new — even if it brings us no new knowledge?

Do we cheer on people who are attempting something so difficult it may kill them? Should the authorities allow it?

Worsley left behind a wife and two adult children, and a few days after he died his wife, Joanna, told English media that she is sure he had no idea of how ill he was.

Four days before he died in a Chilean hospital, Worsley’s pace fell off; he managed only four miles in five hours before taking to his tent, where he spent two days.

According to The Daily Mail, “his wife pleaded with his team to pull him off the ice. But while the support team flew to a nearby pickup point, they insisted they had to wait until Worsley made the call.”

Certainly, allowing the daredevil to make that call should not be allowed; expecting someone to self-diagnose when they are exhausted seems irresponsible.

It took Worsley another two days to make the call and by then it was too late.

It will be interesting to see where this story takes us, beyond to a theater sometime soon.