The Gateway to Antarctica: Punta Arenas

December 5, 2025

Firstly, let me say this: it takes a bloody long time to get here.

Twenty-three hours for me - almost “direct” from London, except it wasn’t direct at all. Three airports, two flights, one sprint through customs, and more than a few “what am I doing?” moments.

The Journey In (Or… When the Challenge Actually Starts)

My first flight, London to Santiago, was a dream. Fourteen and a half hours of rest, movies, and convincing myself I was already settling into expedition zen.

Then reality struck.

A one-hour delay meant a frantic dash off the plane, through customs, baggage collection, out of one terminal, into another, and onto a flight that was meant to go straight to Punta Arenas. Instead, it decided to take a detour, land after two hours, eject about a hundred people for reasons unknown, refuel while we all sat there, and then finally continue south.

Somewhere in that chaos, I realised something: we adventurers like to pretend the challenge starts when we clip into skis, dip a paddle, or take that first step on a mountain. But truthfully, the challenge starts the moment we leave home.

I could have flown to Santiago, taken a day, found a bar, eaten some food, and flown on feeling very human.

But no.

I went with, “I can do it.”

And so, the challenge began in the Heathrow British Airways lounge.

The AirTag Hero Story (That, thankfully, isn’t mine)

A top tip for anyone coming this way: AirTag your luggage.

One poor traveller was standing at baggage reclaim in San Diego watching their AirTag calmly informing them that their bag… hadn’t left London.

They made the right call: get on the next flight, deal with the lost bag later. Not ideal, but logical.

I saw this traveller today in town while grabbing coffee, Rob. Rob is a guide in Antarctica, but without clothing rated for minus forty degrees, he is not going anywhere right now. His bags are still in London.

But having the AirTags means he can at least spend time drinking coffee and not on the phone to various airlines trying to track lost luggage.

Top Tip: Ensure you get here early, like a few days early, before heading to Antarctica to allow time for issues like this.

Arriving in Punta Arenas

Punta Arenas is about a 20-minute car ride from the airport, and the moment you get into town, you understand why people call it the gateway to Antarctica.

It’s full of hostels, small hotels, backpackers, couples with matching Gore-Tex, and people who look like they are just about to start the biggest adventure of their lives.

I expected the cliché of bearded bloggers writing their last words home before disappearing into the white. But actually, it’s much more diverse. There are groups, older couples, cruise travellers heading to see penguins, and people trekking deeper into Patagonia. It’s buzzing, warm, and welcoming, but the food is not so great.

Hotel, Food, and the Hunt for Forgotten Things

My hotel is great, clean, quiet, and with enough floor space to explode my kit across it for my final pre-Antarctica check.

Then it was straight into town for food. Sam Cox, my co-founder at Pole to Pole, recommended a brilliant pizza place. He spent more time here than he planned after his medical evacuation on a previous South Pole attempt, so his culinary wisdom is well-earned and can be trusted.

The next morning was “find the things I forgot” day. Luckily, I hadn’t forgotten anything. I did, however, discover I’d brought a damaged piece of kit from the UK.

So after an early morning run (which doubled as reconnaissance), I hit the shops again.

Here’s the surprising thing about Punta Arenas: It looks like a town selling trinkets, batteries, novelty key-rings, and cheap penknives… but when you step inside, you realise you can actually find almost everything you need in these slightly strange shops.

I picked up SD cards, a pencil and a pad, and some more lines for zip cords. And honestly, I think you could kit yourself out for a South Pole expedition here if you had to. Clothes, sleeping bags, mats and the works. I wouldn’t recommend it, but you could. I imagine it being quite pricy too.

The Town Itself

Punta Arenas is charming. It’s not packed with “sights” in the traditional sense, but it’s a place for wandering, sitting in cafés, people-watching, and letting your mind settle before the silence that awaits you further south.

The food quality?

Let’s just say… uninspiring.

But as my friend and author Michael Heppel would say, it was a perfect flip-it moment:

Damn, the food is terrible

becomes

Damn, this is perfect step from my wife’s brilliant cooking to the terrible rations I’m about to live on for two weeks.

He’s right. Thanks Michael.

What’s Next

I’ve now got a day and a half to kill - mostly walking, soaking up the place, attending tonight’s safety briefing, and meeting the three other people joining me on my ski to the South Pole.

Then, weather permitting, we fly. Next stop: Union Glacier.

And then the real challenge begins.

Final Advice: Don’t Rush

If you’re coming to Antarctica, here’s my advice:

Arrive a few days early to ensure you have your bags.
Don’t race the journey - embrace it. Enjoy the comfort of travel before the discomfort of Antarctica.
Let Punta Arenas soften the edges of your mind before Antarctica blows them wide open.
Enjoy the sunshine, the cold breezes, the slightly chaotic charm of a South American City, and the community of wanderers you meet along the way.

Next time I write, it will be from Union Glacier, the base camp and gateway to the end of the world - and the beginning of this extraordinary journey

Jamie Waller at the ceremonial South Pole in Antarctica.

The Last Degree to the South Pole

December 17, 2025

Jamie Waller discusses his journey to the South Pole over eight days of skiing. The highs, the lows, and everything in between, including the emotional ending.

Jamie Waller stood next to a Ford F20 in Antarctica

Union Glacier – Gateway to the South Pole

December 17, 2025

The preparation for a South Pole Last Degree expedition in Antarctica. Discussing the equipment, sleeping, the midnight sun, the food, and prep for the expedition.

How much kit does it take to face the coldest place on earth?

By Jamie Waller • November 30, 2025

It’s the day before I set off. Or more accurately, the day before I set off on four flights, over five or six days, to reach Antarctica before the real journey begins. Only then do I start the serious bit: skiing the last degree to the South Pole. But before any of that, there have been months of preparation. And other than fitness, 90% of it has been one thing: Kit. Kit. Kit. Having the wrong kit in Antarctica isn’t an inconvenience; it’s a disaster. So I’ve spent months listening to experts, taking advice, and ordering items long before the winter season starts. If you don’t, the world’s small supply of ultra-specialist gear disappears very fast. Take my down trousers, for example. I ordered them months ago, and they arrived only a couple of days ago. The manufacturer makes just 500 pairs globally each year. You don’t want those going missing in the post two weeks before departure. Then yesterday, the down parka jacket finally arrived. Close to the wire doesn’t even begin to describe it. It’s not that I was late ordering, far from it. When I tried to buy gear for my training trip in Sweden last winter, I discovered most of it had already sold out from the season before. And because I didn’t set alerts or track stock as I should have, I ended up starting again this winter. Lesson learned. There’s a photo attached to this blog, and at first glance, it looks like an unreasonable amount of kit for three weeks away. But it’s not like packing for a holiday. Most of this is highly technical clothing you’ll wear continuously, because you are not waking up, stripping off, and stepping into a hot shower each morning. You stay layered, you stay dry, and you minimise mistakes. The truth is, most people will never use these items again. Jackets rated to -50°C. Sleeping bags built for the Arctic. Specialist boots. Expedition mitts. Thousands of pounds of equipment that will live in a loft for eternity. For Pole to Pole, I will use some of it again on the North Pole expedition, but I’ve been thinking a lot about this. There has to be a better resale or hiring market. The environmental waste alone is ridiculous. Kit testing has revealed another reality: even when you think you know your size, you probably don’t. And even when you think specialist clothing is expedition-ready, it usually isn’t. One of the most important things I’ve learned is to add long, thick, glove-friendly pull cords to every zip you rely on - jackets, vents, pockets, sleeping bags. Without them, you simply cannot operate your kit in -30° wearing -40° gloves. One brilliant tip from Sam Cox, my co-founder at Pole to Pole, was to colour-code everything. One colour for main zips. One for vents. One for pockets. Because in brutal conditions, the last thing you want is to reach for a pocket and open the front of your parka by accident. Packing cubes have also been a revelation. I used to think they were something my wife used on holiday. Now I’ve got about fourteen of them, each in different colours. A red cube for tent gear. A grey one for warm-weather items like sunscreen. One for medication. One for tools. No labels needed - you just learn the colours. Then there’s comms and power. Batteries won’t last unless they’re kept warm, so they need to be packed deep into your down layers or close to your body. I’m taking an Anker solar panel system to charge a battery pack while hauling the pulk, and then using that to power navigation and communication devices inside the tent while I sleep. No “night” in Antarctica means 24/7 charging potential. And finally: the pillow. A proper one. Not a blow-up rectangle of sadness. Another golden Sam Cox rule - because sleep is everything. Every morning, I’ll also put a clean pair of socks, a t-shirt, and anything else I want warm into my sleeping bag so it stays heated inside the down all day. Small luxuries matter. Now I’m at the dreaded weigh-in stage. One 25kg limit for the entire main bag. Food bowls, thermos, sleeping bag, mat, pillow, boots - it all counts. And there’s no point taking amazing kit if you’re told to leave half of it behind. Tomorrow I’ll find out whether I’ve nailed it or need to sacrifice something when I pack and do a weight in. Hopefully, nothing vital or nothing that makes the next three weeks slightly more tolerable. Next stop: Heathrow.