The Last Degree to the South Pole
A WWII cargo plane.
Three and a half hours.
Into the unknown.
We land at 89° South and are unloaded onto the ice - a small group, dropped off and left alone, ready to ski the Last Degree to the South Pole.
No ceremony. No countdown.
Wrap every inch of exposed skin. Clip into skis. Point south.
We’re starting at an elevation of about 2,800 metres, so the altitude makes itself known quickly. Headaches for some. A dull pressure that serves as a reminder of where you are.
Day one is intentionally short - just two hours of skiing. Almost immediately, one thing becomes clear: this isn’t flat. The terrain is uneven, with sastrugi everywhere - hard, ridged snow that grips your skis and sled. This will be much more physically demanding than expected.
By 6pm, we stop and put up camp. Twenty minutes later, everyone’s in their tents. The dry run at Union Glacier pays off.
Night one is… hot.
Yes, hot.
Somehow, I’m lying in a tent in Antarctica, on top of two miles of ice, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and lying on top of my sleeping bag. It makes absolutely no sense - but I’m not complaining.
A good sleep. A dehydrated breakfast. And we’re off again.
Day Two: five hours of skiing. Then camp, repeating the night before. Another successful day in the bag.
Day Three is our first proper BAU (business as usual) day.
Start at 9am.
Ski for eight hours.
Set up camp.
Sleep.
Conditions worsen. Visibility drops to about 20 metres. The ground is firm, and the cold becomes sharper. That night, inside the tent, it feels lonely. I miss home deeply - the comfort of my wife, the girls, and the simple luxury of a cuddle. Motivation feels harder to summon. Mentally, this is the toughest point so far.
Day Four changes everything.
Wow.
I feel strong - like a JCB. And that strength stays with me right through to the end.
From here on in, the routine is locked in:
Up at 6.
Leave camp at 9.
Ski for 50 minutes.
10-minute break — protein and water.
Repeat.
Eight hours a day.
Day Six, hour seven - we see it.
The Pole.
That night, the final night in a tent on the Antarctic Plateau, feels different. It’s welcomed. The thought of a heated tent at the South Pole is enough to pull us through.
Day Seven. Same routine. Same rhythm.
At hour five, we arrive.
The South Pole.
Emotion hits hard. Thoughts of those I love. Those I’ve lost. Life so far. It all arrives at once. I realise I’ve proven something - not to anyone else, but to the one person who mattered.
Myself.
I call my girls - my wife and children. I send a voice note to Sam at Pole to Pole. Then I head inside for warmth. A Fanta. A hot meal. An early night. A long sat-phone call home.
The challenge?
Physical: 8/10
Mental: it depends where you let your thoughts go - anywhere from 8 to 10/10
It’s not easy. But why would it be? I’ve just skied over 100km to the end of the Earth.
Was it worth it? Yes.
Would I do it again? Yes.
Would I recommend it? Of course.
I’m now back on the same WWII cargo plane, heading to Union Glacier - the place where it all began. The views from the window are extraordinary. The feeling inside is even better.
I just wish I didn’t miss home quite so much.
The challenge is over.
The journey isn’t.
A few more days until I’m home. I’m looking forward to darkness again - I haven’t seen night for 13 days.
