What Happens When You Disconnect

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.

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.

Travel to Antarctica explained. A personal journey through Punta Arenas with South Pole expedition advice, kit prep, delays, and essential early-arrival tips.

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.

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