Antarctica is well known for its sastrugi, so none of this came as a surprise. I was aware of the importance of not losing my sense of humour, which would have been all too easy in the maze of ice. On the days where the sun shone, these obstacles were truly beautiful. Weaving my way through them was like a day out in nature’s most incredible sculpture park. But faced with them in flat light or a white out, unable to focus on the safer ground and they became terrifying.

At times my skis would suddenly swoop vertical against the ice, and I’d brace myself to avoid falling. Other times, I wouldn’t realise I was high up on sastrugi until my poles no longer reached the ground, or I became aware of the vertical drop ahead. Heart in my mouth, I prayed to stay upright without breaking my skis….or an ankle.  At times, I was so deep within this undulating terrain, that I had no choice but to remove my skis and haul myself and the pulk to more even ground.

Overcoming the smaller sastrugi required me to brace my core and engage my best Michael Jackson hip thrusts to help the 100kg pulk over the icy wave. Sometimes the gradient was just too steep, and I’d have to turn around and use my arms to haul on the rope with all my might until the pulk crested the peak and thundered back down toward me.

These were stop-start days, lacking in rhythm and the feeling of progress. Deep in the back of my mind, I knew that not only did I risk injury, but they were also impossible places for a plane to land in the event of an emergency.

One of my mentors, Louis, once told me a story about when he had ‘fallen off’ the vertical edge of a sastrugi, unaware that he had climbed so high in white out conditions. He dropped eight feet, headfirst on to solid ice, followed moments later by his heavy pulk landed directly on his back. He lay there shocked and honestly thought it was game over. There were several times on this expedition that I feared the exact same thing happening to me.

Over the 53 days that I was alone on the ice, only a handful of them were free from the challenge of the sastrugi. I drew energy from their beauty, but on those white out days, my sense of humour was truly tested and I found myself pleading with Antarctica to just give me a bit of a break!.

Day 29. The Hardest Moment.

Since coming home, people often ask what the hardest moment of the expedition was. With challenge being a daily companion, you’d think it might be difficult to pinpoint, but it isn’t. It’s etched in my memory, and caught on a video message I recorded to myself, so the rose-tinted glasses of the future would not be allowed to forget.

20^th December 2024. Day 29. I was well over halfway with my food rations, but only 481kms into the 1,139km journey. Nowhere near halfway in terms of distance. It wasn’t just the terrain or the physical challenge posed by the weather that tested me. From an early stage, I was treating multiple polar thigh lesions that surprised me with their speed of appearance. Another potential expedition-ender I tried not to think about.

That day, my routine five-minute call to the comms team to report coordinates and distance covered, didn’t go well. They were tracking my progress and expressed concern that at my current pace, I wouldn’t complete the expedition with the food I had left. They advised me to seriously consider giving up my unsupported status and collecting a resupply of food at the halfway mark.

My heart sank. This wasn’t part of the plan, and it hurt to hear those words out loud. I felt the conditions hadn’t given me a fair chance, and it was a shock to be in that position. This was the moment I longed for someone to talk it through with and for someone else to make that decision for me.

The dilemma came down to one thing: money.

Theil corner marks the halfway point of the expedition in terms of distance. There’s a ski way and refuelling point there, used by planes enroute to various destinations across Antarctica. It’s unmanned, and on a cloudy day, you could easily pass through without realising. The landing strip is subtly marked out and the only indication that you have arrived is the sight of a single metal structure, housing a toilet (which, due to my unsupported status, I couldn’t use).

If I opted for a food drop at Theil Corner in a few days time, the cost to me would be nothing, as planes stopped there relatively often. But if I decided against it and needed a resupply further down the line, it would cost tens of thousands of US dollars. Money I simply didn’t have.

I cried at the potential consequence of making the wrong decision.

I talked it out on a video message to myself. I did the maths. If I had no further setbacks, there was a slim possibility I could still make it in time. It was a slim chance, but it was a chance, and I had to take it. I made the decision. I wasn’t going to take the resupply.

Work Hard. Do Your Best. Have Faith. Enjoy It.

I knew I was pushing to my limits. I had a pace that my body refused to surpass and I knew if I tried, that I’d crash and burn. So instead, I opted to keep this pace and extend my days, getting up an hour earlier and setting up camp an hour later.

My days were regimented. Every 90mintues, a five-minute break, (ten if a loo visit was necessary). I’d turn away from the wind, fuel my body with food then continue at the same pace….one ski in front of the other. Any longer and the cold would creep in fast. The wind was strong and the altitude such that I felt myself go cold rapidly. It became normal for the first minutes after a break to be at such a pace as to get the warm blood flowing through my hands again, then back to my polar plod.

I now had to spread my snacks over 2 extra hours of skiing a day. After each break, I could feel the energy kick in, and 90minutes later, I could feel my muscles crave the calories. I knew I was working at my limit.

I also knew not to underestimate what lay ahead. The second half of the expedition had the largest sastrugi, colder temperatures, strong winds, and rising altitude. At 3,000m, I’d be denied deep breaths, and every boil of water would be slower, creeping in to my precious rest and recovery time.  I’d been surviving on a calorie deficit for a month. My glycogen stores were depleted, and I knew that my muscles would no longer be able to function at the same intensity. That’s when I remembered the words of Borge Ousland, a modern-day polar adventurer I admired & whose face stared back at me, printed on the length of my skis. “You’ve not failed until you’ve quit trying.” I’d made my decision, I now needed to I draw a line under it and move forward.

From that point, I adopted a new mantra to say out loud at the start of each day:       Work hard. Do your best. Have faith. Enjoy it.

I knew success wouldn’t come without hard work, but I also wanted to ensure that if I didn’t succeed, I could look back knowing I gave it my all. Knowing that each day I was giving it my best would help me with any future disappointment. There would be no wondering “what if.”

I reminded myself to have faith. It’s difficult to explain, but this expedition had always felt like it was meant to be, and this gave me an overwhelming amount of confidence that I was going to succeed. There had been many moments from the planning to the training where I felt the stars aligning in unexpected ways. Having faith kept me calm and allowed me to focus on the most important part…..enjoying it!

It would have been all too easy to feel sorry for myself, to get dragged down in negativity and forget where I was. Instead, I looked around and reminded myself that this was the dream. It was the geography, the history and the stories of the continent that drew me to Antarctica. Reaching the South Pole was just the cherry on top- I was here to enjoy the icing-covered cake!

I soaked up energy from the sun, I’d truly appreciate the joy of having visibility and take time to marvel at the sights that so few have witnessed. The changing conditions underfoot led to magical moments, as the fine snow danced in front of my eyes, sparkling like diamonds. I was skiing through natures glitter, and it was breathtaking. The parhelions or sundogs had me grinning from ear to ear, the sun charging my batteries, preventing them from running on empty. I danced with joy when greeted with the company of my shadow ahead of me, happy to have visibility and to not be glued to my compass. This didn’t release me from the time pressure I felt, but my mindset kept me going

The Final Push.

So, I’ve given you a glimpse of the tougher side of endurance, but as they say, you have to experience the lows to appreciate the highs. And there were so many highs!

There wasn’t a single day when I forgot where I was. Even through the toughest times, I knew what a privilege it was to be there. The best days always involved sunshine, and the truly great ones? They ended with me sipping on a margarita. Yes, really. A cocktail poured over Antarctic ice, finished with a wedge of lime. I didn’t list it on the kit spreadsheet I submitted to ALE (some things are best kept quiet), but tucked away were three ready-made margaritas. One to celebrate my 44^th birthday, one for Christmas and one to toast in the New Year. These small milestones were to be celebrated. Before leaving on expedition I’d asked all my friends and family to record and send a video of them saying “cheers” to camera with a drink of their choice. I then proceeded to cheers every single one of them back on each of my cocktail occasions.

 Over such a long expedition, those small celebrations mattered. I can still recall the satisfaction of reaching for my multitool not to fix broken kit, but to cut in to that frozen lime, and just how incredible that citrus smell was.

The uphill never really let up. You might think things got easier as the pulk grew lighter—but the truth is, the altitude, snow conditions, and strong winds meant it never felt any lighter. It was a battle all the way.

The last degree, those 60 nautical miles (111km), felt like the home stretch, even with another 1,000metres of climbing. The sastrugi finally disappeared and I felt strong despite the rations. The weather didn’t let up and I was still having to fight for every kilometre, but I knew I had enough food and energy to get there.

Words can’t describe just how cold it was. The wind was relentless, driving from the east and hitting the side of my face. -44°C. The moisture from my breath froze instantly, coating the inside of my face mask, the wind forcing it against my skin. There was little I could do at that point but accept it and the resulting minor skin damage.

Reaching for my final food bag felt like an important milestone. I had rationed 50 days of food, allowing it to stretch to 56 days, but here I was, about to finish in 53. On that final day, I covered 33 kilometres, my longest yet, and quite literally ate my way to the Pole:  soup, noodles, energy bars, ginger nut biscuits. I needed every one of those calories that day.  

Just 2km from the Pole, I paused. It was the final waypoint, and I took a moment there to gather myself, knowing that the isolation was about to end. That evening, I would tuck in to my first proper meal and have my first human contact in months.

Before reaching the South Pole, I was going to pass a small camp of just a handful of tents. I was greeted with cheers and hugs from the few people there, who had watched me approach. But I reminded myself that I wasn’t finished yet and it was important not to accept a single item of food until I’d completed the final kilometre of my journey. I wasn’t about to lose my unsupported status now!

A skidoo zoomed ahead to capture footage as I reached the South Pole. I was so grateful, as my batteries had instantly lost power when they were exposed to the extreme temperature, and I panicked at the thought of having nothing to document this moment!

I’d pictured this countless times over the past couple of months—played it out in my mind while battling through whiteouts, numb fingers, and the endless sastrugi. Visualising the finish had kept me going through some of the hardest moments. And now that I was here… it didn’t quite feel real.

My goggles fogged with tears, I knew it would be emotional. It wasn’t just the 53 days I was thinking about, but the three years of planning, training, setbacks, and focus it had taken to reach this point. But more than anything, it was Mrs Taylor who filled my thoughts. It was that lesson, her enthusiasm and passion for the Antarctic that was the spark for this crazy idea. It was the conversations I’d had at my lowest moments, that helped me to dig deeper. I said my thank you to the wind and I knew she heard it.

I’ve spent much of my life being underestimated, happy to stay under the radar, quietly and purposefully working towards my goals. It was never about records or competing with others, it was always about proving something to myself. Antarctica didn’t make it easy, and with hindsight, I now viewed the challenges I’d faced as Antarctica’s way of testing me, making sure that I was worthy enough to continue across the ice.

I’ve always this inner belief in my ability and that I would succeed, however, along the way, I’ve learned how important it is to have a purpose, a ‘why’ that pulls you through and drives you forward. Mine started with a teacher and a dream, developing into a need to highlight the barriers still faced by women in the polar community.  I feel it’s now time to step out of the shadows, and to be visible. If people harbouring similar goals can relate to my story and see what it takes to achieve it, then maybe it will encourage them to have the confidence to step out of their comfort zone and believe they can make it happen too.

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