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Why I’m Walking Solo to the South Pole

There’s a strange point in life where the things that once terrified you become familiar.
Where wild feels like home.
Where extremes become your every day.

For the past decade, I’ve lived on the edge—
Working as a survival instructor across the Canadian Arctic, sun-bleached islands in the tropics, and dense jungle interiors.
Guiding others through discomfort.
Showing people that fear is a doorway.
And survival is a language we all carry deep within us.

But lately…
I’ve found myself adapting too quickly.
The wild feels warm. Predictable.
Even comforting.

And that’s when I knew.
It’s time to go somewhere that scares me again.

South Pole. Alone. Unsupported.

This year, I’m training for the greatest challenge of my life:
A solo, unsupported expedition to the South Pole.

No crew.
No resupplies.
Just me, a pulk, bitter silence, and a cold that reshapes your bones.

The very mention of the South Pole feels like mythology.
A place of ghosts and greatness.
Of names etched in history—Amundsen, Scott… and Ernest Shackleton.

Walking With Giants — Training With Shackleton

I’ve been incredibly fortunate to begin my polar training with Shackleton, the modern expedition brand carrying forward the legacy of one of history’s most revered explorers, Sir Ernest Shackleton.
Their ethos is about more than outerwear—
It’s about resilience. About courage. About pushing through when logic says stop.

In March, I journeyed to the Arctic wilds of Norway, training under polar greats Louis Rudd and Wendy Searle—two extraordinary mentors who’ve both skied solo to the South Pole, and who now offer their experience to a new generation of explorers through Shackleton’s Polar Academy.

There, on vast white plateaus swept by wind and silence, I learned to ski for ten hours a day.
To melt snow into water.
To pitch a tent with fingers stiff from frost.
To sleep with the cold tucked around my ribs like a second skin.
And most importantly—to listen to myself in the silence.

There is something almost spiritual about being out there.
The landscape is blank, but never empty.
There are echoes of those who came before—who tried, who failed, who survived.

And in those echoes, I hear something else: a growing voice of women.

For centuries, the polar world has belonged to men.
The names we remember are often written in ice by their footsteps.
But now, quietly and powerfully, that is changing.

Women like Wendy Searle, Preet Chandi, Ann Bancroft—
Women carving a new path across the ice.
Not to prove we belong…
But to remind the world that we always have.

I want my journey to the South Pole to be about more than just survival.
I want it to be a signal flare—for mothers, daughters, dreamers, and women everywhere who’ve been told that adventure has limits.

That risk is not feminine.
That cold is not for us.
That we must ask permission to take up space.

We don’t.

This expedition is not just physical—it’s symbolic.
It’s my way of saying:
We belong here too. In the bitter, brilliant, frozen wild.

Behind Every Great Dream Is Preparation

This expedition requires everything I’ve got—and more.
It demands more than fitness.
More than skill.
More than courage.

It requires:

This isn’t a trek you just go on.
It’s a £100,000+ expedition.
Every ounce of gear, logistics, flights, cold-weather insurance, permits, and safety backups must be planned and paid for in advance.

Which is why I’m also seeking sponsorship partners and brand collaborators—those who believe in the same things I do:

If you're reading this and feel stirred—if you want to be part of something raw, rare, and real—please reach out.

This Is Just the Beginning

This blog will be my open journal.
I’ll share the training.
The kit lists.
The mistakes.
The pain.
The purpose.
The bits where I cry.
The bits where I get back up.

And eventually…
The moment I stand at the bottom of the world.
Alone. But not alone.

Because if you're reading this—you're coming with me.