To the South Pole: A Wykehamist's Journey

Winchester College shaped me in ways I only fully appreciated years later. From the intellectual rigour of Div to the camaraderie of House life, it instilled a restless curiosity and resilience that have guided my path. After selling my breakfast brand, FUEL10K, to Premier Foods in October 2023, I found a gap in my life – perhaps a void where purpose once thrived. Seeking to fill it with something extraordinary, I turned to the South Pole arriving on 13th January 2025, carrying the Wykehamist spirit to the world's edge.

The journey began in Patagonia's largest city, Punta Arenas, awaiting a weather window to board a Boeing 757 for a blue ice runway at Union Glacier, Antarctica. As we descended, the captain cut the air con, priming us for Antarctica's bite. At Union Glacier camp, I prepared - checking kit, packing my pulk and learning to ski, a skill as alien to me as Notions were to a New Man. With my guide, Maggie, I was flown by a 1943 DC-3 Basler to the 89th parallel south (25.6W). Watching the plane vanish, leaving us amid wind sculpted sastrugi at 2,700 metres altitude, I recalled Winchester's motto, Manners Makyth Man, and braced for the challenge.

Skiing cross country with a 50kg sled tested my novice skills. The first two days were a comedy of errors trying to find any kind of efficient motion - tripping over my skis frequently, my tracks as erratic as a Quirister dodging Chapel. The Antarctic plateau was vast, the sun circling in a 24 hour dance that echoed the relentless rhythm of a Winchester term. We endured three days of whiteout, some overcast skies and one improbably warm day, like summer on Meads. Each “night”, we pitched camp, boiled ice for water and followed meticulous routines to stave off frostbite, snow blindness, exhaustion or dehydration. Nausea gnawed at me for three days, the sled's harness biting with every stride, but I pressed on, navigating by compass, wind markers, and our own shadows - skills that mirrored the problem solving honed in Moberly Library!

After six nights on the ice, a mirage emerged - the South Pole camp. As I skied closer, the surreal sound of bagpipes welcomed me in (thank you SP staffers!), stirring memories of War Cloister's solemnity. I camped two nights at the Pole, touring the Amundsen-Scott Research Station, where tales of exploration rivalled stories swapped in Common Room. Other skiers arrived, their narratives as vivid as Winchester ghost stories, before the Basler returned us to Union Glacier.

This journey wasn't about causes; it was personal—a quest to rediscover meaning after FUEL10K. Winchester taught me to dare greatly, to fill life's gaps with purpose. Standing at 90°S, I thought of the boy in Cloisters, dreaming under Chapel's vaulted ceiling. Antarctica was my Wykehamist trial, proof that Aut Disce Aut Discede isn't just a motto but a call to learn, endure and thrive.