You can ski to the North Pole. You can hike. If you really want to, it’s now possible to canoe to that most northerly point of planet Earth’s surface. Regardless of your mode of transport, you’re going to need to do a little extreme camping along the way.

First, let’s get introduced. My name is James Redden, I’m former soldier and now business owner who loves the great outdoors. The extreme journeys I throw myself into are the continuation of a wild childhood and ten year’s service in a unit I probably shouldn’t mention…

But the heart and soul I put into every adventure is mine alone.

When not planning a big adventure, I hang out at my blog where I post hiking routes and review outdoor gear: https://treksumo.com

Why Did I Want to go to the North Pole?

Because it’s there. More important, the journey represented a huge challenge to me. Over the years I’d spent a lot of time training for Arctic Warfare in northern Norway. The constant battle against the fury of Mother Nature at her most turbulent was a thrill to me, and still is.

The ski trip was my first big adventure in many years. After leaving the Army, I’d dabbled in obstacle course racing, ultra-marathons and other arduous events. But none managed to soothe that itch deep down inside me.

So I looked further afield than the trails of the Brecon Beacons and forests of southern England. My eyes settled on a report I’d read from a team of four men who had recently completed a ski to the North Pole.

I was hooked. I had to go. I wanted to be tested in one of the harshest environments on the planet.

That’s the real answer.

A Long and Painful Journey

One that started before my feet even touched the ice!

Preparing for a polar expedition is likely to be one of the most arduous tasks you ever set yourself. Not only do you need to be fit enough to march for up to §12 hours per day, you also have to prepare your mind for extremes that most human beings will never, ever experience.

Let’s delve a little deeper into those statements…

Fitness is key. My training was a gradual ramping up over the course of about 9 months (at a time when I was already very, very fit). The approach to my training might seem unusual to some: I went right back to basics.

T Minus Nine Months: a one-mile jog. Nothing more.

T Minus One Week: a 20 mile, cross country run that took me over some pretty big hills (whilst wearing a 20kg rucksack).

Mixed in were the regular tyre hauling training sessions designed to accustom my body to wearing a harness and dragging heavyweights for man-hours. The shortest time spent on this type of training was one hour, building to 4 hours.

Other skills I reacquainted myself with were: blister prevention techniques and treatment, understanding how to select the best down jacket for cold weather environments and the best way to use it (not as clear cut as you might think), navigation using the sun and shadows, and a number of other essentials for the journey.

Some of you might think that the distances I covered are a little extreme – they are. But when it came to the journey to the North Pole, I didn’t experience any fatigue and every day was a joy. My fitness allowed me to focus on the experience and sights, rather than fixating on the pain of minor injuries, or the jarring of the pulka harness (which is not a pleasant feeling when you’re dragging about 110kg of gear behind you).

Touching Arctic Ice

The British Army is great at teaching soldiers how to survive and thrive in the most demanding places on Earth. And the Arctic is no exception.

During my years of service, I’d trained in Norway a number of times. Each trip took my unit north, into the Arctic circle. For some reason though, it never felt ‘truly Arctic’ (even though the temperatures were a little chilly at times!)

Only when I finally set foot (or ski) on the temperature ice covering of the Arctic Ocean did it feel real. It was this sense of reality that lit a fire in my heart, one that would continue to power me to this day and onwards.

To know and live in a place where help is not a within easy reach is a difficult place for many people to inhabit. This way of living had been the one I and my colleagues had chosen and experienced for many years. At the heart of this reality was the excitement of knowing what it meant to be truly accountable for our own actions.

My journey to the North Pole nudged me even further out of my comfort zone. Now an emergency extraction might not be mere hours away, it could be a day or more. The civilian helicopter and crew on standby were governed by stricter rules than those of the military.

So, what does it feel like to step onto the Arctic ice?

Even now, I find it hard to describe. Excitement. Fear.  A challenge. Certainty. Oh, and very cold…

How Cold Is the North Pole?

Imagine going out for a walk on a very cold and damp day. You spend hours in the morning chill, the humid air holding your fingers in a vice-like grip. We all know how much that hurts.

Step into the warmth of your home and suddenly pain takes on a new meaning as your hands and fingers react to the warmth.

Multiply the shards of pain by 10, or 20, and you close to what’s it’s like on the Arctic ice.

That place is seriously cold. And it’s your job to manage to the cold. Nobody else’s.

I was quite lucky on my trip. A couple of days before setting off the temperatures dipped to about -42C. That’s what we in Great Britain call, ‘a little bit nippy’!

By the time I stepped onto the ice, the bone splintering chill had risen to an almost tropical -28C. Once I started moving, hauling my pulka behind me, I soon warmed up and several times during the journey I ended up skiing in only my thermal underwear (honest).

But, at the end of day, as the sun bowed and surrendered to the partial gloom that towards the end of the season without night, the cold-pressed the mercury lower. It was in the moments that I experienced true…

Wild Camping on the Polar Ice

An experience never to be forgotten. Constants shifts in temperature, a steady rise and fall of the thermometer, were the catalysts for some pretty sleepless nights.

Influenced by a current of warm water under the ice, up went the temperature. The white shell covering the Arctic Ocean responded with a song of groans and creaks. From time to time came the distant boom of an ice floe rupturing, breaking into house size splinters and spears of pure cold.

One night a crack formed under the tent. Relocation of the campsite was swift. Every moan and grumble of ice, no matter how near or far, became the sound of fear incarnate. I didn’t sleep well that night.

Wild camping is meant to be fun. And it was, no matter what images my story might convey.

When the stoves were lit, food cooking and my sleeping bag wrapped tight the experience was comfortable in a way I could never have imagined.

At the end of each day, I journaled my fears, dreams and love… My Iridium GO! was my primary means of communicating with loved ones thousands of miles away.

It was all pretty pleasant.

Mornings were a different matter. I’d wake and sit up. Hoar frost – the ice that came from my condensed breath freezing on the tent inner – sugar-coated me, leaving pinpricks of cold on my face and neck.

No heat remained in the tent, the last of the balmy temperatures stolen in the night by Jack Frost.

Frost-nipped fingers fumbled with the stove, lit the match and guided it to the pool of white gas that had formed in the stove’s basin.

A few minutes later, the tent was warm. Time to cook and get dressed. Soon it would be time to pack up, drop the tent and once more ski towards that white, unending horizon.

That journey is with me forever. It was wild camping of a kind that begs to be explored.