HE’S wild-eyed, bushy-haired, gaunt and malodorous, but he’s made it. Almost 50 years to the day since Sir Edmund Hillary conquered Everest, another great explorer has entered the record books.

After 64 extraordinary days of walking, hauling, doggy-paddling and crawling across the shifting Arctic icepack, Pen Hadow, 41, has finally achieved the goal that has driven him for the past 15 years: to walk to the Geographic North Pole from the Canadian side, on his own, without airdrops of food, equipment or fuel.

The news came via his fading satellite phone in a memorable 6.30am alarm call to my hotel room in Resolute Bay, some 11 hours’ flying time from the North Pole.

“Erm . . . I’ve done it,” Hadow told The Times, sounding preternaturally calm; the only emotion was in the interviewer’s voice. How do you feel? “The overwhelming immediate feeling is of utter relief. But I am exhausted. Exhausted.”

Hadow reached the North Pole at 5.11am, a day earlier than his target of 65 days, after walking for 20 hours.

“I gave my father an undertaking shortly after he died in 1993 to make it to the North Pole solo and with no resupply, and to have completed that — after my third attempt — is everything to me. This whole expedition has been dedicated to his memory and so I am very, very pleased.

“It’s the end of one journey, but having put so much time and effort in for so many years, I realised with my last ten steps to the Pole that I couldn’t have closure just like that.”

Hadow’s one desire was to put up his tent and sleep but this was not to be. “I am completely out of it, stumbling around, trying to find a suitable place for you to land and pick me up. Otherwise you’ll die. You can’t just collapse when you get to the pole and put the tent up. You have responsibilities.”

The exhaustion is not just the result of his last-minute push. “I’ve pushed myself every day putting in the extra miles. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here. There are so many unknown factors . . . open water or deep snow. It’s very, very tiring never knowing what’s ahead for the next 100 metres.”

This expedition has undone many a polar giant. Sir Ranulph Fiennes told The Times of the size of such an undertaking.

“Pen has taken on one of the last, greatest endurance challenges on Earth. Many of the most experienced polar travellers in the world have attempted to achieve what Pen is doing, and every one has had to pull out for one reason or another.” The Times has been following Hadow's expedition from the start. Two-and-a-half months ago, we dropped him off at Ward Hunt Island where he was due to start, but high winds and three huge open leads of water forced him to stay weather-bound in a national park hut.

The early weeks on this particular route are most challenging because of the constant pressure ridges of banked ice — some 30-40ft high, zigzagging in every direction — temperatures of minus 45 degrees celsius, and the of a 300lb sled.

The last weeks are arduous too, despite the more clement weather. By then the explorer is suffering from too many hours of physical endurance on too few calories, more and more stretches of open water — ice melted by 24-hour sunshine — and a frayed mental state from what amounts to a sensory deprivation zone.

In 64 days, Hadow has seen a pair of Arctic hares, a seal, a snow bunting . . . and that is it. He has suffered from a bad back, a broken tooth, dizziness, confusion from low blood sugar, and the constant fear of attack by a polar bear. He is looking forward to a bath, after walking, swimming and sleeping in the same clothes.

Ten days ago, the first serious setback of the expedition occured when he fell through ice up to his armpits and lost a ski.

This man is made of the same stuff as his illustrious forbears from the golden age of polar exploration: Shackleton and Scott. The difference is that we have been able to be part of his emotional, psychological and physical life on the ice, and have been with him every step of his journey.

My last question was whether, as the Edwardian explorers would have it, it isn’t the getting there, but the journey that counts. Would he say that was true now that, on his third attempt, he had got there? “Well,” he laughed weakly. “It certainly feels different.”

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