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Peak Experience

Posted on: Wednesday, 27 October 2004, 03:00 CDT

Steve Barry is a certified public accountant. But lest that makes him sound dull, peek into his West Palm Beach office.

First, note the framed quote on his desk.

"Life's journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body," it instructs; "but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting . . . 'holy sh-t . . . what a ride!' "

Two people, independently, passed this quote along to Barry. Keep looking, and you'll understand why.

On the wall: photos of spectacular sheer white British Columbia mountains, with a few lone specks leaving zig-zag powder trails down the side.

Barry, 59, points out two specks. One is he and the other his wife, public relations executive Carey O'Donnell. Then he points out the photo album on a side table. It shows Barry in Siberia, the Northwest Territories, Montana and Alaska - ragged and rough, kneeling beside giant hunting conquests.

His life is a series of pummelings and batterings. Back in college, the Massachusetts native damaged his knees and broke all 10 fingers on the football field. Later, he fought in Vietnam. As an adult, he has tracked big game across some of the world's most forbidding landscapes.

And as much as his body has been through in almost six decades, he keeps coming back for more.

When Barry read the guidebook describing the perils of Denali (commonly known as Mount McKinley), the highest peak in North America - possible negative 50F temperatures, 100-mile-per-hour winds, risk of pulmonary and cerebral edema, and dozens of other ways to die - he thought hard. Then he planned a merciless training regimen . . . and booked his flight.

"I was confident," he says. "Not foolishly confident; confident from preparedness."

He figured he'd come back either vowing never to repeat the experience, or itching for the next one.

O'Donnell knows her husband. "I was pretty sure which way those dice would roll," she says with a wry grin.

Back in West Palm Beach, Barry sat down at the computer and recounted his trip. This winter, he'll do it all again . . . on South America's highest peak, Argentina's 22,840-foot Aconcagua.

- Lauren Gold

The journal of Stephen G. Barry

DENALI EXPEDITION

JUNE 423, 2004

"How the hell old are you?"

June 4

11:30 p.m. Arrive in Anchorage after 10-hour travel day that started in West Palm Beach.

June 5

7 a.m. Depart Anchorage via shuttle for Talkeetna (an hour and a half away) where I will meet the guides and the rest of the team. When Denali comes into view, I am blown away by its massive, overwhelming size. It is absolutely monstrous, and dwarfs everything around it. This gives me a crystal-clear picture about the magnitude of this mountain and what it will take to reach the summit.

10 a.m. Arrive in the tiny little town called Talkeetna (at sea level). Check into Swiss Alaskan Lodge. A ragged-looking guy about 40 years old, beaten up mentally and physically by his attempt to summit Denali, was leaving the hotel, saw me with my climbing gear and said "How the hell old are you? Do you know what you're in for?" I thought it was hilarious. He looked like absolute ----. He didn't make the summit. His team was stuck in their tents at 17,000 for several days and finally had to come down.

6 p.m. Met with the guides leading our team, Traverse Zink (yes, this is his real name) and Eric Remza of Alpine Ascents. Over pizza we discuss the climb and what I should expect. I like both of them quite a bit. They're personable, knowledgeable and inspire a lot of confidence. Pretty different from some of the hunting guides I've hunted with over the years.

Earthquakes and avalanches

June 6

9 a.m. Arrived at Alpine Ascents office. Met other climbers on my team: Dan, Mike T., Mike L., Rick, David. We reviewed everyone's individual climbing history, and they've each summitted at least one of the seven summits. I'm the one with no formal mountaineering experience. I note that I'm much older than the rest of the group and they are amazed that I'm climbing Denali for my first attempt at one of the seven summits . . . It's reputed to be the third most difficult mountain in the world, after K2 and Everest. The others must be mulling over my age, sea-level home base and lack of formal mountaineering experience. I'm giving it pretty serious thought myself! It's hard to get a reading on how well I'll do here, but I'm determined not to hold the team back. They take some comfort in how much informal climbing I've done over the past 30 years in pursuit of big game throughout the world. I know my physical training is going to stand up fine against the others, but there are a lot of factors that need to go into a successful attempt.

Dan, who of all things is a concert clarinet player, was slated to do this same climb last year, but had to fly off the glacier on his first day after cutting one of his fingers while rigging his ropes. I recognize him from a National Geographic film I saw a couple of months earlier. The documentary was about various accidents, notorious bad weather, frostbite and general hazards of climbing Denali.

Gear is checked by our guides. I've got every single thing recommended by the outfitter, but guides tell me to leave some of my gear behind. I manage to smuggle into my pack an extra roll of toilet paper, tangible proof that my advanced age translates into more experience in some small way!

Noon: We head to the ranger station. I notice a progress chart posted in main office. In a normal year of climbing, the success rate of climbers reaching the summit is over 50 percent. So far this year, it is less than 15 percent, and I assume that's due to bad weather. The rangers give us their own mandated orientation and slide show. Pretty grim images of blackened, frostbitten hands and feet. Dangers of avalanches, crevasses, earthquakes (Earthquakes? No one warned me about that!), minus 50 degrees temperatures, 100-mph winds. . . . A nice comfortable little chat about ways to lose your life and limbs.

4 p.m. Fly to base camp (about an hour flight via ski-equipped plane) at the 7,200 ft. southeast fork of the Kahiltna Glacier. As I get out of plane and look up at mountain, I am awed even more by its size and the distance and height that we will have to climb. Thirty years of pursuing sheep up mountainsides have made me a pretty good judge of how long it takes to get from one spot to another in the mountains, and this route adds up to some long, arduous days. The airstrip is at 7,800 feet and summit is 20,320. We will descend 800 feet or so from the airstrip at the outset of our first day climbing before we start gaining elevation.

We set up tents, and organize gear. It is hot; about 80 degrees, ferocious sun. The extremes are pretty dramatic.

There are climbers from all over the world at the base camp. A lot of languages making the rounds. A group returning from the summit arrives, and the entire camp cheers them long and loudly. I realize that everyone here truly appreciates what an accomplishment it is to reach the summit. There is a distinct sense of brotherhood among these climbers, uniting various cultures with ease, as we're all focused on the same "lofty goal."

10,000 calories a day

June 7

Guides give us a comprehensive glacier travel review. We practice being tied together on the rope team. We all seem to understand how to keep up the slack and how to manage these conditions. We pull our sleds behind us by ropes connected to waist belts. Dragging the sled along and then keeping the sled in front from hitting the legs of its owner is a challenge, making me appreciate all the work Mike Zingaro (my personal trainer in West Palm Beach) made me do on my abdominal muscles.

The guides tell us we need to eat as much food as they do if we want to reach summit. I try to keep up but I'm getting nauseous forcing this much food, which they estimate to be 10,000 calories a day. The goal is to consume as much energy and calories as possible, within reason. Macaroni and cheese with extra sticks of butter thrown in the pot, Snickers bars, cookies, nuts, cheese, sausage, beef jerky - we burn through it at an amazing rate. We also need to drink a minimum of four liters of water daily. They advise that most people who reach the summit lose 15 lbs., even eating abnormal amounts.

June 8

We leave the base camp and begin the climb through dense fog. I feel strong, which is what you'd better feel on your first day! We go downward first, and it's not as easy as I thought to keep the sled from banging into the heels of the guy in front. I get the hang of it, but it's a distraction at first. I expect it will become automatic as we progress. I hope so.

We climb to 8,000-foot camp with first load of supplies, and I'm wearing these big snowshoes. They are much bigger than what I've trekked around in on vacation in Montana and way bigger than what we need in these conditions. Most everyone else has smaller ones. The outfitter's recommendation needs to be changed.

At 8,000 feet we dig a supply cache 6 feet deep to keep ravens and wolverines from getting at the food. (Digging a cache takes one to two hours, depending on conditions. Sometimes we use ice axes; other times it's just simple digging. We mark the caches with ranger- issued bamboo sticks.)

Return to base camp at 7,200 feet, and encounter Heartbreak Hill - a killer climb of about 1.5 hours - before we get back to the 7,200 camp where we'll spend the night.

On the first day, it sounds like we were getting buzzed by 747s. The wind is really howling. The guides are really safety-conscious; they say we're not going up until that goes away.

June 9

Climb to Camp One (8,000 feet) with second load of supplies and gear. I get up in the morning, go outside the tent and immediately find myself waist-deep in snow. I have fallen through a snow bridge covering a crevasse, which is totally undetectable except for the hole I've just punched through it. We set up the tent literally right on top of it yesterday - no one probed the terrain first to check for crevasses. I wasn't roped up yet when this happened, so this could have been a dangerous situation. I have no idea how deep this is, but I managed to land on a little ledge near the lip . . . it gets my heart beating pretty fast . . . I dragged myself out and got as far from it as I could.

The guides eat like absolute monsters. I now understand that I need to do the same thing in order to fuel my body for this effort, but it's not easy to push down that much food. Never thought I'd say that! Yesterday I felt nauseous because of how much I was trying to eat, but I'm adjusting better today.

It seems we begin eating snacks right after breakfast and continue eating all day long. Our stomachs have food in them all the time; this prevents blood from leaving other parts of the body in a big rush to digest a large meal, which can lead to hypothermia. I climbed Saint Elias chasing mountain goats on the coast of Alaska and got hypothermia in the late '70s, and don't want a repeat of the experience.

Thankful for gym training

June 10

We climb to 10,000 at Kahiltna Pass and leave our supply cache, I'm still really strong. My 10-month preparation at Ultima Gym wearing the 80-pound weight vest is paying big dividends here. Temperature is getting cold now even though the sun is very bright, and I'm doing everything I can to protect myself. Guides tell us to power breathe all day long. This means taking in as much air as possible with as many as three to four breaths for each step. Hard to do, but important. My weight vest necessitated heavy breathing while working out, so my lungs have been exposed to this.

Return to 8,000 camp in front of "Ski Hill."

June 11

3 a.m. Broke camp, ate breakfast and packed gear into backpack and onto sleds.

5:30 a.m. Left Camp I at this early hour so that we are not climbing on the glacier during the heat of the day when the snow bridges over the crevasses are the weakest. It is snowing like a bastard; we can't see 2 feet in front of us. Sun comes out about 11 a.m.

We take a break at the 10,000 cache on our way to an 11,200 camp. I'm beginning to see a real difference in my breathing as we approach the 11,200 camp, which is just a bit higher than the altitude we ski and hike at in Montana. However, my backpack weighs 80 pounds and the sled weighs 40 to 50 pounds. I don't have to deal with that in Big Sky.

June 12

Climbed down to the cache at 10,000 feet, dug it up and headed back up the hill to Camp III (11,200 feet). I'm still strong, even though I'm not getting as much sleep as I'd like or need.

June 13

Climbed to 13,600 just past Windy Corner and dug new cache for our food and fuel. Windy Corner isn't too bad and today doesn't live up to its nasty reputation. Team members comment about easy climbing, but I look up mountain and see clouds and what appears to be spindrift coming off the summit, and worry about our good weather holding. Returned to sleep at the 11,200 camp. I don't seem to be having any altitude adjustment problems, but the tough stuff is yet to come.

Sleep for two hours,

shovel for one

June 14

Climbed to Camp IV (14,200). It's really, really cold now. No one has a thermometer, but my best guess is zero degrees without wind chill, and maybe minus fifteen factoring in the wind.

June 15

Climbed down to our cache at 13,600. Encountered steady, strong winds with gusts up to 45 mph.

Practiced climbing the fixed lines and running protection. (Rangers put in fixed lines; some last for years. They anchor into the glacier every 40-50 feet. I have the ascender - a tool that attaches to the rope and allows you to have a vise grip when you pull yourself up - in one hand, and wrap the rope around my other hand. If both failed, I would only drop 40 feet to the next anchor. There are 1,000-1,500 feet of fixed lines below 16,000 feet.; then 600-700 feet more above 16,000.)

We'll need to be very proficient with these skills when we reach the steep headwall at 15,300 feet. It's not easy on steep terrain.

June 16

Relentless snow, snow, snow all day and all night. We shovel it nonstop, and it seems almost futile. We sleep for two hours, shovel for one, all night and all day long. If we don't keep at it, our tents would be totally buried pretty quickly. No one can really sleep because of the anxiety about the storm intensifying and burying us alive. I tend to worry too much about that kind of stuff.

June 17

Same thing today . . . the snow is relentless. Some of the guys are wearing down from the grueling task and so little sleep. They are complaining, and I'm amazed that they didn't anticipate how tough this mountain would be, since it's so clearly explained by the guides and all pre-registration information. My hunting experience - with long, tedious bad weather - gives me an apparent advantage. It doesn't seem to get to me the way it's affecting most of the others. Everyone here is very strong and fit. This challenge is primarily mental. One guy complains about how cold it is and I tell him it hasn't reached minus 50, which we could experience and were told to be prepared for. Another guy complains about the snow, which we were also warned about. Sometimes the blizzards whip up 100 mph winds.

And then there were three

June 18

As the snow finally lets up, four members of our team - Dan, Mike T., Mike L. and Rick - decide to turn back. Traverse will guide them back down. I am flabbergasted. They say they can't take the cold, steep ascent ahead of us, and are worn down following days and nights of shoveling snow. I'm feeling very strong, and they are so much younger and just as fit. I can't believe they'd come this far and turn back. Dan is particularly upset. He keeps saying that all he wants to do is see what's on the other side of the headwall. I encourage him to come with us, but I know if he does, our chance of making it to the top drops. He's being considerate of me and of David, the 23-year-old Mexican climber who says he's staying and going for the summit. David is really strong, really young and very experienced. I'm happy he plans to stay.

I get a cellphone call through to my wife, Carey (who is relieving her anxiety with a shopping trip in Paris). She says she's concerned that the others - experienced climbers 20 years younger than me - chose to turn back. She worries I might be experiencing the diminished ability to reason that can happen at very high altitudes. But she says once she hears how strong and confident I sound, she's reassured I'm still sane and prepared for this. I also tell her that the steepness of the headwall is pretty intimidating, but if so many others can do this, so can I.

Mike L. tells me I am the strongest 59 year old he has ever met, and the rest of the guys tell me I have what it takes, and good luck.

10 p.m. Another Alpine Ascents team comes down to us from their 17,000 camp after one of their tents was shredded overnight in high winds, leaving them very exposed. The tent looks like it ran through my office shredder. Three of four members have pretty badly frostbitten fingers. We come to their assistance, and I set up another tent for them. Eric makes them a hot meal and drink, then climbs up the mountain to retrieve a guide's backpack. A total of 25 people had their tents shredded by the blizzard.

June 19

We get a late start up the fixed lines after helping the other climbers. In order to make the summit with storms bearing down on us, we have to do what's called an "alpine ascent." That's one trip carrying all our stuff instead of splitting the load into two trips. In addition, we won't stop for rest days that are usually in the schedule and there will be less time to sleep. We ascend the first 1,100 feet of moderate snow slope to reach the beginning of the fixed lines. Using ascenders on the lines to self-belay, we ascend the headwall, which consists of 900 feet of 45 to 50 degree snow and blue ice. When we get to the crest of the West Buttress, I notice a change. . . . I'm so focused on working the lines and putting one cramponed foot very carefully in front of the other that I rarely look up. When I do, I see that I'm in the clouds, and instantly everything feels different. I feel tired but still strong.

We crawl into a snow cave for some rest and find two climbers in there from the Czech Republic. We spread out our gear. Eric tries to cook at the cave's door but the wind blows the fumes back into cave. Since these fumes can be fatal Eric stops cooking. We eat snacks and try to get some rest. I forget to take off my wet socks, and I am cold for rest of the stay in the cave. If you put your wet socks inside your long underwear while you are in your sleeping bag, they dry out overnight.

This particular cave was originally dug in the 1970s. My gratitude to those guys with bad hair and good music for their efforts. The two guys from the Czech Republic leave before us for their summit push. They have over 4,500 feet to summit. We find out later that they didn't make it. They got disoriented around Denali Pass and another climbing group helped them off the Pass.

Dazzled and confused

June 20

Left snow cave for the Camp V at 17,200 feet. We followed a very scary, exposed ridge around Washburn's Tower, which merges into the main massif of Denali. We are totally exhausted, but we need to build ice walls to protect our tent from the wind that pinned the 25 climbers we helped yesterday. We can see small pieces of tents as well as vomit and other evidence of the trashing these climbers took waiting out the storm. Other guides come over and help us saw blocks of snow and ice to build a wall surrounding our tent. This takes three to four hours of really hard work. I am exhausted.

When we finally get to rest, I have a disaster. Denali rangers do not permit leaving behind waste of any kind, which means bodily waste goes in a baggy or pee bottle. Thinking my pee bottle was empty, I opened it inside my sleeping bag only to discover it was full. And now, so is my sleeping bag. If I didn't smell like a horse's ass already, I certainly do now.

I dry things as best as I can using one of my shirts. David laughs at me; then does the same thing a couple hours later.

June 21

11 a.m. Depart 17,000 camp for summit. Really tough climbing now. This is where I'll need to draw on my reserves. We start along a long, steep snow face up to Denali Pass. After getting through the pass we stop for a break. From here we follow gentle slopes to reach Archdeacons Tower and a large plateau at 19,400, known as the Football Field. From the plateau we climb on moderate terrain to the crest of the summit ridge, which I thought was the top. I thought we were home free at this point, and I needed to be there . . . I was so exhausted. My heart dropped when I saw we had another ridge to follow . . . it was about another 300 feet. I was so burned, but I knew I had to get there. If I turn back, that means David misses his chance to summit, and we are so close.

7:35 p.m. We get to the summit! We have an unbelievable 360- degree view of Alaska Range. This is the top of North America. I thought I knew what this would be like, but this is amazing. I am so tired - I'm literally physically crashed - but I've never had a feeling like this before. Denali is a monster of a mountain, that's for sure.

7:45 p.m. After less than 10 minutes at the top we start our descent. I am totally exhausted and a little concerned about my ability to stay steady on my feet. I know that going down is going to be harder for me and my "Hail Mary knees," as Carey refers to my football-injured joints - reborn by the experimental treatments of Dr. Harvey Montijo, an orthopedic surgeon in Wellington. I laugh at the thought of Harvey telling me he refuses to patch me together again if I go on this trip and get hurt. Once he sees my album chronicling this climb, I'll be his poster boy for miracle medical case studies.

We start our climb down through deep, difficult snow on "Pig Hill" into Football Field. At Farthing Horn, I feel dizzy, trip, and fall down. Eric is concerned and says he didn't realize how exhausted I was. Yeah, because I didn't tell him. Initially, he worries that I have altitude sickness, since, as I try to pick up my ice ax, I keep missing it. (I can't quite judge accurately where to place my hand to grip the ax. Very disconcerting feeling, but I know it's fatigue rather than cerebral edema or any altitude-related cognitive problems.)

I tell Eric what my symptoms are, and we agree that it is exhaustion, not delirium. However, we can't afford to stop, and Eric gives me several steroid pills to give me the energy I need. It works like a charm, thank God. I was beginning to have serious concerns about my ability to get off the mountain with this storm heading in. We go slowly and two climbers going down the mountain join us to make sure we have a safe descent around Denali Pass and the steep descent to 17,000 camp.

Bruises, blisters, bliss

June 22

2:30 a.m. Arrive at 17,000 camp. We are all so tired, we fall into the sleeping bags fully dressed.

8 a.m. Wake up and eat breakfast. Start packing up gear. I am still moving pretty slowly, not rested enough after yesterday's effort.

10 a.m. Depart 17,000 camp. At 14,000 camp another Alpine Ascents team invites us to eat dinner with them since we have no food (we gave it away on our way up to lighten the load.) After dinner, we leave 14,000 camp. About half way through Windy Corner, Eric screams as loud as I've ever heard. He is in excruciating pain. While putting on his backpack at 14,000 camp, he tore a muscle in his chest that had been weakened from a previous injury. He mistakes Percoset for steroids, and after popping three of them, he is unable to carry his own backpack and will have to be first on rope, so David and I can support him. I take last position to hold the team and David goes into middle. Eric looks at me and says that this is his Denali Pass - referring to my troubles last night.

Arrive at 11,000 camp. Another team invites us to eat a meal with them. Eric feels better, so we continue down the mountain. We take our crampons off and switch to snowshoes. Mine are so big it really takes a lot of effort to keep the same pace as David and Eric. I'm hurting in a lot of places now.

June 23

2 p.m. The awkward steps I need to take with the damn snowshoes require me to almost run to keep up with David and Eric. My hips are killing me from this effort. We arrive at the airstrip after last push up Heartbreak Hill. The Three Amigos, which is what we renamed our team after the rest of the group dropped out, are totally exhausted. I take off my boots and put my bare feet in the snow to bring swelling down and relieve pain. I have enormous blisters on both feet, and deep bruises on my shins from the boots.

4 p.m. I'm lying face up on the ground at the airstrip, exhausted and spread-eagled, which seems to be the most comfortable position. My face is covered except for the tip of my nose, which gets ferociously sunburned. Our plane arrives and we fly out to Talkeetna. We take a van to Fireweed Station Bed and Breakfast. I eat until my jaws are sore from chewing so much. I have never been this physically depleted in my life. And we're all in the same boat. I take a shower after 18 days without, and brush my teeth for the first time, too. The owner of the B&B doesn't let climbers bring their backpacks inside, since everything is so filthy and smelly after three weeks of wear. Since he was a climber years ago he understands what is involved and we share some memories.

I find a scale in the bathroom and find that I have lost 15 pounds. I didn't think I had 15 pounds to lose. I am fairly certain that this diet plan wouldn't be recommended by the Surgeon General.

MULTIMEDIA SLIDESHOW

Hear Steve Barry talk about his journey to the top of Denali, and see more pictures from the climb. Go to PalmBeachPost.com and clic

DENALI FACTS

The mountain, step by step

At 20,320 feet (6194M)

Denali is the highest mountain on the North American continent.

Denali means 'The High One' in the Athabascan language. It was renamed Mount McKinley by a gold prospector in 1896; today, climbers (and the state of Alaska) call the mountain by its Native American name.

Denali is the highest point near the Arctic Circle. Weather can change dramatically, thanks to sudden storms from the Gulf of Alaska and the Bering Sea. Even in summer, climbers can face -50F temperatures and 100 mph winds.

Denali's latitude is 63. (Everest's is 27.) The difference in barometric pressure at different latitudes means on a typical day in May, the Denali climber at 20,320 will feel the same as a Himalayas climber at 22,000.

Denali is one of the Seven Summits . . . the group of the highest mountains on each continent. Others are: Kilimanjaro (Africa); Everest (Asia); Elbrus (Europe); Aconcagua (South America); Vinson (Antarctica); and Carstensz (Oceania).

Altitude, pressure and cold can reduce Denali climbers' mental capacity by 50 percent. In an experiment in 1967, climbers at 18,200 feet took twice as much time to answer math problems as they did at 7000 feet. Other climbers have become suddenly apathetic, losing motivation to do even simple tasks.

The first climbing attempt was made on Denali's lower (19,740 feet) north peak in 1910. Three years later, Native American climber Walter Harper was the first to reach the true summit.

Denali has killed more climbers than the Eiger in the Alps, which has a deadly reputation. On average, every season 1,000 climbers attempt the Denali climb; 500 summit, and three die. (In 2002, the park service - which, with the military, spends about half a million dollars every year on rescues - started charging climbers a $150- each rescue fee before they begin their climb. Monuments to the dead are in the cemetery near the airstrip in Talkeetna. Most deaths are from falls; but the cold and altitude can also be deadly.)

Sources: Alpine Ascents, International; Frommer's Alaska 2004, Denali National Park & Preserve

Contemplating going to the top?

We asked Steve Barry to share his training schedule, diet and insights.

For his complete training schedule and post-Denali workout,

go to PalmBeachPost.com

Background:

I have had problems with my weight my whole life. Until I started a regular workout schedule (about six years ago) I would gain weight and then go on some crazy diet and/or extreme workout schedule to lose it. I have lost 30 to 40 pounds probably 15 times in my life.

I used to have several wardrobes. I only have one now. I weigh myself every day. I can fluctuate as much as 5 pounds in a day. (One pound freaks me out, so you can imagine what 5 pounds does.) If I go to movies and have a big bag of popcorn, I weigh 5 pounds more the next morning. Even though I know it is primarily water retention, I still drive myself harder at the gym to lose the 5 pounds.

Training diet:

- Breakfast: Banana; 1 cup fiber cereal; 8 ounces grapefruit juice; 1 cup coffee.

- Mid morning snack: Apple or pear; protein energy bar; Diet Coke.

- Lunch: Salad with roasted chicken; iced tea; coffee.

- Mid-afternoon snack: Apple or pear, protein energy bar; Diet Coke.

- Dinner: Roasted chicken or shrimp and salmon sushi; raw carrots; cole slaw or fresh tomato; 2 percent low fat cheese with reduced fat baked wheat thins; 2 diet ginger ales; diet cranberry juice.

- After-dinner snacks: Grapes or other fresh fruit; whole fruit frozen bars

- Daily: Multivitamin; Glucosamine (1500 mg) and chondroitin (1200 mg) while working out with weight vest and climbing. Reduced to 1000 mg and 800 mg if not using weight vest. Celebrex and or aspirin on Saturday and Sunday due to heavy workouts.

Diet while climbing

Denali:

Climbers consume 10,000 calories a day, and still lose about 15 pounds.

- Breakfast: Hot drink: tea, apple cider, or cocoa (coffee available but avoided since it is a diuretic); powdered milk with cold cereal or hot oatmeal; breakfast bars; one of the following: powdered eggs with either bacon or ham; bagels with cheese and bacon or ham.

- Lunch (start after breakfast and go to dinner): Beef jerky; 3 or 4 candy bars; cookies; energy bars; bagel; nuts with raisins and dried fruit; cheese sticks with sausage; energy gel; energy powder added to 3 to 4 liters of water daily.

- Dinner: Hot drink: tea, apple cider, cocoa or water; hot soup; cheese and crackers; one of the following: two or three individual size pizzas, butter added; big bowl of pasta with some form of meat or vegetable added, lots of butter; mashed potatoes or stuffing with some form of meat or vegetable, lots of butter.

- Dessert: One of the following: cookies, cheese cake, candy bars

Training schedule:

Here is Steve's Saturday routine (he worked out every day except Friday), provided by personal trainer Mike Zingaro.

- Abdominal ball workout/sit up crunches: 3 sets of 35 repetitions

- Abdominal rollouts on small wheel: 3 sets of 8 repetitions

- Push-ups with medicine ball under each hand: 3 sets of 10 repetitions

- Leg lifts and abdominal crunches on Roman chair: 3 sets of 30 repetitions

- Modular leg extension machine, at 100 pounds: 3 sets of 10 repetitions

- Modular leg curl machine (lying flat on stomach), at 80 pounds: 3 sets of 10 repetitions

- Low pull machine, at 80 pounds: 3 sets at 10 repetitions

- Kneeling leg curl machine, at 80 pounds: 3 sets at 10 repetitions each side

- Calf lift machine (free weight), 540 pounds: 3 sets at 35 repetitions

- Leg press station (free weight), 450 pounds: 3 sets at 10 repetitions

- Quad lift sled (free weight), 180 pounds: 3 sets at 10 repetitions

- Leg press machine, 220 pounds: 3 sets at 10 repetitions

- Hip abduction machine, 100 pounds: 3 sets at 10 repetitions

- Hip adduction machine, 140 pounds: 3 sets at 15 repetitions

- Hammer strength MTS v-squat machine, 150 pounds: 3 sets at 10 repetitions

- One and a half to two hours of racquetball with son

The financial cost of climbing Denali:

Mountain climbing isn't cheap. A Denali trip costs at least $8,000 ($4,700 outfitter fee, plus airfare to Anchorage, $100 permit fee and about $1,500 to rent gear.) Barry also took a six-day mountaineering course in Washington to prepare . . . and he shelled out about $10,000 to buy all his own gear.

MULTIMEDIA SLIDESHOW

Hear Steve Barry talk about his journey to the top of Denali, and see more pictures from the climb. Go to PalmBeachPost.com and click on 'Accent'.

Source: Palm Beach Post

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