Hanging 800 feet above Leg Lake, ten hours into a long summer's day of climbing in Wyoming's Wind River Range, Steve Herlihy was just starting to get comfortable. Getting into the bubble, he called it. He was tired but focused, feeling good about this latest adventure with his friend and mentor, Pete Absolon.

They were at the southern end of the Winds, three-quarters of the way up an enormous cirque that flanks the lake like a half-mile-wide backstop. Close to 12,000 feet above sea level, the cliff could be glimpsed from Absolon's house on the outskirts of Lander, 15 miles away, a stumpy tooth among more sensuously contoured peaks. In 17 years of climbing the area, Absolon had never tried the cirque before; there was better rock not much farther away. But late in July he'd gone camping at Leg Lake with his wife, Molly, and their six-year-old daughter, Avery. He'd studied the cirque, particularly a long shadow where the wall turned a corner as it wrapped around the lake. Two weeks later he was back with Herlihy to try a line he'd found.

Herlihy felt honored to be included; Absolon was choosy about the climbers he took into the Winds. Despite their age difference—Pete was 47, Steve 30—Absolon had drawn Herlihy into his circle as if he were a younger brother. They'd met on a National Outdoor Leadership School instructor seminar in 2001 and had worked together on and off since. Absolon, a sturdy blond athlete with a constant smile, had recently become director of the NOLS Rocky Mountain branch, while Herlihy had started law school in Laramie, at the University of Wyoming.

Absolon was amped for the climb—planning meticulously, leaving Herlihy a flurry of phone messages in the final hours before their departure. They got a late start from Lander Friday afternoon and camped by the lake. On Saturday, August 11, they rose early, left Herlihy's two dogs at the cliff base, made their way across a talus field, and then climbed up 300 feet of steep slabs to a small ledge, where the line Absolon had spotted began in earnest.

The climb was slow and tough. They found a couple of old bolts below the ledge, then nothing farther up. The route was steeper than it looked, and there was a quarry's worth of loose rock along the way. They cleared what they could, heaving the debris onto the glacier below, watching it land with hardly a sound. Herlihy started worrying about the amount of rock they were tossing and rappelled down to move his dogs back, then returned to the ledge.

Absolon led the crux pitch above the ledge, then two more pitches. Herlihy did his part, belaying and hauling and drilling in an occasional bolt. By late afternoon, they were 150 feet from what they'd agreed would be their goal for the day, a grassy ledge below the rim. Absolon set up an intricate belay; Herlihy was just below him and to the right. They lingered a few minutes, discussing how to handle the final pitch, a widening crack that curved right.

Herlihy was tired and ready to head down to camp. But Absolon wanted to nail the last pitch, and Herlihy agreed that it didn't look like much trouble, particularly with Pete in the lead. But right in the middle of their conversation, something came hurtling down from above. There was no warning, Herlihy recalls. Just a sudden crack!—and then a kind of white noise buzzing inside his head.

As soon as he heard the sound, Herlihy instinctively curled up next to the wall. But whatever had ripped through was already gone, leaving silence in its wake. When Herlihy looked up, he saw Pete hanging from the ropes, staring straight ahead. His eyes and mouth were open, but he was absolutely still.

Herlihy reached up. His hand went to the back of Absolon's neck and felt a warm dampness. He turned his friend around and saw the shards of his white helmet, the blood, the crushed skull. "His face was perfect," Herlihy says, "but I just knew he was dead."