IN JULY 2005, WITH THE HELP of the three Pakistani guides, Messner's redemptive moment seemed at hand: The men said they had located the skeleton at about 14,110 feet, an hour's climb above the Diamir base camp, near where Messner had believed Günther might be.

Quickly, the guides photographed the bones, boot, and clothing and relayed their news to Messner. Within days, the information reached him at Schloss Juval, his 13th-century castle home in the mountains of South Tyrol, in far northern Italy. After seeing a photo, Messner said he had little doubt: The boot and jacket appeared to be Günther's.

As it happened, Messner had already arranged to return to Nanga Parbat in August, when he was to lead a group of trekkers around the massif and check in at a village school he was helping build. A German freelance reporter and a photographer had been invited to follow along.

By August 26, with his 14 trekkers and two journalists in tow, Messner was on the south side of Nanga Parbat, a three-day walk from the spot where the bones lay. His mood was both stoic and combative.

"After 35 years of waiting, I can wait a little bit longer," he told Outside contributing editor Rob Buchanan, who happened to be on assignment nearby and tracked down Messner at Tap Meadow, a grassy spot below the Rupal Face. It was tea time, and Messner was holding court in a mess tent, his fellow trekkers seated around him. He was trim and fit, sporting his trademark wild helmet of hair. "Who could possibly think that I would have abandoned my brother up there?" he scoffed. "No one would do that—that isn't human behavior!"

On August 29, when he reached the remains, Messner was jubilant. "Es ist mein bruder!" he declared emotionally. The footwear, he said, was the clincher. A brown leather Lowa Triple Boot (named for the twin felt liners placed inside a hefty shell), it was standard equipment for the 1970 team. Moreover, a custom detail—a cord loop near the toe, used to secure crampon straps—matched the way the Messners had rigged their boots.

The next day, the trekking group's doctor, Munich-based anesthesiologist Rudolf Hipp, harvested tissue samples for the DNA testing Messner would seek in Europe. The boot and foot bones were set aside; Messner would take them home. And then, drawing on the bravado that helped make him the first person to scale all 14 of the world's 8,000-meter peaks—a feat he accomplished without supplemental oxygen—Messner took executive action: He cremated the rest of the remains at the group's base camp. Whether the body was indeed Günther's, or someone else's, most of it was now gone forever.

Borrowing from Tibetan tradition, Messner and his team built a chorten, a square-shaped stack of stones, as a monument to Günther. He threw Günther's ashes toward the mountain. A few days later, he took the boot and bones onto his flight home.

"When I held in my hands the remains of Günther, I had a strong feeling, like a phantom pain of an amputee," Messner told me by phone in September, after he'd returned to Schloss Juval. Already, the bone find was taking on a life of its own, defying simple things like happy endings or peace or even logic, and his voice was urgent and angry.

"Now I have proof. It is over for me," he said. "The story is clear and finished!"