The death of a mountaineer tends to elicit two distinct reactions. From the general public, a shrugging incomprehension of the "What did you expect?" school. From fellow climbers, sadness tinged with pride, accompanied by mutterings about good men going out with their boots on. Yet it's difficult to think about the life, now ended, of Alex Lowe without experiencing the tingling afterglow that comes when the curtain falls on an astonishing performance. His name never approached the mythic status of a George Mallory, Edmund Hillary, or Reinhold Messner, but by the end of the 1990s Lowe had become the most admired and emulated climber of the post-Messner era...

No matter how jaw-dropping his routes, Lowe's physical accomplishments always paled beside his generous attitude and indomitable spirit. "There are two kinds of climbers," he once said. "Those who climb because their heart sings when they're in the mountains, and all the rest." He could be like a kid on the porch coaxing his friends to come out and play. "It was like Michael Jordan calling you up to shoot hoops," recalled Doug Chabot, a frequent recipient of Lowe's let's-go-climbing pitches. "He loved the game so much it didn't matter how good or bad you were, only that you were playing with him." Expedition organizers recruited his chronic optimism and humility as much as his climbing strength. In his earlier years guiding the Tetons, Lowe would tackle near-impossible routes on his days off. Like doing the Grand Traverse, a multi-day, multi-peak climb, in a single day in sneakers. When asked where he'd been, he'd say, "Climbing."

To read Bruce Barcott's tribute in full, please see the December issue of Outside magazine, on newsstands November 16 and online November 23.