After the near-miss, Lord took the lead, while Doro followed, reminding himself to keep three points of contact on the rock at all times. They stuck to the eastern side of the ridge, which was less exposed and felt safer, traversing along the side of it. Lord moved deftly through the maze of rocks, often stopping to wait for his friend. Despite the stomach-turning drops on either side of them, Lord was calm and confident; he had done this kind of climbing before.

Just after 7:30 a.m., they were not even halfway to the summit. Ahead lay about a mile of ridgeline, with loose and stable rocks all jumbled together. It was nearly impossible to tell them apart, so Lord moved with extreme caution. He put his hand on a rock in front of him to steady himself while he moved carefully around it.

Doro was thinking about the weather. Summer in the Elks is mercurial: Within minutes, skies darken to the color of lead, bringing sheets of rain and flashes of lightning to the high peaks. But the morning of July 15 was windless and blue, without a cloud in sight. Doro marveled at their luck—they were both climbing in T-shirts. At that moment, he thought, they could not have picked a better day to climb Capitol Peak.

The next moment, the rock shifted, dislodging itself from the ridge and toppling onto Lord. Doro watched in shock as the rock sent his friend tumbling down the mountain like a rag doll. Without thinking, he rushed down the steep slope to the spot where Lord had come to halt—roughly 150 feet below—scrambling faster than the treacherous terrain should have allowed. He knew that Lord had to be injured, but told himself that everything would be okay; people get hurt on fourteeners all the time.

But when Doro reached Lord, he was unresponsive. He tried to rouse his friend and then to figure out what his injuries were. Doro’s first-aid training had taught him to stabilize the spine, which he did, working swiftly, but as he did so, he realized that Lord’s skull was severely injured. His friend’s right arm was out of its socket, his shinbone poking through his skin.

Not knowing what else to do, he pulled out his cellphone. At least he had a bit of reception, he thought. He dialed 911, describing his situation and requesting help. Then he started doing CPR on Lord. Soon, another climber appeared on the scene and began to help. But the breaths weren’t going in, and Doro grew more and more frantic.

“With my first-aid training, I had an inkling about things,” he told me. “(Search and rescue) said they were coming, but with brain damage, the window obviously is a few minutes—half an hour tops.”

The climber came over and gently tried to tell Doro that CPR was useless. But Doro refused to listen. If search and rescue could just arrive soon, he thought, maybe there was a chance that Lord could survive.