The documents obtained by the AP disclose the brief but bitter wilderness adventure of Buschow:

On July 16, he gathered here with the 11 others, including some from England and a college student who had bicycled from Maine. Most were in their 20s and 30s. They ran 1 1/2 miles so the staff could assess their conditioning.

Buschow "was not the most in-shape but not the most out of shape," recalled camper Charlie DeTar, 25, the cross-country bicyclist.

On the second day, after a cool night, the group set out around sunrise and stopped about 8:30 a.m. to dip their cups into Deer Creek in what turned out to be the only water until evening. Buschow pulled a bottle from his pack ¡ª but was warned by the staff not to fill it.

During the early phase of the expedition, participants can drink water at the source only and cannot carry it with them.

The group, led by three guides, formed a loose chain, with stronger hikers ahead of people struggling at the 6,000-foot elevation, or more than a mile above sea level.

"We didn't cover all that much distance, maybe five to six miles. We were moving slowly, a lot of up and down," DeTar said in an interview from Vermont. "You don't have food, you don't have water, so you have to move at the slowest pace of the group."

They rested periodically under pinons and junipers, all the while looking for signs of water, such as green vegetation in canyon bottoms. At least two attempts to dig for water failed.

Not everyone had close contact with Buschow, but a consensus emerges from the campers' written accounts obtained by the AP: While cheerful, encouraging and coherent at times, he was a man in deep trouble hours before he collapsed.

"We were all desperate for water," a camper wrote. "Every time (Buschow) would fall or lie down, it took a huge amount of effort to pick him back up. His speech was thick and his mouth swollen."

"Every time he continued, he'd rush ahead, often in the wrong direction and so exhausting himself even more," the camper wrote.

The sun was described as blazing, inescapable. "There were no clouds," a camper wrote.

Some people vomited that day, including a man who got sick three times ¡ª a typical misery on the rigorous course, according to BOSS. Buschow was suffering from leg cramps about 2:30 p.m. and said he was feeling "bad."

During a break, he mistook a tree for a person and said, "There she is."

"This was the first point at which I became concerned knowing that delirium happens when dehydration becomes severe," a camper wrote. Buschow "also asked if there was much air traffic that went through here, and asked if anyone had a signal mirror."

(The Forest Service, citing privacy concerns, deleted certain names from documents.)

By 7 p.m., as the sun descended and temperatures cooled a bit, the group approached a cave in Cottonwood Canyon, known to BOSS guides as a reliable source of water.

Buschow's companions were carrying his possessions for him. Within earshot of people exhilarated about the pool of water, he collapsed for the last time.

"He said he could not go on," staff member Shawn O'Neal wrote two days later in a statement ordered by the Garfield County Sheriff's Office. "I felt that he could make it this short distance and told him he could do it as I have seen many students sore, dehydrated and saying 'can't' do something only to find that they have strength beyond their conceived limits."

O'Neal didn't inform Buschow about his emergency water.

"I wanted him to accomplish getting to the water and the cave for rest," he wrote. "He asked me to go get the water for him. I said I was not going to leave him. ... Shortly thereafter I had a bad feeling and turned to Dave and found no sign of breathing."

A staff apprentice climbed to the top of a dead juniper to get reception for a cellular call to the Boulder office.

Five people took turns trying to revive Buschow while red biting ants crawled over his face. A rescue helicopter from Page, Ariz., arrived about 90 minutes after he passed out, but a defibrillator failed to jump-start his heart. Campers gathered in a circle for the news: "Dave is dead."

They had a moment of silence and ate almonds, sesame sticks and energy bars distributed by staff, the first food since sandwiches more than 24 hours earlier.

Buschow's death was caused by dehydration and electrolyte imbalance, according to Dr. Edward Leis, Utah's deputy chief medical examiner, who found no evidence of drugs or other factors.

DeTar, a camper who performed CPR, said no one was told that BOSS guides carried emergency water, but "I heard it slosh" in a pack.

Should it have been offered to Buschow? And if it's for an emergency, what triggers it?

"Hard to say," said DeTar, who has a master's degree from Dartmouth College and is trained in wilderness first aid. "One thing that BOSS offers you is an opportunity to push yourself physically into the red zone. ... He was 200 feet from the water. Is that the point where you give it to him? Or 500 feet?"

Bernstein, the school's owner, agreed to answer questions only by e-mail. He said BOSS instructors can give water based on their assessment of a camper's needs.

"The group appeared to be within the normal parameters we've seen on the trail over the years," Bernstein said. "Many were, understandably, tired, but morale was high and the participants were determined to continue. ... He seemed capable of completing the hike to camp that evening."

In a Feb. 27 letter to the Forest Service, Bernstein said Buschow may not have trained properly, pointing to comments he made to another camper about drinking a gallon of water a day and eating cheesesteaks to bulk up before the expedition.

His brother, Rob Buschow, said: "It's sickening when they blame the victim."

After Buschow's death, five people left the course. The six campers who completed the exercise returned to the site to leave a bouquet of foliage and a marker of stones.

"I didn't want to have the fear of the desert instilled in me because of this incident," DeTar said.

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