Pratt Fall (Or, the Time I Became a Case for Search and Rescue)
That’s when the trouble began. On my way down the mountain and back to my car, I misjudged … something. Descending quickly down the steep rock face, it wasn’t until I was well down the mountainside that I realized that there was not a lake where there should have been. As misjudgments do, this one multiplied and multiplied again. My legs were gassed, so I couldn’t climb all the way back up from where I came; my visibility was too limited to get any bearings; and while I had a compass and map, my orientation skills were, frankly, not up to snuff for someone out hiking off-trail by himself. You see where this is going. Six or so hours later I was cut, bruised, and completely lost. I, conqueror of Preacher Mountain, was now yet another case for the King County Search and Rescue.