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On a precipitous descent near Dead Horse Creek, I cling to a wet spruce trunk and listen for the rushing milky waters of the Nisqually. I try to gauge distance to the moraine field, but it's hard to tell over the pattering raindrops and my pounding heart. In limited visibility, I scan for a weakness in the wall. The cloud reveals nothing. I resume a nervous chant:"done doing dumb, done doing dumb." My heart races, my mumbles do little but add to the fog.

With one arm hugging the bent trunk, I pat my pack's chest pocket: still holding ID, phone and rental car key. I reach around to a rear pocket and pull out a folded map and take another look at the topography of the buttress. My mouth is dry, I drain a water bottle and try to quiet my nerves. Another deep breath and then... I let go and carefully inch down over loose moss and rock. "Done doing dumb, done doing dumb."

Twenty feet lower, I reach a bench where the hiking poles have landed, my fall slightly slower and more controlled than theirs. Relieved to be reunited and all intact, I anchor myself and resume studying the obscure terrain below. I'd happily abandon these poles and retreat to Paradise if up was still an option. A hundred feet above, down became my only hope. Somewhere, somehow I broke my rule of going down what I couldn't get back up. Hence my silly chant.

This was to be our last adventure on the tail end of a great two-week family vacation to the far corner of the Pacific Northwest. The recent memories flash through my head...

Hiking the shoreline of San Juan Island...

Hiding in a fragrant field of lavender...

Backpacking with sibling and spouses...

Putting homemade gear to the test...

Enjoying delicious backpacking meals...

Witnessing a break in the weather...

Climbing higher in the Olympics...

Strolling among rhododendron...

Staying up late with the sun...

Driving into Rainer's winter...

Altering our day's plans around the inn's fire...

Setting out with dad over Comet Falls...

Searching for the trail in snow...

Picking up our pace along the Wonderland...

Now in an unknown corner of this country, I'm halfway down the steepest terrain I've ever tried to bushwhack. "It's safer than running a foggy and much longer road." Not more than an hour ago, I said these words in defense of this route back to the Comet Falls Trailhead to retrieve our rental car. I shake my head at my naiveté. Truth is, I wanted an adventure, but got more than I wanted. In a cold rain, I sweat nervously as I scramble over the slick boulders.

The terrain begins to level out, I can hardly believe it. I pass below an unnamed waterfall on the Dead Horse and enter into a beautiful scrub. Sultan's words from seven years back echo in my ears: "scratch the thighs, not the eyes." I'm reminded to move carefully while on easier terrain. I can hardly help but rush out to the open moraine. I want to get to the bridge, to the road, to the car, to safety. Still. One careful step at a time. I must listen to the loose rocks below and tread softly.

The bridge comes into view. The Nisqually appears too powerful to ford, so I climb to the south end. Now on the road, my pace accelerates for a mile and a half. At the car, I set the timer on my phone and snap a photo of myself. I look at it carefully to make sure I'm really here.

"done doing dumb"