I woke up in the middle of the night, in a tent on Angel Island. Scritching, scrabbling noises came from outside- behind my head, then to the left, then above. Raccoon siege in THX.
I shined my flashlight through the tent wall and punched it to scare them away. My aggressiveness seemed only to embolden them. I could hear them on the roof, gnawing their way in. One of them began unzipping the tent door. My defenses were breached.
I fumbled for my cell phone and called Yeti (asleep in the next tent). Yeti always knows what to do. Voicemail picked up after one ring. Drunk with Knob Creek, he must have turned the phone off before retiring.
Only one other person could relieve the siege. I called out "Jim- are you awake?" and continued shining the flashlight, hoping to entrance or stun the attackers. Jim was asleep.
Kristie awoke and asked what the problem was. I said something like "I'm besieged by fucking raccoons". Kristie scrambled to my defense. Emerging from her tent, she quickly appraised the situation. The raccoons had fled. Evidently my shouting had scared them off.
This was not the only engagement in the Great Raccoon Wars of 6/1/03. Earlier that night in a daring escapade, the king racoon had snuck into our camp, compromised the food locker and dragged off Jim and Kristie's corn chips. Wayne and Heidi heard the crackle of tin foil as the raccoons devoured their prey in the stand of trees between the camp and the outhouse. A few hours after I drove them away from my tent, a surprise attack and unexpected Velcro expertise laid bare Heidi's pack.
We came through with no casualties, though some provisions were lost. Heidi had to clean out spiders and bugs which had crawled into her mutilated rucksack. Still, we were lucky. The raccoons were not after us, only our food.
I shined my flashlight through the tent wall and punched it to scare them away. My aggressiveness seemed only to embolden them. I could hear them on the roof, gnawing their way in. One of them began unzipping the tent door. My defenses were breached.
I fumbled for my cell phone and called Yeti (asleep in the next tent). Yeti always knows what to do. Voicemail picked up after one ring. Drunk with Knob Creek, he must have turned the phone off before retiring.
Only one other person could relieve the siege. I called out "Jim- are you awake?" and continued shining the flashlight, hoping to entrance or stun the attackers. Jim was asleep.
Kristie awoke and asked what the problem was. I said something like "I'm besieged by fucking raccoons". Kristie scrambled to my defense. Emerging from her tent, she quickly appraised the situation. The raccoons had fled. Evidently my shouting had scared them off.
This was not the only engagement in the Great Raccoon Wars of 6/1/03. Earlier that night in a daring escapade, the king racoon had snuck into our camp, compromised the food locker and dragged off Jim and Kristie's corn chips. Wayne and Heidi heard the crackle of tin foil as the raccoons devoured their prey in the stand of trees between the camp and the outhouse. A few hours after I drove them away from my tent, a surprise attack and unexpected Velcro expertise laid bare Heidi's pack.
We came through with no casualties, though some provisions were lost. Heidi had to clean out spiders and bugs which had crawled into her mutilated rucksack. Still, we were lucky. The raccoons were not after us, only our food.
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Clearly, raccoons are discerning in their choice of hydrogenated oils.