In honor of our upcoming camping trip, I thought I would share an adventure from last year's trip.
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We never camp in the mountains. There's a beautiful range not too far from our home where, so I've been told, there some amazing campgrounds full of gorgeous redwoods and unadulterated air. I, however, always insist on camping by the ocean. I have good reasons for this, but they have nothing to do with beautiful sunsets on the water or the sound of the ocean lulling me to sleep each night. Instead my reasons are based on what you don't find at the ocean: mosquitoes and bears. In my mind, mountain camping puts you at risk for mosquitoes leaving their bloody mark on your body, and bears coming into your tent to eat the
lotion that you
thought was unscented.
It's like, I love nature, so long as it doesn't touch me or my things.
Which is why we go camping at the beach, a place inhabited by sand crabs, sea gulls, and some small forest creatures like squirrels or raccoons.
As for the raccoons, they come out at night. We know they do because occasionally, we'll wake up and hear them scurrying by the coolers, trying to get them to open. (We've learned to outsmart them by securing the lids of our coolers with bungee cords.) Or, sometimes, if we stay up late by the campfire, and someone shines a flashlight into a nearby tree, we might see the yellow reflection of their eyes as they wait for us to retreat into our tents.
Usually, that is the extent of it.
Usually. This night though, this night was different.
On this night, we retired fairly late to our tent.
Side note: Our tent is pretty darn big. My parents purchased it from Costco, and like most things sold at Costco, it is super-sized. It has TWO ROOMS and THREE DOORS, and it's layout can be best described as this: You open the first door and are in a foyer-type space, and this space is separated from the main room by another door. When you go into the main room, you realize that this beast of a tent is larger than most freshman dorm rooms. Somehow Josh and I inherited the mega tent, and on this particular trip, we were sharing the space with my sister and her tiny 8-pound dog Daisy.
But, back to the that night.
On this night, all the little kids were having a hard time falling asleep, particularly Reese and Elliott. Our tent was next to the boys, and it seemed that as soon as one of them fell asleep, the other one woke up, and they continued to take turns, torturing their parents, for what seemed like a small eternity. Finally they settled into a slumber.
Then, I heard the scratching.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
I poke Josh. "Do you hear that?" I whisper.
He mumbles something.
Then, I hear Daisy, my sister's dog growl.
"Louanne, are you wake?"
"Yes," she whispers.
"Do you hear that?"
"YES."
We see a pack of little furry shadows race by the tent wall. Daisy growls again.
"Josh.
Josh!" I poke him again, harder this time. I roll over to check on Lola.. Still asleep.
Scratch. Scratch.
Ziiiiiiiiiip.
"Oh my god! They're inside!" I whisper scream.
Josh wakes up.
"There's something in our tent!!!" I whisper scream again.
"Where's the flashlight?"
We start to look for it, and then I realize that it's outside on the picnic table,
with them.
Louanne finds a light, but the battery must be half-dead since it only provides a dim glow.
Josh takes the half-working flashlight, and walks toward the door.
"Do not wake the boys!" I whisper yell.
He looks back at me, and then slowly unzips the door to the foyer room. He peers through a small hole.
Pairs of yellow eyes stare back. They are huddled around Daisy's food bowl.
They glare at Josh and then go back to their dog food binge.
Josh zips the door back up.
"I'm going out there."
He fumbles through a duffel bag, and pulls out a knife with an 8-inch blade.
He opens a door from the main room to the outside. Through the tent wall, Louanne and I watch his shadow, one arm out in defense, the other holding the knife. We grip our sleeping bags and do our best to resist giggling.
"You little muther-effers!" he whisper screams, his knife-holding arm slicing the dark air. Dozens of obscenities fill the dark space and he walks toward the front of the tent. We hear the front door unzip.
"&^%#*(*(&*&%@!"
Scurrying sounds ensue, and then Josh zips the door back up.
He carries the dog bowl toward the car. Josh shines his flashlight to the side of the tent. The yellow eyes slowly move forward, toward him. He places the bowl in the car, and circles the opposite way back to the tent.
Through the wall, we see him frantically waving the knife.
"(*(&*^&#@!**&^@@@!"
He grabs a surfboard and places it against the front tent door. Then, he enters through the back door. He secures it by bringing the zipper to the top of the door. He does the same with the other doors.
He lays down on the air mattress next to me.
"I swear, there are two dozen of them out there."
Josh, Louanne, and I look at each other. I bury my head into my pillow, unable to control my laughter, and we silently relish in the fact that, for now, the little ones are still asleep.
