Rocky raccoon, if I get my hands on you....

Raccoons are vile, sinister beings. This is an account two separate incidents while I was in Florida. Even in a pristine, serene setting as a state park in FL, it proves you are not safe from thieves.

The first night camping in Coya Costa, I was laying in my tent. It was 2am and I couldn't sleep. I was just a tad too cool, and I didn't have a decent pillow. That's when I heard the gentle rustling of someone, or something, sneaking around outside. Then I heard the gnawing, the spine-tingling sound of gnawing teeth on Styrofoam. In an instant, I was out of my sleeping bag, and with blazing speed I had the tent unzipped. Not quick enough to catch the perpetrator, though.

I looked at our Styrofoam cooler. It was severly gnawed. Another 30-seconds and the flea-bitten creature would have made off with our meager food supply, a bag of tortillas and lunch meat. We would have nearly starved. At least, until we got off the island at 1pm. Tragedy, narrowly avoided. We put the cooler in the tent with us.

The next day, we stayed at a different state park, Korishan. You drove right up to your camp site, so, you would think there wouldn't be a repeat of the night before. We would just put our food in the trunk of the rental car. A raccoon hasn't been born yet that could steal car keys and figure out how to pop the trunk. Or so I thought.

The raccoons at Coya Costa were patient. They had us scoped out. They new we'd be deep asleep, and that they could just whisk in take all our food. They didn't take into account that I would have insomnia. The Korishan coons had a totally different approach. They knew that food would be put away in the trunk before bedtime, so their technique was more brazen.

We were lounging around a roaring camp fire. The half-moon shone bright, with a bluish tint, through the palms, that were swaying in the gentle, warm breeze. The moon and stars just seemed to be much larger and brighter out in the woods. I could smell our steaks, sizzling on the grill. I had a cold beer in my hand. All was right in the world. Then, I heard a tearing noise from the picnic table just 10 yards away. I sprang to my feet and chased the culprit through the woods behind our tent.

Raccoons are suprisingly quick. At one point he stopped with his stolen booty, a granola bar, and I swear, he stuck up his little paw, and gave me the finger as he defiantly took a bite from the bar. I went back to the fire, thinking he wouldn't be back. Wrong! In no time at at all, he was back for another assault on the bag of food on picnic table. I was quick on the attack and he was gone.

This was getting personal. I picked up a hefty stick from our wood pile and hid behind the tent near the picnic table. I was going to give that coon a lesson, a lesson in pain. Nobody messes with David Schrik and gets away with it. My camping partner this was hillarious. But this was serious. Man vs. beast. It didn't take long before that furry freak peaked his head around the tent. This time, he was the one shreaking in terror, as he narrowly missed the swing of my stick.

He didn't come around the rest of the night. The next day, we went for a hike on the fine trail along the river. We came upon the granola bar wrapper, a grimm reminder of the horror we experienced the night before.

The gulls below are fighting over the scraps from a fish I cleaned.