That Damn Raccoon

Raccoons have a bad reputation, especially among campers. In my experience the ones living in the Florida state parks deserve it. They will raid your camp, steal your food or any shiny object they decide should be theirs, like some kind of forest pirates. I may seem a little bitter, well I'll tell you a tale that might explain some of it.

Central Florida has many opportunities to enjoy the wonders of nature. For my little family, it was camping. We went camping several times a year, and usually at one of Florida State Park's many wonderful campgrounds. Now don’t be fooled, we're not talking about roughing it, these campgrounds had electricity and water hookups. We were tent campers and often our friends would join us so we sometimes had large groups that took up several campsites. As I worked four twelve-hour days and had a short work week I usually went to the campground on Friday and began setting up camp. Everyone would join me either that night or on Saturday.

On this particular trip, a bunch of us were camping at Tomoka State Park on the Halifax River near the Atlantic ocean. Tomoka is a wonderful park in the middle of a small coastal hammock with tree-lined camping spaces of mixed hardwoods and just a short walk to the intercostal waterway for fishing from the beach. As usual, I showed up at the campground on Friday. Being the first one there I had my first pick of campsites. I chose the smaller of the two reserved sites and tucked our family tent into the corner amid the oaks, pines, and palm trees. I always brought along this free-standing hammock that was very popular with all of us campers young and old. So naturally, I set it up there as well. Leaving the food in the van as a sort of bear box, I settled in to await the rest of my friends. Now, there is very little worry of bears in that part of Florida but those damn raccoons are everywhere. Across the camp road, we had also rented another site which became the center of our little world for the weekend. This is where we did the cooking, drinking, partying, and most of the other various camping activities.

On Sunday most everyone wanted to go swimming at the beach. Since the swimming beach was a short drive away everyone, well almost everyone, piled into one of the other cars, and off they went to the beach. I have always known the value of quiet time by myself so I elected to stay behind and “guard” the camp. I had no idea what I was to come as I moved the hammock over beneath a big oak tree for shade, grabbed a drink, a smoke, and a book to relax with.

My relaxation was not to last long, however, because that damn raccoon had other plans. I’m chilling on the hammock when I notice a raccoon suspiciously eyeing the open door on the minivan. Remember the minivan was the group's food locker and contained meat, bread, and most of the other camp food. So anyway, this little bandit starts moving closer to the van when I realize what his plan is. I know I’m smarter than any raccoon and I quickly come up with a plan of my own. A very simple one, I bark out loudly “ARGGG” or some other similar pirate word, planning to scare him away. Well, let me tell you that particular technique doesn’t always work. In this case, it did scare him. However, instead of running away he made a mad dash for the open door and before I could get up and stop him, grabbed whatever he could get his thieving little paws on. How bad could it be, what could he grab in such a hurry? Well, I'll tell you it was a pack of hot dog buns. My hot dog buns! Buns that were carefully planned with a corresponding number of hot dogs. That little bugger was throwing the whole meal plan off.

By the time I made it out of the hammock the little crook had grabbed his loot and scampered up the nearest palm tree. I stormed over to the tree and saw him there, perched atop that tree. He looked down at me still clutching his prize, which I demanded he give back immediately. Of course, he completely ignored my demands. Instead, he began to tear the bag open and eat one of my hot dog buns. Again, I demanded and again he ignored my demands. That crook just sat there eating MY hot dog buns and staring at me. I must admit I became incensed with that asshole and I began throwing rocks at him hoping to make him drop the buns. Since these are well-used sites with not many actual throwing size rocks I soon ran out of suitable rocks. And there he was, still in that tree looking down at me as he munched away on the buns.

At this point, I was not going to give up so I began to look for more effective items to throw at him and get my damn buns back. I tried a can of beans a couple of times until I lost it in the weeds behind the tree. Great now we're down not only a pack of buns you can add a can of beans to that list. I decided I shouldn’t risk any more food and look around for something else to throw. Somehow, I decide it’s a good idea to throw the clippers, that we use to cut up kindling and trim branches back from the tents, up at the rascal. That soon ends when they get stuck in the tree about fifteen feet up. Awe shit, now what? Still not yet ready to give up, I move the hammock over beneath our palm tree battleground and sit back to keep my eyes on him. As dusk arrives making it hard to see him in his little hiding spot so do the rest of the campers. My attention away for what seemed like just a second, I looked back and he was gone never to be seen again, taking his buns with him. They now were his buns, they no longer were mine.

To this day, I often wonder if that raccoon still tells the tale of the night he scored a bag of hot dog buns from that loud-mouthed, long-haired human with a bad aim.