Live from Tormville!: Where the coons are the size of bobcats

My one blog reader ahemed me recently and asked that I please dust off my blog.

I miss writing, I really do. I just feel like I haven't allowed myself the time to think about writing. Often my writing comes from a lull in the activity, a long walk, a space where there are no interruptions - and those moments have been few and far between. I need to do a better job of finding those moments again.

So.

Back to the beginning of summer.

Two days after my last day of the 20-21 school year, the year that I thought was going to go down as being the most exhausting work year ever - I went backpacking. I'm so grateful that it worked out this year. The time, the weather, the friends - all of it. The only thing lacking was my physicality - and I paid for that in PT costs up until just recently - but I'd do it again to be able to escape it all and sleep under the stars.

This was my second adventure to Nordhouse Dunes. The first time was in 2018.
As we did last time, we got lucky in weather, no crowds and no bugs.

But we did have a coon.

I was the first one to bunk down that night. My whole life I've struggled with not being able to warm back up once I get cold, so I'm very careful to hunker down before the cold sinks in. I'd already been asleep for what I'm sure was a couple hours when I could hear Denise, from the next tent over, yell "HEY! Get outta there!!"

Of our nine tents, mine was the closest to hers and - as luck would have it - my one window was facing her direction, so I was able to provide adequate backup protection by way of my crouched position, flashlight and eagle eyes. I also had my knife handy. Just.In.Case.

My light went directly to a pair of eyes that was eyeing up Denise's backpack that was hung high up the tree, downwind from her tent. The size of the animal had me certain that it was a bobcat, but once it turned sideways, we could both see that it was the biggest racoon either of us had ever witnessed. It did scamper off and we both got a bit more sleep before we heard it rustling again.

This time that coon managed to knock the heavy pack off the tree and pull it a good five feet into the brush and feast on some pistachios before we woke up. It wasn't as willing to scamper off the second time, having scored a food source. A lot more hollering and commotion had to be done, which had all but two of us coming out of our tents (I figured the seven of them had it well taken care of, and...well....I get cold, and had single-handedly assisted in the first go around)

It was in the morning that we were able to see the size of the prints, the drag marks and just how far that critter was able to tug that full size back pack into the brush after he'd pushed it off the tree.

Other than that, the weekend was incident free and laughter filled and I can't wait until next year's adventure, whereever it may lead.