Later That Night
January 22, 2017 – Anastasia State Park – Saint Augustine Beach, Florida
I didn't get my head bashed in by a falling branch, so I got that going for me.
The wind is calm enough now for me to crawl back into my sad little tent and when I get back to it, I'm quite pleasantly surprised. No, wait. I feel victorious! Not a scratch. Not a single bungee, rope, stake, or doohickey out of place.
Maybe I know what I'm doing after all!
It's hard to fall asleep. Even though I'm at a busy campground and there's people all around me (all in RV's, mind you, I'm the only asshole in a tent) I'm on high alert.
I'm sure if I had my camping buddy right now I wouldn't notice every crack, creak, pop, and bang. But I don't, so tonight I notice everything, even over the whooshing remnants of the storm.
At around 2am I finally relax a little and doze off.
Now, I don't know how many of you know what it's like to be awakened by a beast sniffing around your face in the middle of the night, so in case there's any doubt: it's terrifying.
My eyes pop open. My heart goes from 0 to 200 in a half-second flat. (That's quite a new experience for me, I must say. Normally in a scary situation my heart rate increases incrementally before it reaches top speed.)
The sound is a combination of snorting and deep, cavernous breaths. I can hear the hot air traveling in and out of the creature's lungs in between short, skipping sniffs.
This indicates I'm dealing with a large creature. I feel panic coming on.
But, it's sniffing? Oh! It must be a dog. You love dogs...keep your shit together and calm down.
I do calm down.
But only until the creature – by this time I realized we were dealing with creature(s), plural – comes back. While I'm still “safely” inside my tent, it's six inches from my face!
(See, this is why you should buy a big girl tent for grown-ups. Not a tent that isn't even really a “tent”, but a toy, in which your head and feet will press up against the walls.)
This time I panic, even after all the self-talk.
You know the ol' fight or flight thingamaboop they teach us in biology? We all know it's true, but what a lot of us don't realize is that we don't control which we will choose. Our higher selves toss up the deuces, run out the back door, and the lizard brain springs into action immediately, like Superman jumping out onto a stage with magestically flowing capes. I'll save you!!!
The lizard chose to fight.
I spring up and start beating on the side of the tent like a lunatic. The creature(s) retreat. I can hear leaves rustle and twigs break as they scurry into the woods.
I start to chuckle – just a little 'cause I'm still drunk on adrenaline – but then I realize the animals I heard running into the woods did not possess the heft of dogs. Wheels start turning. A-ha!
Those were the freakin' raccoons the ranger warned me about! Silly girl.
All this mayhem over some schweet wittle innocent trash-pickers with their wittle furry faces and their cute little wannabe opposable thumbs. Sorry, I think they're cute.
Now I've never been face to face – or, face to mouth – with a raccoon before but those mofos certainly don't sound cute and wittle. Maybe I was just perceiving this 'cause I was scared, but Jesus, when they're that close they sound like beasts of Satan, freshly-escaped from Hell.
Whatever, they're gone. I work up the courage to peek outside. Ziiiiiiiip. Got my flashlight trained on the woods and the whole squad is staring back at me.
You little shits. You're lucky you're so cute.
Sleepy time.
Satan was bored tonight
A couple hours later Satan's Beasts pay me another visit. Once again I wake up to snorting in my ear, once again I bang, once again I'm jolted awake only to nearly faint.
But this time there's scratching. The Beasts want in.
They are emboldened. I look down at my feet and spot my double-bagged trail mix and leftovers.
What do I do? Are they going to break in?! Should I chuck the bags out into the woods as a peace offering? If they do get in, will they go after me? What if they're rabid? What if they rip my face off?! They ARE carnivores, after all!
It's truly hilarious when a supposedly tough, no-fucks-given Miami girl has this kind of inner dialog when dealing with a bunch of adorable counterfeit cats.
I need to protect my pride. I get my game face on.
Oh, heyal naw! Homie don't play dat. You wanna fuck with me, cats? Let's do this!
I decide on a battle plan then and there.
I will lie in wait, silent. The second one of those little fuckers breaches the ripstop nylon they'll be greeted with a face full of pepper spray. I can't take the chance of being trapped in here with a rabid, Satanic, face-eater.
I don't want to attack something so cute, seriously. But if it's between them and me, they're going down!
But, wait, wait, wait a second. Stop. Think about this. Do you really want to start flingin' pepper spray around in this tiny-ass tent? With hardly any ventilation? And even less room? And you had to pull some contortionist moves to get out last time? Wouldn't you just literally be pepper spraying yourself? And then have to struggle, blinded, gagging, and panicked through the tiny door? And that's the best-case scenario. That's if the zipper doesn't jam because you're rushing. Is this really smart?
I'm stuck. The Hounds of Hell on one side and self-immolation on the other.
I just survived a tornado, you little shits! I don't need this!
I'm not throwing the food outside. That's irresponsible camper behavior and I care about the environment, dammit! I'll have to just be brave. Be strong. Take one for the planetary team.
It was a long night.
The beatings on the walls of my shitty tent got more aggressive, and after a couple more visits the Beasts left me alone.
With barely any sleep, a nasty cold front waiting for me outside, and a lot to pack up and figure out, I woke up with the sun to begin Day 2 of my grand “adventure”.