So, I thought it a good time for another animal encounter story (inspired by The Animal Dialogues, by Craig Childs). On yet another camping trip to Morro Bay with my family when I was young, we noticed a lot of raccoons around the campground. They were brave and bold, and would come into the campsite and eat your food. One night, we were sitting around the campfire making s'mores (yum!). We saw a few sets of reflective eyes around our campsite - yes, we were being stalked by raccoons.
My dad, always taking pictures of everything, decided he wanted to snap a few pictures of the raccoon stalkers. Mind you, this was long before the digital photography age, and his camera was an actual 35mm film camera.
Mind you too, it was dark, there were no lights anywhere. All we could see were the glowing eyes.
My dad takes his camera and crazily starts snapping away - pointing the camera up in the air and at nothing in particular.
My brother and I were laughing out loud because there was no way the raccoons were that high up - they couldn't fly. Hence the flying raccoons.
This is a hard tale to describe in writing - it was much more hilarious in person (and in my head).
I love my dad and his zany photography antics. When we got the pictures developed, of course there were none of any raccoons.
So, I was talking with a co-worker today about what each of us did over the weekend. I spent Saturday night in the City with some friends, eating, drinking, dancing, and frolicking. She spent the weekend camping. I almost laughed out loud when she said she was camping. I think my exact response to her was, "Camping, like sleeping on the ground in a sleeping bag, and cooking food over a camp fire camping?" She laughingly said, "Yes, and I even helped set up the tent!" She is definitely a person whom I would not expect to voluntarily go camping. She said she had a great time. They went for a hike to a lake, and it looked so majestic that she just jumped in with her clothes on! That part sounds fantastic to me.
Hearing her tale of camping made me remember one camping trip (of many) when I was young. I actually grew up camping all over California with my family - some of it was car-camping in spots that had hot showers, toilets, and running water. Some of it was driving into the middle of the Mojave Desert and pulling off the road and pitching a tent - no toilet (unless you consider the hole you dig in the ground a toilet), no running water, no defined campground, nothing. Well, one of these trips was to Morro Bay - a small town on the central California Coast, close to San Luis Obispo. I loved camping there. One of the day trips we would take was to Montaña de Oro - an area that has beach access, and hiking along the bluffs above the beach. On this particular trip, we were hiking along the bluffs, and my brother and I had to use the bathroom. There was one spot with a pit toilet - literally an outhouse with a toilet seat and a big, yucky, smelly, nasty hole in the ground. So, there were 2 stalls, and my brother and I were each in one, and for some reason, I looked down before I sat down, and saw a snake writhing in the filth. Yes, a snake slithering around in the ickiness in the pit toilet. Scared the crap (not literally) out of me. I think I screamed and my brother jumped out of his stall to see what the problem was. I pointed out the snake. We both were too freaked out to use the pit toilet.
I can't remember how old I was when that happened, but it scared and scarred me for life. Now, literally any time I use the restroom, I check the toilet for snakes. I have some unfathomable fear that a snake will jump up out of the toilet bowl and bite me in the ass. Mind you, that has never happened, and I have never again seen a snake in a toilet, but judging by a quick google image search of "Snake in toilet", and the enormous amount of images the search produced, snakes do, in fact, go in toilets, and it is possible for one to bite you in the ass.
Look before you sit people. That is all.
