It's 2am and over the lull of the ocean, a rap

against the tent door. The second slap jolts me awake and induces a yell. Too light to be a bear but too testy to be a branch, I suspect the nasty, crafty racoon. An initial head lamp sweep while half inside the vestibule reveals nothing, but a further inspection shows we've been stormed, unawares. The vermin have eaten my food stores completely, easily prying off the tupperware lid of my "kitchen". They've danced all over the picnic table with yogurty paws and peered inside my panniers for more easy treats. We see three or four sets of eyes in the bush, asking who dares impinge on their midnight ball. I lie awake later, listening to the ongoing cluster cleaning up on crumbs. Learning (again) how to leave a clean camp each evening, and looking for a slingshot on my travels. -Wendy