Originally Posted by sargevining
Camping on the Kancamagus Highway in NH in 1972. It was the first night of a four day hike and I was sleeping under a picnic table using a painters drop cloth as cover with my pack setting on the ground outside. It was an M1942 Mountain Rucksack with a cast iron frame (aluminum was a strategic material in 1942 and it went to airplanes, not packs). It was loaded down with four days food (back then it was mostly canned food), so was likley at least 40# and probably more. I hear the pack being dragged across the ground.
After I got my heart started back up, I gave a shout and made a lot of noise getting out from under the table. Something had gotten in it and had run off with a loaf of bread. I cinch the pack back up and put it under the drop cloth on the seat of the picnic table and tried to go back to sleep, but every small noise I heard suddenly seemed like Sasquatch coming down the hill with blood in his eye.
About 10 minutes pass and I've gotten myself under control, when all of a sudden it feels like something is walking on my sleeping bag. I'm side sleeping in a semi-fetal postion and this thing curls up behind me right where my knees are bent. I've got no idea what the durnting is and I am frightened devoid of feces but muster up enough courage to flex my knees inward sharply and what ever it was left the area.
I finally got to sleep as I'd hiked a long way that day and when I woke up I thought I might have imagined the whole thing. Until I saw six or seven dusty racoon paw prints on my sleeping bag.
You were "spooned" by a raccoon
Too funny I just snorted the cider I was drinking out my nose...