The Ozette Raccoon Incident, pt. 7

Approaching darkness meant the raccoons would soon grow bold, and we were Ready. Theo positioned himself at the front of the shelter, clutching his fishing rod and quivering with mischevious anticipation. I was stationed nearby, hunkered down, ready to spring into action. The others watched at a safe distance.

For a few minutes nothing happened. Then, quiet rustling sounds could be heard back in the salal. Cans rattled together gently, and the fishing line twitched a bit. Then everything happened at once.

Rustle! Clattter! The rod twitched once, twice, and suddenly:

"I GOT ONE!" yelled Theo as the tip of the rod dove. "'COON ON!" He reefed back to set the snare as the rod bounced wildly. "YEEHAW!"

A terrific din of panicky snarling and spitting exploded from the salal, and the bushes shook with the force of frantic struggle. "REEL 'IM IN!" I shouted, leaping to my feat in a burst of adrenaline. Theo reefed back again…and the line whipped back from the bushes and went slack.

"Damn! It got away!" Theo said dejectedly.

Suffice it to say that we were not harassed by our little friends for the rest of the trip – in fact, the remainder was so uneventful that there is nothing left to report.

But to this day, I am still a little disappointed he didn't get the raccoon all the way into camp.

¶ Monday, July 11, 2005