On a Florida Campout, Alligators Aren't the Troublemakers

Our family has been camping for years. My parents went on their first camping trip soon after their wedding. That time, Dad convinced Mom it would be fun to sleep under the stars. After a lightning storm struck as they slept on ground rich in iron ore, my parents bought a tent. When I came along, the family campouts increased with extended stays in the mountains. Then our family moved to Florida. It took a while to adjust to camping in the subtropics but we learned to deal with humidity and mosquitoes.

I grew up, married and had children. Our family still camps in tents. No matter how big the tent, privacy is impossible to achieve. There are inevitable mishaps and meltdowns. It doesn't take long for family lore to develop about our various camping expeditions.

Like other families, we have the usual stories about over-roasted marshmallows, insect swarms, lost paths on hiking treks, fizzled cooking fires, wildlife encounters. In Florida, the wildlife tends to be a little different than other regions. We've camped in places where we had to watch for gators when we made our way from the tent to the bathrooms. Alligators trigger primal fears but, really, crabs have been a much bigger problem. I'm talking about the little crustaceans with claws just to clear up any confusion. I expected crabs to move out of the way when humans tromp through crab territory. Since then, I've learned not to assume anything about animal or human behavior.

No assumptions is an especially good idea when it comes to two innocuous looking creatures: squirrels and raccoons. I believe the animal groups have worked out a deal so squirrels get the place by day and raccoons take over at night. Scientists would tell me it's simply that one species is diurnal and the other is nocturnal but I think it's more like two gangs who have worked out a territory agreement.

Any notions I've had about squirrels, rodents with cute fluffy tails, being timid creatures has been obliterated. Florida squirrels are tough. We had a picnic disrupted by an organized squirrel mob. One squirrel climbed to the top of the (unlit) barbeque grill to chatter at us while the rest of his pack took turns jumping on our table's edge. We guarded our food so the squirrels would land back on the ground empty-pawed. The squirrels gave us reproachful looks then they would table dive again. My husband said all the squirrels needed were leather jackets to complete the act.

Squirrels might demand a cut of the family's food but raccoons simply take it. They don't always wait until dark to come out but once night falls all food, shiny objects and small electronics should be secured in - well, there really isn't any such thing as a completely raccoon proof container but we've made valiant efforts. We've put food in closed plastic bins inside a zipped up tent. Then we watched as the little bandits deftly unzipped the tent just enough for the gang to slip inside.

Raccoons have come up to our tents while we've slept, they've tried to get into our car when the door was open and they definitely partied on our picnic table when we took a nighttime hike. They make the squirrels look like amateurs when it comes to shaking down campers. Despite all of our crab, squirrel and raccoon encounters, our favorite family camping saga doesn't involve curious wildlife. It's not what we find in the woods that's the most dangerous to our well being. It's what, or who, we bring with us that ultimately sinks a camping trip.

Even though all of us, down to my youngest child, can tell this story it actually involves a trip my parents took by themselves. It's frequently told with glee and as an object lesson in water physics. Of course, we know about it because Mom is a good sport who laughs about it now. Keyword in that last sentence is now.

My parents decided to spend a relaxing weekend at a nearby historic park with campground. This is Florida, so the question is when will it rain, not if. Other places have seasons. Florida has "hot and sunny" or "hot and rainy." Summer time is especially wet and this camping trip took place near the middle of summer. The day had been clear so naturally that meant the rain was due to fall during the night.

As the clouds gathered, Mom asked if the tent would be sufficient shelter. After all, home was just an hour long drive away. Dad assured her that they would be snug and dry in their tent with one caveat. The tent, made of sturdy canvas, was designed to repel water. He said they would need to make sure they absolutely did not touch the sides of the tent. Together, they pulled their bedding and other items away from the sides. Mom asked what would happen if she touched the tent during a rainstorm. "Water will come in," Dad replied.

"Really?" Mom skeptically asked.

"Yes, really. Don't touch the sides of the tent and we'll be dry." Dad eyed her suspiciously and Mom dutifully nodded that she understood.

They settled in and shortly after the rain started dropping. Dad, being male, promptly fell asleep. Mom had a harder time drifting off. She decided to read for a little while. She listened to the plop, plop, plop on the tent. She looked up at the streaks of water on the sides of the tent. She looked around. All was still dry inside. She tried to concentrate on her book again.

The lantern cast shadows on the tent walls making the rain splatters an ever changing artwork. Once again, Mom marveled that so much rain could fall while they stayed dry. She wondered how serious was the ban on touching the tent walls. She looked over at Dad, slumbering peacefully, and with a sigh went back to her book.

I should explain here that Mom has a natural curiosity which makes Pandora look like a model of restraint. Her eyes were once more irresistibly drawn to the sides of the tent. Would the tent wall feel wet? How much harm could one little touch do to the tent?

Carefully, she pointed with finger. Choosing an inconspicuous spot even with her line of sight, she reached out and made contact with the tent wall. At first, it just felt like fabric. Then, slowly, she became aware that her finger tip felt wet. She jerked her hand back and examined the tent wall. Where her finger had touched, there was a small wet spot.

That's not so bad, Mom thought. She glanced over at Dad who blissfully kept sleeping. She looked back at the tent wall. The small wet spot was still there. She touched the wall again, a quick little jab this time. It didn't look any different. Another poke and the wall held but the spot was looking a little wetter. OK, I better stop now, Mom thought.

Resolving not to touch it again, she turned back to her book. A few minutes later, her eyes were drawn back to the wet spot. It had grown. Much like a paper towel used to blot a spill, the small spot was spreading into a bigger spot. That's probably not good, thought Mom. Now she made an effort to actively ignore the tent wall.

Except a sound brought her attention back to the growing breach in the tent. Water was dripping in. It was just a small drop or two or more but still manageable. Mom put a towel down to catch the drops, inched away from the area and desperately tried to concentrate on her book. It was no use. The drops had now turned into a steady stream and a good section of the tent wall was obviously wet.

With some alarm, Mom looked from Dad to the tent wall. A small puddle was forming on the floor and more water poured in. Feeling a bit frantic now, she put more towels down. The towels mopped up water but they also made contact with the tent walls. Soon, the whole wall was looking wet and water came in freely. Mom's bedding was starting to soak up water too.

It was time to follow the honored tradition of waking the husband to deal with the something-outside-is-threatening-to-come-inside crisis. Mom gently woke Dad, "Honey, wake up now! Water is coming into the tent and we're going to get soaked!" Dad blinked and tried to figure out what was happening as Mom started tossing everything that was still dry into plastic containers.

By the time Dad was fully awake and aware, the rain had stopped. It's Florida. Weather changes abruptly here. Mom didn't even have to explain that she had touched the tent wall during the height of the storm. Dad looked around the tent and shook his head. Together, they wiped up the pooled water from the floor then assessed the situation. Nothing was damaged. The tent would be fine once it got a chance to dry out. As long as it didn't rain again, they should be able to make it through the rest of the night. The sky was clear and the racoons were already starting to case the campsite for unsecured small objects and food.

Dad advised Mom to get some sleep. She tried to get comfortable but her blankets were damp. The wet canvas didn't smell good either. She looked over at Dad. He was already drifting back to sleep. He can sleep through anything, she thought. This sparked an idea. Just before Dad completely nodded off, he heard Mom's plaintive question. "So, do you want to trade places?"

Marauding raccoons and a tentmate who invites the storm inside - an alligator would have been less trouble.