Compromise Campout #5

No shit, there I was…

I was sleeping in a screen tent on a warm, still, moonless, September night; hooked up to my Darth Vader mask and snug as a bug in a rug.

The forest decided to get cheeky. The forest that I think of as my domain just flat out was alive with critters. Normally, I don’t care. This time I didn’t care either; as I explained to the deer, I’m the predator out there.

However, I was mentally prepared for National Park Campsite levels of “nature” and got “Curmudgeon’s backyard” levels of nature. I didn’t see it coming.

Sometime after I drifted off in the most heavenly sleep, I was awakened by… I have no idea. At first I thought it was a fox. Then I thought it was a screech owl. Finally I admitted I had no clue what was making that weird lonesome sound. For all I knew it was a Yeti. Not that I was worried, but I was baffled.

Then my phone lit up. Mrs. Curmudgeon had texted me. I must admit she was probably worried about me out there… but also the sound had woken her up.

Mrs. Curmudgeon: “What the hell are you doing out there?”

Me: “That’s not me, it’s a critter.”

Mrs. Curmudgeon: “I’ve never heard anything like it.”

Me: “I haven’t either. Maybe it’s a fox or an owl? If it comes into my screen tent I’ll shoot it and then we’ll know.”

By that time whatever it was had finished doing whatever it had been doing. I expected to ruminate on the oddity that after all these years I still sometimes hear a thing I can’t identify. Instead, my Darth Vader mask and fluffy sleeping bag had me asleep in minutes.

After some further time (I didn’t have a watch and didn’t consult my phone) another deer showed up. It was just as pissed off as the last one. (I think it was a doe though.) It snorted and carried on like it was going to trample my screen tent. I took off the mask and said “fuck off Bambi” and it split.

Good grief. It was like sleeping in a zoo! Even so, it was quite peaceful. I laid still just enjoying the universe. The moon had come out, but only partially.

Something else wandered by. It had the good sense to ignore me and I reciprocated. It was probably a porcupine but I didn’t have my glasses on so I have no idea. It could have been a Mastodon for all I know.

Then I woke up again because the coyotes were howling. I hear both wolves and coyotes from my house; the coyotes are more common. Coyotes have distinct “group howls” and I try to categorize them. Most impressive is the angry “this is our territory and step off hoser” howl, followed closely by the “we think the train is more coyotes and we don’t like it” howl. There’s the somewhat more feral “we’re hunting and feel particularly hard core” howl. Sometimes there’s the “pups are learning and not yet good at it” howl; which is just hilarious. Then sometimes they go completely apeshit. I call this the “we’re having a rave” howl.

They were absolutely spastic. I pictured disco balls and coyotes taking ecstasy. It was the sound of punchbowls filled with tequila and monster trucks crashing into swimming pools. They were having the biggest party of the year.

As I listened, chuckling to myself, I heard our dog (which was in the house and surely sleeping on the bed with Mrs. Curmudgeon) start barking its fool head off. Great Pyrenees are guardian dogs. They are bred not to herd sheep but to kill wolves and coyotes that need killin’. Our dog is a complete creampuff but it’s still a guardian. Some vestigial notion in its mind causes it to bark aggressively from within the warm comfy house… like a massive,og-fur-shedding, fire alarm. This, I suppose in it’s dog mind, will summon me, who is not afraid of anything that goes bump in the night. Our routine is that I check the door and tell the dog she’s done well. The dog literally won’t shut up until it sees me inspect the situation.

The cell phone lit up again.

Mrs. Curmudgeon: “The goddamn dog won’t stop barking. What are those coyotes doing out there?”

Me: “It sounds like they’re doing lines of cocaine.”

Mrs. Curmudgeon: “Can you shut them up?”

Me: “I’m not leaving my warm fluffy sleeping bag to don night vision shit and go do tactical warfare with coyotes. I’m on the DL list, remember?”

Mrs. Curmudgeon: “The dog is freaking out.”

Me: “Go to the door, peek out like you’re a super hunter sniper, tell the dog she did well. The dog lives for this.”

I don’t know if she really did that, but the dog eventually stopped barking and the coyotes had stopped howling. By then I had to take a leak and stepped out of my screen tent.

Right into the vision of another deer… that promptly tore off for the State line.

It was an interesting night. I think I could camp at the most awesome National Parks in America and see less wildlife than I did that night.

But I still had fun. I drifted off after each animal did it’s thing. I didn’t wake up until dawn.

It was foggy but none of my gadgets got wet with dew. I thought about staying in my cot and sleeping late. Unfortunately, the chipmunks were terrorizing each other in the nearby oak tree and they decided on my behalf I’d slept enough.

I started a fire and began to brew coffee. Mrs. Curmudgeon texted to check that I was ok. I said I had fresh coffee and she showed up, dog in tow, very quickly. We sat in the shade of the trees, sipping coffee and watching the dog make a mess of my carefully piled firewood sticks. It was the perfect ending to a perfect campout. Sure it was a short and lame campout, but I’ll be damned if it wouldn’t take a week in the wilderness to see (or hear) that much nighttime critter activity.

I wanted to stay out another night but a few hours later a weather front blew in and I decided to refrain from pressing my luck. I packed my shit, joined the “real world”, and accepted that I’m not going camping again for a little while.

It was the only night I’ve spent “under the stars” in 2025, which is just about the fewest I’ve done in a decade. But I’ve got plans for October. I’ve planned another mild campout, this time with my hot tent. Snow isn’t out of the question, which won’t be a problem if I’ve setup the stove. The amusing part is I’ll be at a campsite. It won’t be nearly so wild and woolly as my yard.