Wildlife Encounters
And my worst week of sleep while camping
Last week, I couldn’t sleep while camping. Not because I was cold or my sleeping pad was uncomfortable or a neighbor had pointed a light at my tent. My sleep set up was just as cozy as it always is and I was so tired from long days of volunteer trailwork that I should have easily drifted into a dreamless slumber. However, sleep eluded me night after night because I was haunted by the resident raccoons at the group campground in Devil’s Lake State Park.
Devil’s Lake is a jewel of the Wisconsin State Parks system, with upwards of three million visitors per year drawn in by the rosy-purple hue of the Baraboo quartzite bluffs. Those visitors hike the trails, swim in the lake, and climb the rock formations. They also leave food unattended in the campgrounds and inadvertently train generations of raccoons to be fearless.
This was my second camping trip at Devil’s Lake. What I most remember about my first—also in the group campground—was reaching for a bag of chips next to me on the picnic table and making eye contact with a raccoon that was reaching for the same bag. I want to clarify that this wasn’t food I had abandoned on the other side of our campsite; I was leaning up against the picnic table enjoying the fire with six or seven other people and the bag of chips was less than my (very short) arm’s length away. If I had fully extended my elbow, I could have touched that raccoon.
For this trip, I insisted on a campsite as far away from the dumpsters as possible in the vain hope that the raccoons would congregate by the buffet of trash instead of lurking around us. It didn’t help as much as I had hoped. Each night, we buttoned up camp before sunset—locking away food and kitchenware, stashing our bags of trash and recycling in a covered truck bed, and picking up the scraps of lettuce and tortilla chips that had fallen into the dirt during dinner. Still, eyes glinted from the shadows as night fell, undeterred by the dozen people and a dog sitting around a roaring fire. Retreating to my tent didn’t bring any relief—the raccoons patrolled our site for hours and each new rustle of movement jolted me out of my fitful doze. By Thursday evening, my nerves were completely frayed and I began hallucinating raccoons in the wisps of the campfire smoke.
To keep my imagination in check, I coaxed several friends into walking to the bathroom with me after dark, a buddy system built on the idea that multiple headlamps would offer better illumination along the narrow, wooded trail than mine alone. When I opened the bathroom door one night before bed, I discovered a trio of high school girls also using the buddy system who looked unenthused about their imminent return to the darkness. I didn’t blame them one bit.
Imagine that was your first camping experience—a school trip where you can’t leave early, you are sleeping on unfamiliar, borrowed gear, and every time you toss and turn in the night, you hear scampering on the other side of the mesh wall. Now throw in a campfire story or two about raccoons unzipping tents to get at toothpaste or forgotten granola bars and you may very well decide that you are better suited for the Great Indoors. After all, Devil’s Lake is the most popular park in the state, so if you don’t like camping there, why would anywhere else be different?
If any of those girls from the bathroom ever stumble across this essay, I hope they will believe me when I say that camping is not usually that stressful. Raccoons are not usually that bold and dumpsters in areas with problem wildlife are usually better secured. I promise that it is possible to get a good night’s sleep in a tent and to actually enjoy a middle-of-the-night walk to the bathroom alone. Don’t let a rough introduction to camping discourage you from getting out there again. And to everyone else, remember to store your food and trash properly so that your favorite campground doesn’t turn into a raccoon rave when the sun goes down.
Some of my worst nights were in California campgrounds where people fail to use the bear-proof food boxes provided in every site. All night long you hear air horns as they try to chase off bears that wouldn't be there if folks would follow easy steps with their food and trash.
Ugh, I much prefer the lesser-visited parks (or backpacking), partly for that reason. Also, it's not the raccoons' fault (not that knowing that makes sleep any easier!) - (some) humans are the ones feeding the raccoons because they think they're cute (which, admittedly, they are) or storing food inappropriately. And the rest of the campers have to deal with the consequences.
It's also ultimately bad for the raccoons themselves.