I went camping and kayaking with Megan over the weekend, and it was a blast. Kayaking is a great way to spend the day, but the real adventure didn’t happen until the sun went down.

We were sitting by the campfire, having polished off a couple s’mores, when a bag of food moved on the picnic table about ten feet away.

Then it fell on the ground.

Megan shot out of her chair, which was closer to the table, and stood next to mine. I used my Tracker School and MMA training to sit in my chair with my mouth open.

Then it started sliding across the ground. It was one of Megan’s Chico bags, a reusable canvas bag that she takes to the store and uses instead of paper or plastic. We both watched it disappear around the corner of the tent.

I decided I should get the bag back. (This could eventually be referred to as “Poor Decision #1″)

I ran around the corner of the tent and saw the bag about to disappear into the dark woods and underbrush. It was being dragged by a raccoon powered by twin diesel engines. I stepped toward the monster and he stopped, turned, and yelled at me to stop following him.

I stopped. He kept on, and I decided it would be a good thing for me to have a flashlight. I considered driving the hour and forty minutes back home to get one, but there was one in the tent that would probably work just as well. Dammit.

I got the flashlight and went into the woods. Megan, in an amazing display of sanity, stayed by the fire. I could hear the raccoon moving through the underbrush ahead. I moved toward the noise and five steps later my flashlight beam fell on the skeleton of a deer.

I immediately realized the raccoon killed this deer and left its bones as a warning. I paused. The beast was near; I could smell him. He stank of tyranny and arrogance.

I ignored the warning and pushed on.

Two more steps and the varmint loosed a growl that may or may not have summoned a bog demon. I wasn’t sure where the raccoon was, but he was close. I snapped a dead branch off a nearby tree to use as a spear in case of ambush.

The flashlight showed several deer runs that he could have used, but I had the feeling he was to my front right. I headed that way, hoping I wasn’t putting the monster between myself and the camp. If Megan started yelling, I’d know it was all a clever ruse to lure me away from the cash and car keys.

A few more steps, and my feet squished into thick swamp mud. The river wasn’t too far ahead, so it would only get worse. I wondered what a harassed, surly raccoon would do when cornered against flowing water, and I didn’t think my insurance would cover it.

I returned to camp. For the next hour, I heard noises from the woods that let me know he was thoroughly enjoying his snack. Sore winner.

The next morning, under the protection of sunshine and Blackhawk helicopters, I ventured into the woods again and found the remains about ten feet from where I’d stopped.

The strawberry container was open and empty.

The Ziploc bag of cookies was shredded and empty.

The Chico bag, which had been tied shut, was neatly untied and completely intact. Except for a few holes from when he’d dragged it, the raccoon had treated the bag quite gently.

So he got a tasty treat, and Megan got her bag back. I think all is well.

If you don’t hear from me soon, you’ll know I was wrong.