Pardon me for being a bit off topic, but I love this picture and this thread reminded me of it.
We found this little fellow one night after it had crawled into a friends open hatch and then couldn't get out. We ended up placing a paddle in the open hatch and within moments it scampered out (but not before I managed to snap a photo):
If you really want to keep the little darling out smear some habanero sauce, Mentholatum, or Dr. Bengue’ ointment around the seals. This also works for keeping snakes out of a tent. wash hands immediately after applying. If you don’t for some reason your hands tend to want to rub your eyes, which will instantly cause an immense wailing and gnashing of teeth!
Story: The Coon of Farm Island There was a big coon that pretty much owned the camp site on Farm Island (Moosehead Lake). We stayed there over a week and battled this guy every night but one.
We had one wooden food box the coon was especially fixated on. He’d bypass other stuff and go for that box. I theorize that somebody must have once used it for a cutting board or cleaned fish on it. The box was about 24"x16"x16" and weighted twenty or thirty pounds loaded with food.
Several nights into our stay there, we were determined to keep Mr. Coon outa this box. Tied it up with three or four ropes, then put it ontop of some other gear and moved a heavy State-provided picnic table on top of the wood box.
Sure enough, come the middle of the night, and the coon is making a racket in the camp, banging stuff around. After 30 minutes or so, I got up. The box was gone. I shined my light down the path to the privy, and there was the coon dragging that box away. Probably the largest coon I ever met. Coon stopped dragging, took a step toward me, and fixed me with a stare that said, “It’s mine! You want it, you’re going to have to fight me for it.” Plenty of rocks around that Island, and one the size of a duck pin ball was soon headed his way. He side stepped it and took about two steps away from the box, still giving me that stare. Like, “is that all you got? Ain’t scairt.” Another rock and the coon turned away and took about six steps before looking back, to see, what else, another rock, at which point he moved off. Not ran away, mind you, just sort of shuffled off like, “Geez, what’s the big deal, you got other boxes.”
Next day, we’re pissed about this coon keeps waking us up. We decided to see if we could find the coon. Turn the tables on him, so to speak. We followed an amazing trail of trash off through the woods. Over time, it was obvious this coon had hauled much booty from that site. When the trash trail ended, we started looking for a nesting spot. We spent an hour out there, shoving sticks down holes, banging on logs with our ax, and generally creating a ruckus, but of course could not find this wiley coon. However, that night was the only night of the trip Mr. Coon failed to visit our site. Maybe we ruined his beauty sleep or something. We thought we had him rousted. But the following night, our last on that island, the coon was back again and again we had to do battle to keep our diminishing supply of vittles.
So, planning to go visit Farm Island? Better pick up on some of the anti-coon tips in this thread before you go. The .22 solution sounds good to me.
Cute until they have eaten 3 days of your food, about $60 . I stopped hunting years ago, but if the state ever has an open coon season on Hunting Island , I’m there.
