Camping dangers
Thirty years or so ago, when hitching and camping in France, I ended up one evening at a public free site on a hill in the woods above Fontainebleau. A pit toilet, a water tap and a sign asking you to take your rubbish with you. No electric light, and in a clearing in the trees.
I was the only person there, and I pitched my little tent, and had supper. Then, when it was getting dark, I retired. A while later, I was woken by something hitting the nylon flysheet of the tent. After this happened a few times, I decided to have a look, expecting to find some maniac armed with a knife.
I gingerly unzipped a corner of the door and looked out into the gloom, where I saw two cute little baby boars playing with each other in the clearing. I was enjoying this sight, when I then noticed the proud mother supervising them: as big as my tent, and of a much higher density.
I closed the zip, and tried not to breathe. About fifteen minutes later, silence returned. But I did not sleep easy!