The most scared I can remember being in the woods was the fall after I got out of the service. During squirrel season I packed into the back side of the lake on Giles Island. I knew that snakes where bad in that area so I wrapped up my gear in a piece of paper mill felt that I was going to make into a hammock, to get off the ground. Now there was a rumor(actually it was a fact) that there was a "crazy" man living on the island whose wife had disappeared and he was having children with his daughter.
After I got my camp set up I killed a couple of squirrels and after I had cleaned them I made a pot of coffee and got me a cup. By now it was pitch black dark. I had stood my double barreled 16 gauge against a tree beside my head light which was on the opposite side of the fire from where I was crouched. About half way through the cup of coffee, all hell broke loose right behind me, I mean right on me. There was loud rustling in the dry leaves, limbs breaking, sounded like a damn bull moose busting in on me. I threw the coffee down and dove across the fire, doing a first class offensive roll as I grabbed the shot gun in one hand and the light in the other. I knew that crazy man was fixing to land on my back. I threw the light on the noise just as I started to pull the trigger and it was a damn armadillo rooting around in a rotten pile of brush. It took my heart at least 15 minutes to get back to a relatively normal rate.

"Its a damn weak minded person who can only think of one way to spell a work." Andrew Jackson