        Dale looked around his camp.  His tent was set up, his firepit cleared.  A folding table was secured under his dining fly, and any food which might have a scent was suspended from a tree limb in a bag—more out of a force of habit than anything else; there were no creatures other than raccoons and squirrels on the island which might take advantage of his food if he left it on the table, but he had been camping where there were bears, and old habits died hard.