The first year I hunted in a lease in 1975, we bunked in a very old building. It was full of rats, nothing to have one scurry across your sleeping bag. There was one old guy ". My age now" that was deathly afraid of rats. Every night he drank until he couldn't hardly walk. We tied a wig on a piece of monofilament fishing line. We put a couple of eyes in the wall behind his bunk so we could jerk the wig out of his bag. Sure enough, old Billy came to bed drunk. Once the light went out and he settled in, the guy jerked the wig out. Billy was screaming and flopping until he fell out on the floor. We laughed our asses off.
WARNING: When camping I sleep with my 1911.
