It was nearly dark when my two brothers and I arrived at the Ranger Station in the Shenandoah National park. As the ranger was issuing us our camping permit, he warned us to be careful of bears. After we had put on our hiking boots and adjusted our backpacks, we set off down the nearest trail with only a flashlight to guide us. While we were tramping through the forest, we heard many strange noises. As soon as we arrived at a small clearing up, we began to set up camp. I held the flashlight while my brothers were setting up the tent. I noticed that the light was getting dimmer and dimmer; apparently the batteries were going dead. Soon I could hear my brothers snoring and I could see the faint shadows of the forest as the moon began to rise. Just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard a strange scratching noise outside. I suddenly remembered the ranger’s warning about bears. I woke my brothers up. My oldest brother grabbed the flashlight, but the batteries then had gone dead. Suddenly we heard a loud grunt. Upon hearing this awful sound, we all scrambled out of the tent and took off running as fast as we could, screaming for help. Exhausted, we finally reached our car near the station, jumped in, and took off. We never did return for our great. In fact, after that scary experience, I have never gone camping again, and I do not think I ever will.
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