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So, back to Yosemite. Yes, Yosemite, for despite my concerns in the Canadian wilderness that I would be attacked whilst having a widdle by a BEAR, as you will doubtless have guessed from the fact I’m writing this now, no bears hove into view whilst I was thus engaged (in case you’re still wondering, I looked down rather than up, so I suppose it’s possible that a bear did approach me, decide it was unsporting to nab me while I was on the lav, and go about its business. If it did, I remained in blissful ignorance, swiftly returned to the tent and tried to forget as I snuggled back down that only a millimetre or so of polyester lay between me and any passing BEARS.)

So, having survived this non-BEAR experience, years later there I was in Yosemite with Leslie and Terry walking in the dark towards the meadow which covers the valley bottom next to the Merced River. For the first part of the walk we stuck to the road and were passed every now and again by a car, which was reassuring for someone worrying about BEARS (who tend not to drive). However, eventually we reached the meadow and headed across it along a track towards the river, since for the sort of photography Leslie had in mind we needed to be away from light. Eventually we reached a spot with a great view of the mountains to the north-east of the meadow and the whole sweep of the sky above, glittering with stars. The track continued ahead through woods which curved to border the track the way we had come, so that as we gazed across the valley we had open space in front of us and woods behind us and to our right. Woods which might, of course, contain BEARS.

More tomorrow