Read the beginning of Mountains of Light: Seasons of Reflection in Yosemite by R. Mark Liebenow:
"In the middle of the night something pushes on my toes. Half asleep, I think a nocturnal squirrel is rooting around at the bottom of my tent. There is scuffling and the animal bumps hard against the hollows of my feet. That’s no squirrel. It’s larger, perhaps a raccoon. Then I hear a low guttural snort and National Geographic images rush into my head-grizzlies mauling their helpless prey, wolves tearing elk apart with their long savage teeth.
With my heart pounding, I lie as still as a mummy.
When I hear the creature shuffle away, I risk sitting up, making as little noise as possible, and peek out the tent’s opening. I detect a sour musky scent but the darkness is so thick that at first I don’t see anything. Then the animal moves into the slight moonlight hovering between trees a dozen feet away and I’m able to make out a back that is big, black, and shaggy.
Bears unsettle me when they are this close. They are strong enough to rip the doors off cars when hungry, can flatten a tent in one leap, and have claws that can shred the bark of trees. My shelter’s thin nylon skin wouldn’t stop a chipmunk determined to get in. It’s January and this bear is supposed to be hibernating, not roaming around.
Pulling my head back in, I zip up the tent and force myself to lie down. I listen to the sounds of the wilderness for a long time, hear the twitching of branches and the rustling of dry leaves. I do not sleep well."
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