We hiked till five and camped beside a spring in a small, grassy clearing in the trees just off the trail. Because it was our first day back on the trail, we had plenty of food, including cheese and bread that had to be eaten before they went off or were shaken to bits in our backpacks, so we rather gorged ourselves, then sat around chatting lazily until numerous little flying insects drove us into our tents. It was perfect sleeping weather, cool enough to need a sleeping bag but warm enough that you could sleep in your underwear, and I was looking forward to a long night's sleep – indeed was enjoying a long night's sleep – when, at some dark hour, there was a sound nearby that woke me up suddenly. Normally, I slept through everything – through thunderstorms, through Katz's snoring – so something big enough to wake me was unusual. There was a sound of breaking branches, something heavy pushing through the trees, and then a ­kind of loud breathing noise. I sat straight up. Every neuron in my brain was awake. I reached for my knife, then realized I had left it in my backpack, just outside the tent. After many quiet nights, I was no longer worried about having to defend myself in the night. There was another noise, quite near.
‘Stephen, you awake?’ I whispered.
‘Yup,’ he replied in a tired but normal voice.
‘What was that?’
‘How should I know.’

‘It sounded big.’
‘Everything sounds big in the woods.’
This was true. Once a skunk had come through our camp and it had sounded like a stegosaurus. There was another noise and then the sound of drinking at the spring. It was having a drink, whatever it was. I moved on my knees to the foot of the tent, carefully opened the entrance and looked out, but it was pitch black. As quietly as I could, I brought in my backpack and with the light of a small flashlight searched through it for my knife. When I found it and opened it I was shocked at how small it looked. It was perfectly suitable for, say, putting butter on pancakes, but useless for defending oneself against 400 pounds of hungry bear. Carefully, very carefully, I climbed from the tent and put on the flashlight, which shone a disappointingly feeble light. Something about fifteen or twenty feet away looked up at me. I couldn't see anything at all of its shape or size – only two shining eyes. It went silent, whatever it was, and stared back at me.
‘Stephen,’ I whispered at his tent, ‘did you pack a knife?’
‘No.’
‘Have you got anything sharp at all?’
He thought for a moment. ‘Nail clippers.’


HOW TO SURVIVE A BEAR ATTACK
You’re more likely to die from a bee sting than you are to be killed by a bear, but in the unlikely event of meeting a bear in the wild, here are a few tips. The best way to survive a bear encounter is to never have one. This is not too difficult because most bears just want to be left alone. Bears often want your food, so if you’re camping in bear territory, make sure you store your food carefully, at least 100 metres from your tent. To avoid surprising a bear in the wild, make a noise as you walk, sing loudly, clap your hands. Never get between a female bear and her cubs. If you do come face to face with a bear, don’t turn your back and run – you’re acting like prey. Stay calm and walk backwards and slowly take out your pepper spray – it’s better than a gun. If the bear runs towards you, aim the spray just above the bear’s head. It almost always works! If the bear keeps coming towards you, lie down on your front with your hands over the back of your neck to protect it, and pretend to be dead. Don’t move for at least twenty minutes.