Madeira Revisited 3. We were above the clouds again on the Thursday, quite near to where we had been the previous day, but after a much longer drive because of a road closure. We were driven to a pretty high spot, and thereafter would walk, theoretically to the top of Pico Ruivo (1862 metres/1608 feet) which was not much higher, except that there was a great deal of up and down, (a very great deal of up and down), on the way. I left the keen botanists behind, and better walkers than I went ahead of me. I just took my time, and, as the previous day, amused myself taking photos of plants and views.
Near the beginning of the walk, looking south
Looking north-west
Looking north, over to the radar station on Pico d’Arieiro where we had been the previous day. So near yet so far. It was walkable along a rather hazardous footpath, and we saw people on it.
Looking back after a short while to the car park
The weather was ideal for walking, not too hot, with a little breeze. Much, but not all, of the path was paved, like this.
Could a path be more inviting…?
lined with buttercuppy plants,
… and dandeliony plants?
We had been told that the last part, to the top of the Pico, was just 400 steps. The white splodge at the upper right of this picture is a refuge at the bottom of those last 400 steps. 
After quite a lot of walking I had admitted to myself that there was no way I was going to inflict that last stage on myself, and indeed that I would probably turn round well before it. In fact I did make it to the refuge, but once there was not in the least enticed by the thought of being able to see a very rare plant (viola paradoxa, a yellow violet, an oxymoron to me!) at the top, or by the encouragement of my companions to attempt it. 
A guide at the refuge to some of the plants in the area. I can’t see my buttercuppy or dandeliony plants there – probably too common – but the viola paradoxa is there).
On the way back
I ate my lunch at this halt, 
pleased to find that it was not totally occupied by others already. Given that doing the walk were many people of many nationalities – German, then French, then Portuguese in my estimation far outnumbering British people – I was pleased to have a bench to myself.
The cloud cleared to the north of the island …
but not to the north, which is not how it’s meant to be!
We moved on in the early afternoon to Porto da Cruz, on the north coast, where I had been on my previous visit to Madeira, so I didn’t take many photos. While there we were able to visit a sugar cane processing factory, new to me,
to have a wander around the coastline, 
and to admire the geology. 
I hadn’t really twigged before that volcanic rock could be sedimentary, but of course these lines are formed by layer upon layer of volcanic ash and other spewings.
A cool drink (I took the drink based on local sugar cane rum, poncha,) in the shade at a local café made a nice end to our outing, and another good evening meal at a Funchal restaurant, followed by a vertical hike back to our hotel, rounded off the day nicely.
Each morning the minibuses picked us up at 9 a.m. for the day’s touring. I had indeed been to our first stop, the Pico do Arieiro, pretty well due north of Funchal, halfway between north and south coasts. As it is 1818 metres, nearly 6000 feet, high, the third highest peak on the island, I was pleased the buses took us all the way there, and also that, as before, while we had driven through cloud, we were well above it by now, and indeed this time it cleared while we were there. Previously, we had hung around the top by the radar station and the café/shop centre, admiring the wonderful views. This time we walked among them along a ridge for an hour or so, learning about the plants. 
Indeed, on the previous occasion I had noticed that there were ‘levada’ walks from that place, known for its trout farms, and I was pleased to have the opportunity this time to follow them up. We did two, one before our picnic lunch and one after. The first 
took us to a viewpoint at Balcóes. I took all these following photos within ten minutes of each other and from the same spot!
I struck out on my own, as did most people, leaving the very keen botanists with Martin, along a broad levada walk, again from Ribeiro Frio. 
After a rest at out hotel, we walked down to town for a meal in one of the dozens of restaurants in the Rua de Santa Maria, where you take your liberty in your hands if you haven’t already a booking (we had) or at least a target firmly in mind!
Taking the quiet roads enabled me to see and stop at more wildflower-studded meadows, 
and pretty – if forlorn – houses. 
This part of France maintains many of the plane trees lining roads, originally designed to shade those walking or driving carts along them. (Other places blame them for car accidents and have ripped them out.) 
I had never before seen oaks serving the same purpose. 
Coffee time, and I stopped at a town called Villemur-sur-Tarn. No problem in parking here, though I didn’t go right into the centre, but stopped along an embankment of the Tarn. 
When I saw this as I walked into the centre, I did wonder if I should have left my phone number in the windscreen! 
It was reassuring shortly afterwards to find out that the last time that the flooding had come so high was in 1766. 
The more modern notice must have been for the underground car park I had passed.
But what’s happened to the celebrated French pavement café? I could find absolutely nowhere, inside or outside, to have a drink! Even the Café de l’Hôtel de Ville was empty, not just of people but of furniture! 
Fortunately I had water in the car.
I hadn’t seen many poppies, which like disturbed ground, at all, so was very pleased, when driving around a town with a huge gravel works, to see these on a recently constructed bank. 
From now on I was concentrating on getting to the car hire depot on time, and on finding fuel to be able to return the car with a full tank. At the airport it was with great satisfaction that I abandoned my poor, spoke-broken umbrella to a bin!
I drove on
By now it was nearly lunchtime, so I looked out for either something to buy or somewhere to eat. Everything shut – it was Monday, as I explained to some Canadian (?) tourists who approached me to ask firstly if I spoke English and then if I had seen an open restaurant. I walked up to one of the two castles. Given the age of each, I was not sure whether this was the old one or the new one, but I took a few more photos up there. 
When I eventually found parking, I saw from my satnav that the interesting old town was pedestrianised, and a five- to ten-minute walk away. I didn’t get out of my car. 
A further long drive followed, and I was delighted that the satnav took me off the main roads and by some fields of wildflowers, and between rain showers. Sadly, I don’t think these photos do justice their prettiness.
As I was gasping by now for a drink, I just parked in the centre of 
Its church was unprepossessing from outside.
I stepped inside to find almost complete darkness, and total silence. I felt cushioned by the silence. No traffic noise, no resonance, not a rustle, no sacred muzak, no electric hum. Absolute, total silence. Lovely – a tiny bit spooky even.
I moved on to the next village highlighted on my map, Giroussens. A great viewpoint, with an interesting field shaped by the bend in the River Agout, but it was beginning to blow hard now, presaging rain, I feared. 
I walked a little way on to the church, (many in the area have a semi-fortified look, recalling the 
And then I went briefly down a little road just to have a quick look at the chateau, now a porcelain centre. Not a soul around anywhere!
It was good to get back to the car, and make for my final destination, Lisle-sur-Tarn, the arcaded town square of which I had a brief and very sunny memory from 1990.
Then I turned to my book. That is, until I remembered that there was a good chance we might be flying over the Mojave Desert. We were, though only over the southern part, I later discovered.
What on earth are these incredibly bright lights, apparently within saucers?
Alien invaders?
When I got home I was able to discover that they had been part of the 
I started to wonder whether we might be going over Yellowstone in due course. The answer was no – the flight map showed we would be going too far south, over Utah and Colorado rather than over north-west Wyoming. I was riveted to the window. Was it possible that this was the Grand Canyon? If not, it’s amazing viewing even so.
(A check with my atlas once I was home confirmed that indeed this had been the Grand Canyon, and the Rockies in Colorado.) We were cruising at between 33,000 and 39,000 feet.
What an amazing end to an amazing fortnight!
She had warned me late in January that they had been experiencing temperatures in the eighties Fahrenheit (upwards of 26ºC) in her part of Los Angeles county. This had not lasted though, and my t-shirts were unnecessary. While it was sunny, there was a definite chill in the air, and locals found it cold.
It looked as if it might take us no time at all to walk around the lake, but Karina did not know just how long I can linger when looking at wildlife! (This time I had no wildlife expert or bird book to identify the birds we were seeing, so I have been hesitant in my labelling. One problem is that there can be American versions of Eurasian birds which look almost identical, c.f. ravens and magpies. Corrections and additions would be gratefully received.)
The evening was spent very pleasurably at the restaurant of an Irish pub, (I had fish and chips!) with three of Karina’s horsey friends. The talk was very little of horses and much of my Yellowstone trip, which I was delighted to recount.
I got interested in an American dipper (nothing like European ones) by a river
and I walked back a few yards to take a closer look.
Imagine my astonishment on turning round after a few minutes, at seeing this!
Of course any coyote likes an easy surface to walk on, and this one walked right on by me, and through my companions by the vehicles.
We next stopped to observe a young bison’s carcase being recycled, about half a mile from where we were on the road.
We were now technically out of the Park, but still well within the wider ecosystem of Yellowstone. I wandered around a little, while telescopes were being set up.
It was back to Mammoth for lunch, and a look at the Lower 
It was too fast a drive for any real photography, though I did manage to get these bald eagles.
We also saw white-tailed deer, and some bison, and I noticed a fabulous 
Approaching Bozeman I took a final picture of the mountains.
Our next stop, for ‘comfort’ purposes, was in yet another beautiful spot.
Then we pulled up again, when we saw a group of photographer tourists parked and looking upwards – at four sleeping coyotes, of which here are two.
She passed round a collar which had been round a wolf’s neck, and that felt quite spooky to me. It was pretty heavy, and we were reminded that the wolf is a very large animal, though it’s difficult to realise when you see them from a distance – IF ever we should see them, from a distance or no. No luck this morning and we made our way back to Cooke City for lunch, quite slowly as we kept seeing interesting things and stopping.
But the wolves had gone. ‘Hang on, there they are!’ the cry rang out from one of the leaders (now three as Tim from 
When we were at the furthest extent of There, Jeremy had a call to say that the road to Cooke City was now clear, an hour earlier even than hoped. Great! We could continue on our way!
In the course of this time in the Mammoth area we said goodbye to our faithful snow coaches, and reverted to 
And then it became too dark to take any more photos.