Some Videos

For the past few weeks, I have been up to my eyeballs in school projects. I'm "attending" University of Alaska full-time through online classes. I am determined to finally get my bachelor's degree. (Right now, I feel like a high school dropout in a family of overachievers.) I am taking a couple of writing classes, a Communications class, and an Alaska class. They are all a lot of fun—but the Alaska class is especially cool. It's one of the classes that all teachers new to the state are required to take. I am learning all sorts of cool stuff. Some of the assignments I've done have been a little weird—but they have been fun too. And I thought I'd share some of the Alaska stuff.

I have some links to some short videos I did (from a few seconds to 5 minutes long). But they are fun, and give more of a picture of life here. Some are informative, some are cool, and one is funny. (Just copy the address and paste it in the address bar.)

In Alaska we have what we call Spring Breakup. It has nothing to do with school—and everything to do with ice. It is where the ice in the rivers breaks up and starts to flow out to the ocean. That is part of the reason why it floods here every spring. The ice flows down the river and gets jammed up like a dam—plus you have the melting coming from upriver and the rain. For my Alaska class, we were to gather pictures of Spring Breakup in our area. The instructor posted a video that showed ice melting and little buds starting. He obviously lives in the southern part of the state. Living just below the Arctic Circle, mine was a little different. For a piece on our spring weather, go to:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0LnDzFmcXE

If you would like a glimpse into tribal superstition, go to:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Whats-Your-Era/215920648422737?ref=ts#!/video/video.php?v=10150528828505034

To see a video on our homemade rabbit traps that we actually use:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Whats-Your-Era/215920648422737?ref=ts#!/video/video.php?v=10150524147900034

Every summer, local families who live by subsistence (eating off the land rather than having a job) move to fish camps where they work hard all summer. For information on fish camps go to:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Whats-Your-Era/215920648422737?ref=ts#!/video/video.php?v=10150462794040034

We have a video showing a rabbit Taco caught. It is only a few seconds long because I ran out of memory, but note--this is a real bunny. And it is dead—and frozen. So it’s not for everyone. To see it:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Whats-Your-Era/215920648422737?ref=ts#!/video/video.php?v=10150524253560034

And that's about it for now.

Ice Age

We’ve entered the ice age.

For the past several days, we’ve had a cold snap and awful storms. According to the locals, that is because someone died. Two someones, actually. (It was old age.) They believe that when anyone dies, the weather turns colder. And so it did. We’ve had almost non-stop snow, and often blizzard conditions for a week now.

But before we realized the cold snap was here, we were still feeling a bit cocky about our spring weather. The temperature had hit double digits. The sun was shining. It was beautiful outside.

For some hare-brained reason, I decided to dress up the other day. Blame it on Spring Fever, or idiocy, or whatever—I wanted a change. So instead of PJs-robe-and-wool-socks or jeans-and-sweaters or any other outfit that would make sense in our neck of the woods, I put on a light cotton skirt and a t-shirt. No long johns—just bare legs. Inside, that may be kind of alright. But we were hoping for a package, so an outing to the post office was in order. Taco suggested I put on pants—but like I said, I was feeling rather cocky. I responded with, “It’s beautiful outside!” He shrugged, and off we went.

Well, I wasn’t ten feet from the front door before I admitted that maybe the skirt was a mistake. The wind was blowing, whipping right through my clothes. It was rather unpleasant.

Being a Saturday, the post office was only open for a couple of hours—and the woman often closes early just because. So I didn’t want to take time to run in and change. I also wasn’t going to miss out on a chance to get out (excitement is hard to find around here), so like an idiot, I just “pressed on.”

I didn’t realize how far away the post office is—I thought it was just up the trail a bit. But judging from that trip, it must be 100 miles away. And the trip back was even longer. The temperature had plummeted and the wind was really whipping. By the time I got home, I was purple with cold from head to toe. So I wrapped up in several layers of blankets and sat there shivering. And the kicker was, we hadn’t even gotten a package.

A few days later, Taco was at the school for testing. You know those stupid twice-a-year tests they make the kids take? Well, even though he is home schooled, he had to participate. And sure enough, when the temperatures were back into the negatives, the boiler decided to break down. Those poor teachers and kids about froze. They couldn’t cancel school, because they are required by the state to give the tests on a particular day.

Few people come to school dressed in winter gear, because they have the silly expectation that once they get inside, they will actually be warm. The ones who live near the school (like our son) will just wear a sweatshirt for the quick run there. So those poor kids who were supposed to be concentrating on the test sat there, bouncing in their seat and blowing on their hands trying to keep warm. Some of them even got up and hopped around the room in an attempt to get their blood flowing. (Since it was the essay section of the test, there was no concern of cheating.) Gee—I wonder if frozen brains is an excuse for low test scores.

It has hardly stopped snowing here for a week now, and at times we’ve had blizzards raging—heavy snow and howling winds. There are nights when the house shakes, rattles, and groans. I’m sure we are being blown off the map and all the way to Oz. But we must be taking a wrong turn somewhere because I have yet to see the Emerald City. Personally, I’d love a bit of green. We keep landing in the Diamond Dump where everything is white, icy, and cold.

Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes

The other day was awesome! I tweaked my knee and jammed my shoulder (the one I had surgery on last summer), but it was still awesome. Pretty sad that a day ending in injury was my best day yet. But I guess it’s understandable, considering I spent the first five or six weeks battling pneumonia and a thrown-out back. With a start like that, a messed up knee and shoulder is an improvement.

During the dead of winter, we hardly get any light. The sun comes up, runs along the horizon for 3 or 4 hours, and then goes back down. But we are approaching the other end of the spectrum. Now the sun doesn’t know when to go home—it just stays and stays. It’s kind of like an unexpected house guest. At first, you are really excited to have it drop by. But when it refuses to leave, you start wondering. It stays light here until after 10:30 now, and it gets later every day. Soon, it won’t be going down much at all.

This whole sun-switch has our internal clock completely thrown off. Unless we look at our watch, we have no idea what time it is. The other evening, we were doing stuff until dark, and then we sat down for dinner. It was 11 PM. Our systems are all whacked up.

So back to the terrific day. It was gorgeous outside! And we had sun! And it was not too cold (we'd hit double digits). Life was really looking up. So Keri, Taco, and I went cross country skiing.

The locals think we’re nuts to enjoy skiing. It’s hard to stay up on skinny skis, it takes energy, and you can’t go near as fast as on a snow machine. I guess they look at us the same way I look at people who seem to enjoy jogging—figure there must be a few screws loose.

But out in the open with nothing but nature and a couple other nut jobs (fellow skiers) is a wonderful place to be. And around here, if you go fifty feet in almost any direction, you end up in the thick of nature. So we took off. It was my first time on skis this year. We'd been gone a whole ten minutes before I wiped out—which was a coupe, because I expected to biff it after only five minutes.

We picked up a couple of extras on the way out. Or rather, they picked us up. A couple of village kids started following us, and before long they had started a game of “tag” with Keri and Taco. I was deemed too dangerous after my first face-plant, so I just stood there and took pictures. The kids ran all over, yelling and chasing and being chased. The kids were squealing, and my guys were roaring. I don’t know who was enjoying it more. All four of them ran and skied themselves to exhaustion.

When they finally slowed down, the kids decided they wanted to ski too—so they stood on the back of Keri’s skis and held on while he took them for a ride. It was really fun to watch.

I actually made it through most of the trip before I hurt myself. I waited until I was within sight of the houses where people could see, and did a spectacular face-plant that was quite laughable. If there had been judges, I’m sure I would have rated a 9.7 at least. I could feel my knee hurting, so I took my skis off and limped the rest of the way home. And the next day, I could hardly move my knee or shoulder. I hobbled around the house for days.

But tweaked knee and jammed shoulder included, it was still a terrific day!

The World Looks Better in Green

The world looks better in green. And I’m not talking about being in the jungles of Costa Rica rather than the snowy Arctic Circle—although that would be a definite improvement too. No, I’m talking about food.

Dr. Seuss had it right. Green in a diet is the way to go. Although, I don't think green eggs is a very good idea. Salmonella comes to mind. But green vegetables rock! In fact, produce of any kind is enough to cause a stampede in these parts.

We got a phone call today saying that the local grocery store had just gotten in a shipment of fruit, vegetables, and eggs. Around these parts, that’s as good as yelling “Gold!” And you know what happens in Alaska when there’s a gold strike. But those early miners had nothing on a bunch of Alaska Bush teachers chasing after apples and carrots. It was most exciting.

In fact, I was so caught up in the thrill of it all, that my brain turned to mush. Not a thought was processing right. It was beautiful outside! It was promising spring! I half expected robins to start singing in the bare treetops—at which point they would instantly fall out of said treetops, frozen stiff. But still—it was beautiful outside!

So when Keri ran home and revved up the snow machine, Taco and I raced out and jumped on—in clothing fit for a day at the beach. Well, maybe not the beach—but certainly not for our terrain either. Knowing that we were going to be running full throttle over the frozen Yukon River amid unending fields of snow and ice—you’d think it would have occurred to me that maybe gloves and a hat would be a good idea. But NO! I was sucked in by the misleading image of a sun in the sky. By the time we got to the store, I was a popsicle. Frozen through.

Keri and Taco

But not to fear. Just the sight of that glorious produce was enough to warm me from head to toe. It was lovely! An entire portable tabletop holding nothing but boxes of big fat onions, withered potatoes, brown spotted bananas, beautiful red apples and bruised yellow ones, soft mushy oranges, pale green broccoli, hard green pears wrapped in paper, and a single kiwi.

Taco grabbed that kiwi up real fast. It was a steal at only $2.00. And we filled our little carry basket with some of everything. It was heavenly!

But that wasn’t all. In the back of the store, I discovered a stash of lettuce in the cooler next to the eggs. Of course, there was a bunch of slimy stuff on the outside leaves. But I did find one head that only had a slime spot about the size of a golf ball—so I snatched it up.
Taco pointed to the spot and said, “Uh…Mom?”
Keri said, “That’s OK. We can toss the outside leaves.”
I looked at him like he had suddenly grown two heads. “Are you nuts? We can just cut that spot off. The rest of the leaf will be fine!”
Yup, this place sure changes what you're willing to put up with.

And next to the lettuce were the last two zucchinis. I just ignored the price as we dropped them in our basket. During zucchini season down south, you can hardly give them away. But those two prolific squash cost almost $6 each!

Last summer, my mom had a newspaper article hanging on her fridge for quite some time, and it entertained whoever happened to wander into the kitchen. It was about a woman in Montana who chased a bear away by beating it over the head with a zucchini. That must have been some squash! Babe Ruth could have used a bat like that. Well, our two $6 wonders are definitely not in the club category. Any self-respecting bear would laugh out loud if we tried to chase it away with those things. In fact, forget hitting the bear over the head--those slivers of squash are so small, I am sure they would fit up the bear’s nose. But when I cook them up tomorrow, they are going to taste wonderful!

By the time we were finished at that little store, we had three-and-a-half plastic grocery bags of mostly produce. And the cost? A mere $95.70. But at least we get to eat green for a while!

picture of our little village store

Moose Hair

Moose hairs are long, thick, and stiff. But when you fry them, they turn to shrunken, curly, wiry things. How do I know this? Experience. You see, there is no Public Health Department that roams the tundra checking food preparation sites. They don’t evaluate the snow, the dirt, the bathtub, the kitchen floor, or any other surface that an animal might get butchered on. (See “Alaska’s Bounties” in the blog.)

That makes things interesting in the food-making department. We get all sorts of little goodies here that we missed out on in the lower 48. Things like hairs, pebbles, and some suspicious looking goop. Makes life interesting—or disgusting.

Even with a three-washing system, we can’t seem to catch all the foreign matter. (My three-wash system? The hunk of meat gets hosed off good after it’s cut up, again before it gets frozen, and I all but scrub it before I cook it.)

We have a friend who shot a moose near the river. Well, the animal promptly walked to the middle of the river, and fell over. Since the thing has the body mass of a small elephant, they had to butcher it right there—underwater. You’d think that would solve the problem of foreign matter in the meat—but it didn’t. They were still picking out “stuff.”

Apparently, when you cut up an animal outside and on kitchen floors, there’s just no way around it—you are going to get extra little tidbits in the meat.

So I have become a very “picky” eater—I pick foreign objects out of my food. But try as I might, I can’t seem to get them all. I still find myself chewing on the occasional moose-hair. If I stay here much longer, I’ll be to be coughing up hair balls.

A Genealogy Nightmare

The area we live in is a genealogy nightmare. By area, I mean the Yup’ik tribal lands, which are roughly the size of Texas. There are several reasons for these convoluted pedigree charts, and they are all deeply rooted in culture and tradition.

First of all, it is customary—and expected—that a girl will give her first child to her parents. This tradition began long ago when it made semi-sense. That child’s job in life was to be there to take care of the grandparents in their old age, so that when they were too old to gather wood or hunt and fish, there was someone to do it for them. Basically, the kid was doomed to a life of servitude. But the tradition continues today.

As for the girl who gave up her baby, the attitude seems to be a shrug of the shoulders, and “That’s just the way things are.” And girls are rarely married for their first couple of kids, so that usually isn’t an issue.

But this tradition has created an interesting kind of lifestyle. Now, you have some old lady with five or six teenage grandkids lounging around the house—or more likely exploding through the house—and the kids are in control. Although, the more kids the grandparent has in the house, the more money she gets from the government. So I guess they could claim that the kids still take care of their grandparents.

Keri dealt with one old lady here who has several teenage grandchildren living with her—and these kids don’t believe in attending school. Keri went to their house to talk to the grandmother. He went through the entire list of grandkids, and talked about each of their strengths and potential. Then he said, “They could all go on to college, but they need to graduate high school first. And in order to graduate, they have to attend.”

She looked at him like he was daft. “Why do I want them to go to college?” she said. “Then they will just leave and I will have no one to take care of me.” Interesting.

For the genealogists out there, here is part one of the nightmare. When a girl turns over her first baby, the adoption is rarely made legal. It is called a tribal adoption, meaning it is something that is just understood. The grandparent raises the child—unless the grandparent dies or decides they don’t want to any more—then the child gets passed onto someone else. The poor kid bounces around like a pinball. So if you wanted to know who the kid belongs to, you might get several different answers. There is the natural mother (who may not even know what town the child lives in), the “adoptive” mother (who has no actual legal claim and may or may not be caring for the child), and the person who happens to be taking care of the kid at the moment.

But for a REAL mind boggler, try following their tribal families. A friend who works for the state was telling me about a frustration she has to sort through. When an individual dies, especially a prominent person or a family member, then the next baby to be born is often named after that individual. That way, the person can live on. I know that is not an uncommon thing—but here is the kicker. That child then takes on the identity of the dead person. They step into their place in life. So the dead guy’s family has a claim on the baby, and vice versa. And the dead guy’s relatives become the baby’s relatives, in the same relationship as if the baby were the dead guy. Confused yet? Just wait.

There is a kid here in the village who was named after his dead uncle. So that means that all of his siblings and cousins are actually considered to be his nieces and nephews—including his own twin brother. Seriously. And that is how they introduce each other. It’s enough to give you a headache just trying to keep everyone straight. So this kid belongs to his own family (mother and father), but he also belongs to his extended family. He is considered to be his aunt’s brother. In fact, he would be his dad’s brother too. Talk about an identity crisis!

Yup, genealogy gets very convoluted here.

But I can think of one benefit to this mixed up existence. With so many people involved and families being so complicated, there would always be somebody else to point a finger at. As a mom, I was more than happy to lay claim on our kids when they were cute and adorable. But the day they did something stupid like egg a car out of the school bus window, or get hauled home by the cops for water ballooning, they suddenly became my husband’s responsibility. It was somehow his fault that our kids had done something dumb. Wouldn’t it be great to have an entire village to blame!

Moose Run Amuck

The other day, two of our new teachers went for a walk to enjoy the scenery of the bush. They are a married couple, and she happens to be pregnant. While they were meandering along, they bumped into a moose and her calf. They got a quick lesson in Bush Survival 101. AVOID MOTHERS AND THEIR CALVES/CUBS AT ALL COST!!! Actually, that is a pretty good idea for survival in general, and the same rule applies across species. Whether you are talking moose, bears, lions, wildebeest, wild pigs, pigeons, or humans—unless you have a death wish, you don’t get in the middle of a mother and her baby.

So these two hapless teachers were strolling along hand-in-hand, and out from behind a tree tromps a very irritated mama moose. They could tell she was annoyed because of all the snorting and bellowing she did. Well, the woman shrieked and took off running. Her husband was right behind her, trying to work his gun out of his pocket—in all the walks they’d taken, this was the first time he had brought along his pistol. And the moose was rapidly gaining ground. Finally, the guy got his gun worked loose, whirled around, and let off a couple of shots. Turns out he is the world’s worst aim. He missed the giant charging moose bearing down on them, and hit the calf way back in the bushes instead. But it worked. The moose stopped chasing them, and ran back to where her calf was.

Mr. Sharpshooter and his pregnant wife hardly broke stride. They ran full out, heading straight for the village.

Meanwhile, the mama moose became even more agitated—she was out for blood. She circled back around and charged out of the bushes in front of the teachers, cutting off their retreat. But this time, Mr. Sharpshooter was ready; he still had the gun in his hand. He let off a couple more shots, and the moose ran off again. The two of them finally made it back to the village, but were rather upset. In fact, the poor woman about went into labor.

Someone reported the incident to the VPOs—Village Police Officers. This is a group of guys posing as village cops, who are about as effective in handling crimes as a bunch of crossing guards. But apparently, they were fascinated with the whole “moose run amuck” idea. And besides, no self-respecting local would pass up a hunt—so they armed themselves and went in search of the crazed animal.

They realized they’d stumbled upon her when she charged at them from the bushes. She had the entire VPO squad on the run. But never fear. They just regrouped, and headed back in to do their “civic duty.” By the time the day was done, both the moose and her calf were dead. And the VPO squad returned to town, heads held high.

After all—you can’t have a mama protecting her baby. That just goes against the laws of nature.

On a personal note

On a personal note (no Alaska news):

I accidentally dropped off the Personal Note entry that I did, so here is an updated version—with pictures!

Our daughter, Katrina, recently received her mission call. She is going to Ireland/Scotland, and reports to the England MTC (Missionary Training Center) on June 24th.

So Jeff and Katie are going to be serving missions at the same time! Jeff is heading to Mexico City East mission. They will get back within a couple of weeks of each other—unless one of them manages to pull the same stunt Rachelle did, and get multiple extensions.

When Katrina opened her mission call, Keri and Taco and I watched via Skype from Alakanuk, Alaska. But my sister, Rachel, just sent me some pictures of the event, and I just have to share.

This is Katie and my mom holder her just-arrived mission call.

Here is Katrina reading her call. Keri and Taco and I are watching on Skype (the computer on Rachelle's lap) and listening via the phone (Chris is holding it up). Katie was so excited, she started to squeal, and it took a bit before we could actually hear where she is going.

My parents have a world map, and everyone in the family who has served a mission has their name pinned in where their mission is. Katie is about to pin her name up in Ireland/Scotland area. She is so excited, she can’t stand it!

It pains my heart that we weren't able to be there. There were about 15-20 people there when she opened it—grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings. A lot of family support. It seems like everyone was there but us. But at least we’ve got Skype and digital photography. Modern technology is amazing.

And yup--life is looking good. Even if we have to watch from a distance for now.

It's a Foggy Perspective

Last night, at about midnight, I opened my e-mail and found a note of desperation dashed off by my husband saying that he was stuck in London and needed $3,000. Since he was sitting across the table from me, I asked him how he was enjoying the sites of the city. He said the weather was better in Alaska. He never has enjoyed fog much.

The frustrating part of the whole “stuck in London” scam is that whatever got in and stole his address book also locked him out. Now he can’t get on his e-mail to send out a “DON’T SEND MONEY!” alert. It’s quite a scam they have going. So if some concerned citizen writes back and asks how to help, a real person will answer, pretending to be my husband. Meanwhile, he is sitting here just fine. He’s not stuck in London at all—he’s stuck in Alaska. Help! Send $3,000!

But there is one good thing that has come out of it all. It has made me realize that things could always get worse. For example: the weather.

In all fairness, fog can be beautiful—in short doses. It has an ethereal quality. It lets you fade into another world. One time, it pulled me into a fairy land. A few months ago, my sister Rachel and I ran into a store in Idaho—it was thick fog outside. When we emerged about 20 minutes later, the world had transformed. The moisture in the air had crystallized in the cold, and it made the world look like the inside of a diamond. Everything glittered—even the air. It was magic.

But the only fog we get up here resembles mud soup. And it saves itself for a time when there is a really pressing reason you need to fly in or out of the village. Then it will magically appear…and your flight will be grounded because no bush plane can fly blind. But for the most part, we don’t have to worry about fog. Our 60 mph winds wouldn’t stand for it.

So we may be stuck in the middle of the tundra somewhere around the Arctic Circle. We may have to boil our water, and hunt and trap our food. It may take two days of flying to reach civilization. But at least we aren’t stuck in London. You know—fog.

Alaska's Bounties

Alaska sure has its bounties. Of course, those come at a price.

For example—we decided that if we are going to survive this experience, we had better start eating better. So we placed a produce order with Full Circle Farms. They are a lovely business of green houses and artificial light that grows produce year round. And they ship out orders via the bush planes. Well, the other day, we had our first order delivered to our door. There is a village agent here—a guy who picks up the mail and any packages from the planes and takes them to the post office or the school. And he’s a nice guy. If he thinks a package might be really expensive or important, or might be damaged if it got frozen, he’ll drop it off right at your door. There are some people in life you will do almost anything to stay on their good side. He is at the top of that list.

So, we got our box of produce. In it was a head of lettuce, some Swiss chard, a small stalk of celery, a bunch of green onions, a very small head of broccoli, a nice sized orange pepper, three tiny purple onions, two smallish grapefruit, three apples, four tiny tangerines, a lime-green mango, about eight of the tiniest red potatoes I’d ever seen (with a combined weight of a single russet), and a small (lip gloss sized) jar of fennel & salt. And we were THRILLED! It’s not very often that a house breaks into dance over produce. The cost of that little treasure chest? A mere $67.50. Yup. In the lower 48 we would have had a very difficult time finding the same stuff, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen it sold that small. But if you just went by weight, we could have gotten the same thing for under five bucks. Three if you shopped the sales. But at least we get to eat fresh green stuff for a day or two.

But to make things even more exciting in a “declare it a public holiday” sort of way, Keri and Taco went moose hunting that afternoon—and GOT A MOOSE!!!!! Not only did they get a moose, but on the way back, they almost ran into another one with the snow machine. Moose were out in abundance that night!

A friend of Keri’s, a local by the name of George (though everyone calls him Boise for some unfathomable reason) took them hunting. Showed Keri where he goes to get his moose every year. Yup. This guy has the monopoly on meese—mooses—miisen—those really big things that look like a giant ugly donkey—and he was willing to share. That is one nice friend.

Judging by our past serious lack of success in the hunting department, I really didn’t expect much from the trip. (We are great at trapping rabbits, but had struck out with moose.) So I armed them with toe and hand warmers (those things you put in your boots and gloves so you can carry your own personal heater into the great outdoors while you pretend to rough it). And I humiliated Taco by screaming, “Hey—where’s your hat?!” at the top of my pneumonia-strained lungs. (I had a hard time being heard over the snow machine engine.) Apparently, they were just driving in a circle to make sure the sled was secure. He still had to come inside to finish getting decked out for the trip.

Anyway, when I heard the snow machine pull up front several hours later, I figured their toe and hand warmers had run out of steam or something. I was shocked to see a moose being drug behind in the sled! At first, I thought maybe they had just run into an ugly donkey—like road kill or something. But nope, it was an honest-to-goodness moose. And Keri and Taco were proud as punch!

Personally, I had a hard time looking. I remember being traumatized as a child the time my dad went deer hunting. For weeks, our bedtime story had been several pages out of the novel Bambi. We were convinced shooting animals was a sin.

When it comes to getting meat, I think I prefer picking up nameless and faceless packages of beef in the grocer's freezer. But it's a different world out here.

Keri and Taco brought in the guns and grabbed the knives so they could cut up the moose. (It’s kind of hard to fit the whole thing in a freezer.) About 15 minutes into the job, I heard a banging at the door. There, looking as pathetic as could be, stood my two fearless hunters, each carrying a hind quarter and pleading frostbite.

Before I knew it, I had lost my kitchen floor to the cause.

I threatened them with a night in the great outdoors if there was one drop of blood left anywhere in the house.

They’ve butchered rabbits in my bathtub. They have now butchered a moose on my kitchen floor. I shudder to think what will happen if they ever shoot a bear.