Martha's assessment of what I'd actually need for my project goals had been... humbling. I'd pictured myself just up on the roof with a set of sharp knives, breaking down the bear through instinct, limited prior research, and of course just pure determination.
Primal competence that would make for a good story alongside the shot that killed the ursine menace that harmed my… our…
Ahem. I'd instead received a twenty-minute education on why that was romanticized nonsense, after she talked one of her witch friends to gather more supplies.
Heavy tarps - two large ones. One for butchering on, one for setting the meat out to freeze.
Rope rated for significant weight to hoist and bleed out the probably eight hundred pound creature.
Buckets - two for the blood and close to a dozen as containers to fill with cubed, still warm fat.
Contractor bags for the viscera, keeping intestines away from the rest until I can decide what to do with them.
