#Wildlife Emergency Response

[bigvolcano]

Lismore Biodiversity News - Species Watch

During a recent field excursion, Environmental Strategies (ES) team members encountered a solitary Grey-Headed Flying Fox displaying concerning behaviours, including resting low in a tree away from its camp.

Supporting Grey-Headed Flying Foxes in Critical Times During a recent field excursion, Environmental Strategies (ES) team members encountered a solitary Grey-Headed Flying Fox displaying concerning behaviours, including resting low in a tree away from its camp. Recognising these signs of potential illness, the team promptly contacted WIRES for guidance. Such behaviours, including remaining in…

[delta-remediation]

Delta Remediation: Leading the Way in Effective and Sustainable Oil Spill Cleanup

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[frownyalfred]

You know the "all osha regulations come from blood" thing? I like to imagine the exact thing happens with the Justice League. The list of protocols and rules goes on so long but every single one has a story behind it.

Some of them seem out of place, or down right useless. New members often scoff at the trainings they're tasked to attend.

One of the regulations involves a required emergency survivalist kit on every space craft the Leauge owns, and requires routine inspections of said kits. New members get stuck with that bit of maintenence, and often complain "there's no reason it'll ever be needed." That is, until a begrudged Batman plays a video from the time Aquaman, Flash, and Wonder Woman got stuck on an ice planet with no vegetation or wildlife and they nearly froze to death.

Those who can fly ask why they need to attend trainings on emergency landing procedure. Any founding member gladly points to the framed front page Daily Planet article on the wall. It documents the island-sized crater Superman made after being super-punched back into the atmosphere a few years back.

And so on.

If you kill a civilian, knowingly, out of outright negligence, Batman will be out for blood. You'll be kicked off the League if you're lucky. You're an adult and you should know better. Every single rule and contingency he has in place is either because someone fucked up once, or they're like to fuck up someday.

Over time, those same cocky new members slowly realize that Batman is the one cleaning up after those incidents. He's the one who pays off the families and replaces the equipment. He quietly settles lawsuits and pays for future medical care. He repairs buildings and offers grants to displaced civilians. And then he goes up to the Watchtower, writes up the new regulation, and has to live with that kind of responsibility all over again. Because now they know better. Now there's a rule, and god willing, this won't happen again.

Being stupid, being cocky, just simple ignoring the rules briefly -- it all has a cost. And usually, that cost is borne by the flesh-and-blood humans, not the metas, aliens, or gods. Humans.

[markscherz]

A friend of mine sent me a yt video of a guy who was relocating frog eggs (prolly a vernal pool) and showed 1000s of baby frogs coming out of the water in his backyard. she asked me how I felt about it as a ecologist. I felt like it was irresponsible to do, especially to post videos on it, but probably not "ecological terrorism" like people in the comments were saying, because I see baby frogs in nature come out of water in hoards sometimes too. Kind of a mixed bag.

But I wanted to ask you, since you're a herpetologist and waaay more experienced than me: how do you feel about the yt channel "frog army YouTube"?

Many frogs and toads are classical R-strategists. Some toads can lay 20+ THOUSAND eggs in a single clutch. The whole point of that strategy is that not all of the offspring survive. In fact, it would be really rather bad if all of the offspring were to survive, because (1) they wouldn't be feeding the predators and decomposers that live off of their noble sacrifice, and (2) they will require massively more resources than they otherwise would. It can have all kinds of detrimental down-stream effects.

This is the reason we often see swarms of tadpoles darkening some small pools (especially ones where there are no fish!), and later hoards of froglets (that's the technical term) emerging from pools at once. It's an evolutionary strategy, that only few individuals survive to achieve reproductive age.

Point 1: it is *fine* if not all the tadpoles survive to adulthood. That's how the system is supposed to work. You are not doing the system favours if you are changing tadpole survivorship to 100%.

Now, humans really are fucking things up in a lot of environments. Environmental pollutants, like heavy metals, can cause major issues for wildlife, and especially frogs, which (1) are not as vagile as e.g. birds and medium- to large-sized mammals and thus cannot escape the problem zone effectively, and (2) are EXTRA sensitive to the environment because of their permeable skin.

Point 2: we do have some responsibility to do something if we notice that there is a major problem emerging, which could dramatically alter the population dynamics for one or more generations of frogs.

However, *moving* clutches of eggs that are found in polluted pools is not the right move, especially for your average person. There are many reasons that it is not the right move, but chief among them are

(1) A lot of frogs that lay eggs in vernal pools have tadpoles that cannot survive being in larger ponds, and certainly cannot survive in streams or other bodies of flowing water.

(2) A lot of frogs that lay their eggs in vernal pools are already adapted to less than ideal conditions, and have excellent strategies to overcome those conditions, such as incredibly quick metamorphosis (sometimes just a few days!)

(3) By moving clutches of eggs, you could easily be moving the pathogens or pollutants that are causing the problem in the first place.

(4) If there is Batrachochytrium dendrobatidis fungus around, you are spreading chytrid, and that is VERY bad. Chytridiomycosis has already driven several frog species to extinction, and caused massive population collapse in several others.

(5) If you do not know the species, attempts to rescue them might be aiding the advance of an invasive species.

(6) It's often illegal to intervene! Many species are protected by law, and you are not allowed to remove them from the wild. Consult your local laws.

Point 3: the responsibility to do something does not include removing the frogs and raising a frog army.

So what should we do if we find a clutch of eggs in an oily pool? Or in a nearly dried out puddle?

First assess the nature of the problem. Is the pool just about to dry out? Then leave it alone. The tadpoles will probably be fine (and if they're not, they'll provide rich nutrients to predators and decomposers). But are there signs of pollution? Then assess: is the pollution covering a larger area? Or is it localised? If you find dead frogs or other amphibians is a major warning sign, and it needs to be brought to the relevant authorities. Contact your local environmental agency/department, and notify them of the precise location of the problem, and its extent. Document everything with photos and videos.

Point 4: there are organisations and agencies specifically tasked with intervening in cases of environmental damage. It is *your* job to bring it to their attention, but unless instructed by them, you need not take any further action. It is their job to know what to do, and to take appropriate action.

TL;DR: 'Raising a frog army' is for the likes, not the frogs, and is not environmentally responsible or ethically defensible. Build a home for the frogs, and they will come.

[bumblesimagines]

Imagine:

Being introduce to Neytiri

Request: Yes or No

Can't wait to see my tall alien wife again

~~~

"I should've listened to mom when she told me to be a lawyer." You muttered as you followed Grace and Jake through the dense jungle.

"You wouldn't be having nearly as much fun as a lawyer!" Jake called back with a chuckle. Grace grinned at his response. "Besides, aren't you always saying you aren't a people person?"

"Precisely why I said I didn't want to come along. I'm an animal person, a plant person. You can ask Aunt Grace. People have never been my domain." You could feel your tail, or rather, your avatars tail lashing behind you.

"Yes, I know." Grace sighed and stopped, turning to look at you with a softened gaze. "And it's exactly why I wanted you to come along. The Na'vi love the same things you do. It'll be easier for you to talk to them."

"And who'll be able to tell you more about the wildlife here? The locals or some scientist's assumptions?" Jake questioned with a small grin.

Before you could respond, the sound of rustling came from up ahead and out from the brush emerged a Na'vi woman. You recognized her from Grace's pictures. She'd been the one Jake befriended on his surprise journey.

"Who is this?" Neytiri asked, eyeing you. Her stance was alert and her tail twitched behind her, curiously inspecting you from head to toe.

"This is the son of my sister." Grace replied, placing a hand on your back and gently pushing you forward.

"(Y/N)?" Your name sounded weird coming from her. You'd only heard about her through the stories Grace and Jake told, but to have her standing before you and saying your name..

"Yeah, you must be Neytiri. Nice to meet you." You forced your lips into a smile and Neytiri hummed, an amused grin appearing on her face. You didn't miss the way Grace and Jake glanced at each other knowingly.

"Uhm-"

"(Y/N) wants to learn about the wildlife here, and so I thought; who better to teach him than Neytiri?" Neytiri sent Jake an annoyed look for offering her up without her approval, but to your surprise, she nodded.

"Tell me what you already know, (Y/N)."

Gifs aren't mine.

[boinitwdidthat]

// Imagine - Being one of the tallest Na’vi they’ve met Pt.1 //

> (Neteyam, Lo’ak, Kiri) <  Part 2

> Metkayinan!Reader (Gn terms used, they/them) <

> What happens when they meet a Na’vi quite a bit taller than themselves. <

> Neteyam < 

He’s a tall boy for his age, gets it from his father mainly

However, seeing you emerge from the water that first day almost had him stuck in place.

And it just kept going, watching you rise and rise.

Finally with your full frame in view his neck craned up once more, easily standing around a foot taller than him.

This was . . strange . . definitely. He was used to some others being taller, namely the elders. But one his age? Stunned immediately.

He could barely pay attention when you introduced yourself, one of the student animal caretakers in their clan.

Lo’ak seemed to notice as well, roughly shoving Neteyam’s shoulder. Dragging him out of the quickly spiraling train of thought.

You’d addressed him? When? The startled look shines on his face.

“Neteyam? I asked if you’ve ever taken care of water animals before?” Smiling down at him, you gently grabbed his arm. 

As you led the group down towards the quarry, you gradually felt Neteyam tense under your hand. Assuming it was out of discomfort, you swiftly let go with a look of apology on your features.

Quickly, Neteyam turned to you, having noticed the lack of body heat.

“It was okay- Your hand I mean. But if you were uncomfortable it’s totally fine too. Yeah, alright.” Said arm leaned up awkwardly shifting his pelts.

Lo’ak’s cackling at this reaction could be heard from a ways behind him, he was definitely going to hear about this later at their home.

You turned to him, gently leaning up to swat the various bugs away from his ears.

“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind in bigger crowds,” The glint in your eyes screamed sincerity despite the sarcastic tone, “I wouldn’t want to lose you in one.”

His face burned at the light joke, because it must’ve been a joke

Wasn’t it?

> Lo’ak <

He’s lean, he knows that. Being on the average side for majority of everything was normal for him. 

But being short compared to someone else, that was out of place to him.

Yes, his family had some height on him. But he wasn’t short in comparison, he was average.

Witnessing how your body kept expanding walking past him though.

He was definitely short in comparison to you.

His legs swiftly making their way over to his siblings, now he had a mission.

“Ey, bro!” The whisper shout alarming Neteyam of his presence. A look of confusion clouding Kiri’s face at the rough address. “Who’s that?” Lightly motioning over his shoulder, as to not draw direct attention.

“That’s (Y/n), they’re monitoring the animals right now, I think it’s a learning experience though.” Kiri’s eyes shifted to your long stature, awkwardly attempting to feed a school of fish.

That was, until they witnessed you drop the feeding bag into the water, assumingly on accident if your rushed gathering of the feed was anything to go by.

“Well,” Lo’ak turned to his brothers confident look, “are you going to play heroic savior or stand there?” Snarky tone aside, he was right.

Lo’ak quietly hyped himself up, pushing back his shoulders and taking his chance to meet this hopefully friendly giant.

“Need any help?” The new voice surprised you, momentarily pausing your frantic motions. Looking up from your crouch, the darker blue skin caught you off-guard.

“Uhm, yeah- if you don’t care too.” Uncertainty very clear in those words.

His body hunkered down, quickly grabbing as much feed as he can hold before dumping it back into the bag.

One thing he hadn’t accounted for, was the greedy mama fish aiming straight for his tail

A loud very manly shout rang out, easily echoing the beach front, as a startled Lo’ak scrambled his way out of the bank. 

Thankfully, that had been the last of the lost feed, tying the bag and setting it down before crawling out yourself.

His eyes dragged up, finally meeting their target.

“Hey, I’m Lo’ak, your feeding assistance this morning.” Obnoxiously bowing his torso, as if among royalty.

“Yeah, that may be needed today,” Your hand slowly reaching into the water again, “If this mama has anything to say about it!” You lifted the avid fish out of the water briefly, holding her over Lo’ak’s head.

“NO!” His legs rapidly clearing towards the other end of the beach side.

He can handle being short to another person, he’ll slowly get used to it

Better to keep that person to only you for now

> Kiri < 

Kiri tried not to focus on physical traits, with her being picked on much since arriving she saw focusing on these things as rude.

It’s kind of hard not to focus when you entered their circle though, being mostly leg and muscle.

Your face the strongest color of teal she had seen yet among these people, and it was fascinating, contrasting size even among your own people.

Her eyes showed this curiosity, watching you maneuver yourself as to not impose to much on their space, as she caught the smallest glimpse of insecurity in those moves.

Though she didn’t understand why. You were a beauty to her, even if she won’t tell you directly. 

But, she definitely could indirectly, she thought as she adjusted he seating next to you.

“Hi, I’m Kiri” She stuck out her arm for greeting.

This was her first test, whether or not you were a kind person upon meeting.

It’s not a secret many of the villagers did not like, or initially trust her family. Either for being hybrid, or from another clan, she wondered if you would shun away her hello for those reasons as well.

To her surprise, you met her arm with a solid grip.

“Hello, I’m (Y/n), I mainly take care of the wildlife here.” You smiled down at her, as she sat astonished at how you could possibly feel insecure about your being.

Yes you were tall, but kind to her and her siblings when many were not. And, set on learning with care rather than war.

Slowly she stood, having let go of your hand but motioning you to follow. 

“Come, I have some questions of this place.”

As you made your way behind her it truly hit you how much larger you were, standing up only made her head reach your elbow joint. 

Much about you height bothered you, always seeming to take up too much space without meaning too. 

Not to mention the remarks from other villagers, deeming you too significant to only research. ‘You should be training to defend the people, you were built for such’.

You didn’t wish for war or fighting, as the wildlife was your dream responsibility.

So, the sudden light tap atop your shoulder definitely startled you, looking up and trying your hardest not to laugh at the scene before you.

It was Kiri, sitting top a lifted rock, gesturing to the ground bellow.

“Please sit, I’m very curious of your wildlife. It’s very beautiful.” She motions towards the distant water.

As you sit, Kiri looks towards you, her plan having worked as she was now eye to eye with you.

“Now,” You smiled, grateful for the new position she had managed.

“Where to begin...”

[newhologram]

“I write this eulogy while looking across one of the ten-lane freeways P-22 somehow miraculously crossed in 2012, gazing at a view of his new home, Griffith Park. Burbank Peak and the other hills that mark the terminus of the Santa Monica Mountains emerge from this urban island like sentinels making a last stand against the second largest city in the country. The traffic noise never ceases. Helicopters fly overhead. The lights of the city give the sky no peace.

“Yet a mountain lion lived here, right here in Los Angeles.

“I can’t finish this sentence without crying because of the past tense. It’s hard to imagine I will be writing about P-22 in the past tense now.

"Biologists and veterinarians with the California Department of Fish and Wildlife announced today they have made the difficult decision to end P-22’s suffering and help him transition peacefully to the next place. I hope his future is filled with endless forests without a car or road in sight and where deer are plentiful, and I hope he finally finds the mate that his island existence denied him his entire life.

“I am so grateful I was given the opportunity to say goodbye to P-22. Although I have advocated for his protection for a decade, we had never met before. I sat near him, looking into his eyes for a few minutes, and told him he was a good boy. I told him how much I loved him. How much the world loved him. And I told him I was so sorry that we did not make the world a safer place for him. I apologized that despite all I and others who cared for him did, we failed him.

“I don’t have any illusion that my presence or words comforted him. And I left with a great sadness I will carry for the rest of my days.

“Before I said goodbye, I sat in a conference room with team members from the California Department of Fish and Wildlife, and the team of doctors at the San Diego Zoo Safari Park. The showed me a video of P-22’s CT scan, images of the results, and my despair grew as they outlined the list of serious health issues they had uncovered from all their testing: stage two kidney failure, a weight of 90 pounds (he normally weighs about 125), head and eye trauma, a hernia causing abdominal organs to fill his chest cavity, an extensive case of demodex gatoi (a parasitic skin infection likely transmitted from domestic cats), heart disease, and more. The most severe injuries resulted from him being hit by a car last week, and I thought of how terrible it was that this cat, who had managed to evade cars for a decade, in his weakened and desperate condition could not avoid the vehicle strike that sealed his fate.

“As the agency folks and veterinarians relayed these sobering facts to me, tissue boxes were passed around the table and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. This team cares just as much for this cat as we all do. They did everything they could for P-22 and deserve our gratitude.

“Although I wished so desperately he could be returned to the wild, or live out his days in a sanctuary, the decision to euthanize our beloved P-22 is the right one. With these health issues, there could be no peaceful retirement, only some managed care existence where we prolonged his suffering — not for his benefit, but for ours.

“Those of us who have pets know how it feels when we receive news from the veterinarian that we don’t want to hear. As a lifelong dog and cat owner, I have been in this dreadful position too many times. The decision to let them go is never easy, but we as humans have the ability, the responsibility, and the selflessness to show mercy to end the suffering for these beloved family members, a compassionate choice we scarcely have for ourselves.

“I look at Griffith Park through the window again and feel the loss so deeply. Whenever I hiked to the Hollywood sign, or strolled down a street in Beachwood Canyon to pick up a sandwich at The Oaks, or walked to my car after a concert at the Greek Theater, the wondrous knowledge that I could encounter P-22 always propelled me into a joyous kind of awe. And I am not alone — his legion of stans hoped for a sight of Hollywood’s most beloved celebrity, the Brad Pitt of the cougar world, on their walks or on their Ring cams, and when he made an appearance, the videos usually went viral. In perhaps the most Hollywood of P-22’s moments, human celebrity Alan Ruck, star of Succession, once reported seeing P-22 from his deck, and shouting at him like a devoted fan would.

“We will all be grappling with the loss of P-22 for some time, trying to make sense of a Los Angeles without this magnificent wild creature. I loved P-22 and hold a deep respect for his intrepid spirit, charm, and just plain chutzpah. We may never see another mountain lion stroll down Sunset Boulevard or surprise customers outside the Los Feliz Trader Joe’s. But perhaps that doesn’t matter — what matters is P-22 showed us it’s possible.

“He changed us.  He changed the way we look at LA. And his influencer status extended around the world, as he inspired millions of people to see wildlife as their neighbors. He made us more human, made us connect more to that wild place in ourselves. We are part of nature and he reminded us of that. Even in the city that gave us Carmeggedon, where we thought wildness had been banished a long time ago, P-22 reminded us it’s still here.

“His legacy to us, and to his kind will never fade. He ensured a future for the entire population of mountain lions in the Santa Monica Mountains by inspiring us to build the Wallis Annenberg Wildlife Crossing, which broke ground this spring.

“P-22 never fully got to be a mountain lion. His whole life, he suffered the consequences of trying to survive in unconnected space, right to the end when being hit by a car led to his tragic end. He showed people around the world that we need to ensure our roads, highways, and communities are better and safer when people and wildlife can freely travel to find food, shelter, and families. The Wallis Annenberg Wildlife Crossing would not have been possible without P-22, but the most fitting memorial to P-22 will be how we carry his story forward in the work ahead. One crossing is not enough — we must build more, and we must continue to invest in proactive efforts to protect and conserve wildlife and the habitats they depend on — even in urban areas.

“P-22’s journey to and life in Griffith Park was a miracle. It’s my hope that future mountain lions will be able to walk in the steps of P-22 without risking their lives on California’s highways and streets. We owe it to P-22 to build more crossings and connect the habitats where we live now.

“Thank you for the gift of knowing you, P-22. I’ll miss you forever. But I will never stop working to honor your legacy, and although we failed you, we can at least partly atone by making the world safer for your kind.”

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

there are asks i sent months ago that u never answered 😭

Okay. I've sat on this for like an hour because I think while this warrants a response, it doesn't need my gut reaction.

Let's start with the big one which is, I'm an adult and this is a hobby blog in which I effectively give away free writing. I do feel a responsibility to this blog, however, it does not supercede my life. I feel guilty not updating this blog more frequently already, without messages like this.

What's my life been like these past few months? Let's go down the list.

My grandfather was in the hospital. Big medical scare.

My grandfather had a second medical scare where I had to be ready to drop EVERYTHING to see him if things turned worse because he lives in a different state.

I have been in a difficult class for school that, while I've got the hang of it now, was putting a lot of excess stress.

I've had to find a workspace to extern at for my final semester as well as other preparations towards certification exams and school.

My aunt went to the hospital with a mystery thing that we STILL don't know the exact cause. She almost died.

The business I worked at closed down. I just had my last shift last weekend. It's been shifts of deep cleaning that left my body aching. There was very stupid personal drama because of the stress of this. I've had to make a bunch of applications.

I volunteer at a wildlife center that I have worked so hard for to maybe get a job at to pretty much be told I don't have the experience but also sorry its hard to get experience but also sorry there's more qualified candidates.

One of the foster kittens I was looking after passed away. While there was nothing that could have done by that point (he had malnutrition AND was the runt AND had a bacterial infection), this was devastating to be manually keeping him alive in the car on the way to the emergency hospital. I didn't even get to see him in his last moments because hospital policy to not allow clients to watch an intracardiac injection for euthanasia. While in hindsight it's understandable, it does not feel understandable in the moment.

Depression. All of this has aggravated mental and emotional issues I already have. I'm having to remind myself to shower and not give up because other people and animals depend on me.

So yeah. I didn't probably get to your writing. I'm human and I've had a very rough year so far. Please give me some grace. I'm doing my best.

[blackhistorystoryteller]

Title: "Exploring African Hunting Culture: Traditions, Challenges, and Conservation

Introduction:

African hunting culture is a rich and diverse tapestry that weaves through the continent's history, ecology, and societies. Rooted in centuries-old traditions, it encompasses a wide range of practices, from subsistence hunting for survival to trophy hunting as a sport. This article delves into the multifaceted world of African hunting culture, highlighting its cultural significance, the challenges it faces, and the ongoing efforts for conservation.

A Rich Tapestry of Traditions:

Africa is home to a vast array of ethnic groups, each with its own unique hunting traditions. These practices are deeply intertwined with local customs, beliefs, and spirituality. For many indigenous communities, hunting is not just a means of acquiring food but a vital cultural expression. The use of traditional hunting tools and techniques, like spears, bows, and traps, continues to be an essential part of their heritage.

Subsistence Hunting:

Subsistence hunting is a common practice across the African continent. In rural areas, where access to commercial sources of food may be limited, hunting provides a vital source of protein and sustenance. Communities rely on their knowledge of the land and wildlife to harvest game responsibly, ensuring the sustainability of their resources. This balance between nature and necessity underscores the importance of respecting wildlife for survival.

Trophy Hunting:

Trophy hunting, a more controversial aspect of African hunting culture, involves the pursuit and killing of animals for sport and the collection of trophies, such as horns or skins. While it can generate revenue for local communities and conservation efforts, it has also faced criticism for ethical and conservation reasons. Many African countries have implemented strict regulations to manage and monitor trophy hunting to mitigate negative impacts on wildlife populations.

Conservation Challenges:

African wildlife has faced significant challenges due to habitat loss, poaching, and the illegal wildlife trade. The intricate relationship between hunting culture and conservation is evident in the struggle to protect endangered species while acknowledging the cultural importance of hunting. Conservation organizations work tirelessly to strike a balance by implementing measures to protect threatened species and their habitats.

Modern Influences:

In the modern era, African hunting culture has been influenced by global forces. Tourism, including wildlife safaris, has become a booming industry, providing alternatives to traditional hunting practices and contributing to conservation efforts. Additionally, changing perceptions of hunting, both locally and globally, have prompted a reevaluation of hunting practices and their impact on ecosystems.

Conservation Efforts:

Across the continent, initiatives to conserve African wildlife are gaining momentum. National parks, reserves, and private conservancies play a crucial role in safeguarding habitats and species. Anti-poaching efforts, community-based conservation programs, and responsible hunting practices have emerged as essential strategies to ensure the sustainability of African ecosystems.

African hunting culture is a multifaceted and evolving aspect of the continent's heritage. While it carries deep cultural significance and provides for many communities, it also faces challenges related to conservation and ethical considerations. Striking a balance between cultural preservation, sustainability, and responsible hunting practices is an ongoing process, guided by a commitment to protect Africa's remarkable biodiversity for generations to come.

Hunting practices among African tribes vary widely depending on the specific region, culture, and available resources. Traditional hunting methods are often passed down through generations and are adapted to the local environment and the animals being pursued. Here are some common hunting techniques employed by various African tribes:

1. **Spear Hunting:** Spear hunting is one of the oldest and most widespread hunting methods in Africa. Tribes such as the Maasai in East Africa are known for their skill in using spears to hunt animals like lions and giraffes. This method requires getting close to the prey and using a well-aimed throw or thrust to kill it.

2. **Bow and Arrow:** The use of bows and arrows is prevalent among many African tribes. The San people, for example, are known for their exceptional tracking skills and proficiency in hunting with poisoned arrows. This method allows hunters to maintain some distance from their prey.

3. **Traps and Snares:** Various tribes set up traps and snares to catch small to medium-sized game. These can be constructed from natural materials like branches, vines, and ropes. When an animal triggers the trap, it captures the prey.

4. **Pitfalls:** Some tribes dig pits and cover them with branches and leaves to create pitfalls for animals. Once an animal falls into the pit, it becomes trapped and can be killed by the hunters.

5. **Hunting Dogs:** In some regions, like the central African rainforests, tribes use hunting dogs to track and corner prey. The hunters then finish the job using spears or other weapons.

6. **Blow Darts:** Certain tribes, like the Pygmies in Central Africa, use blow darts with poison-tipped tips to silently kill small game and birds.

7. **Net Hunting:** Nets are used by several tribes to encircle and capture birds, small mammals, and even fish in rivers and lakes. The nets can be set up in a variety of ways to suit the hunting environment.

8. **Hunting with Falcons and Other Birds of Prey:** In some North African and Middle Eastern regions, including parts of Morocco, hunting with trained falcons and other birds of prey is a long-standing tradition, though not exclusive to Africa.

9. **Cultural and Spiritual Practices:** For many African tribes, hunting is not just about acquiring food but is deeply intertwined with cultural and spiritual beliefs. Rituals and ceremonies often accompany hunting expeditions to seek blessings or guidance from ancestors or spirits.

It's important to note that as African societies have modernized, some traditional hunting practices have given way to more contemporary methods and conservation efforts. Many African countries have implemented wildlife protection laws and sustainable hunting practices to ensure the survival of their native fauna and the preservation of their cultural heritage.

[chenria]

Tiny snippet about my new OC

It's rare for my OCs to actively let me write them. And in addition to everything, writing is not my favorite pastime... I never manage to describe the scenes I see in my head... but they do help sometimes to introduce characters... So yeah... Theodore (the readhead OC from last week) revealed to me who he was, what he is doing and well... there was this scene that plopped up in my head.

The wolf...

In the stillness of the night, his slumber was abruptly shattered by the insistent wail of his phone, piercing the silence like a discordant note in a symphony. The clock's merciless digits mocked him from the nightstand, declaring it to be 3:02 AM, stealing away precious hours of rest. With a groan he attempted to bury himself back into the comforting embrace of sleep when the phone stopped ringing, only to be jolted once more by the relentless clamor as his phone started the annoying melody anew.

Cursing under his breath, he reached for the offending device, already plotting to change its obnoxious ringtone come morning. It was an anonymous call. A sense of dread clawed at him as he answered the call, his voice heavy with sleep and irritation.

"Nolan," he muttered, his words rough from sleep.

"Dr. Nolan?" The voice on the other end hesitated, uncertainty tainting each syllable.

"If you're calling at this ungodly hour, you better have a damn good reason," Theodore Nolan snapped, running a hand through his tousled hair in frustration.

"I was instructed to reach out to you. We're dealing with an injured wolf," the voice on the other end declared urgently.

Dr. Nolan's brow furrowed and he looked at the dark ceiling of his bedroom. "Brenson is handling emergencies tonight. Contact him," he replied, his tone tinged with weariness. Dealing with a wildlife accident at this ungodly hour was beyond his current duty roster.

"You're not grasping the severity of the situation," the caller persisted.

"Listen, whoever you are, you got the wrong number. The emergency animal clinic is equipped to handle this. I'm off-duty," he reiterated, his patience waning as exhaustion gnawed at his resolve.

Just as he was about to end the call, a name slipped from the caller's lips, halting Theodore’s movement. He brought the phone back to his ear, sending a silent prayer that he had misheard. "What did you say?"

"Cortez insisted I contact you. We're facing an injured... wolf."

Silence. Realization washed over him like a cold wave. They had found him. No, if Cortez knew his number they had never lost sight of him to begin with. "Fine," he conceded, his voice carrying the weight of resignation. "Bring the wolf to my clinic."

"We're already parked outside your house," came the swift response.

A chill ran down Theodore’s spine as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. Of course they were already waiting. With a sigh he pushed himself upright. It seemed there was no escaping his past.

[tribbetherium]

Some new species from the wildlife of the islands post.

The Bridge Isles off the northern coast of South Ecatoria have been isolated since the Glaciocene. Here an empty space in the ecology with resources and territory unexploited remained unoccupied, and soon new tenants would arrive from the skies--and never take off again.

The Bridge Isles are home to very few terrestrial species, with much of its occupants being airborne flyers, marine species resting on its beaches, or small creatures, like duskmice, furbils and rattiles that rafted to the island. But one large outlier stands out: a 300-pound flightless pterodent towering over anything else that calls the Bridge Isles home.

The greater zeebeedee (Megalornithomys equinocephalus) is the largest of several species each living on different islands along the chain. Its flighted days are long past behind it: bearing but stunted wings, that lack even the four wing claws most pterodents sport, it has entirely abandoned an airborne existence to take advantage of a resource that deters most other flying animals--tough grasses. Such a forage would require a heavy, unwieldy digestive system to ferment it and extract maximum nutrition, so by giving up the ability to fly, the greater zeebeedee can easily occupy a niche that would be filled by ungulopes elsewhere. Indeed, the convergence is evident: particularly in its striped equine-like head with cropping incisors and grinding molars that allow it to efficiently graze on the grasses that carpet the mountainous meadows of the Bridge Isles, growing to such large sizes due to an absence of herbivore competition.

A consequence of their isolation, however, has been the loss of fear responses among the greater zeebeedee: in fact, they, especially solitary young males, have become utterly fearless, even reckless, in their behaviors. In territorial fights, achieved with bites and kicks, both combatants will not back down until they have both sustained serious injuries--injuries they can afford to sustain with no enemies to run from or concern them if weakened. If anything new or unfamiliar enters their territory, it is met with decidedly un-cautious aggression. To them, there is no danger, and the urge to flee to protect themselves has greatly diminished: an otherwise fatal flaw that persists on the Bridge Isles without any detrimental consequence.

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The Fragmian Isles are a series of small islands that have emerged in the Temperocene as a result of tectonics and volcanic activity, forming a series of tiny landmasses connecting Gestaltia to the smaller subcontinent of Fragmus.

These chain of islands have come to form the most intriguing of patterns: along the islands, from Gestaltia to Fragmus, live a series of species on each island that trend along a series of increasing size. The ones of neighboring islands can and do interbreed if they get the chance, however the ones on opposite ends of the island chain have speciated so vastly that they are no longer capable of breeding with one another, both physically and genetically.

The mudmallows are one such example: a group of thick-skinned semi-aquatic cavybaras native to Gestaltia that, on their homeland, scarcely grew larger than 50 kilograms due to the abundance of bigger herbivore competition. But, seeking out new frontiers with their exceptional swimming ability, some coastal populations headed out to sea from one island to the next, island-hopping across the archipelago until they arrived to Fragmus: with no competition from other herbivores, but, trailed there by the predatory wolbears who were just as competent long-distance swimmers when hunting aquatic prey, the mudmallows would expand into far bigger, horned grazers, ten to twelve times as massive as their mainland cousins.

Some of the mudmallows, however, have continued to make a living along the coasts and shallow seas of the Fragmian Isles, such as the atoll seahog (Marinoporciceros fragmus), a smaller species that ranges all across the archipelago. It forages in small herds on the shores for marine plants such as seagrasses, coast kudzu and kelp, and can dive deep for as long as ten minutes at a time to graze on bottom-anchored marine vegetation. Able to float easily and swim with broad, paddle-like paws with blunt claws and semi-webbed toes, it can even head out during low tide to access atolls and sandbanks that submerge in high tide, feasting on marine vegetation that ends up washed ashore, and sharing their spaces with bayvers, ratbats and pterodents, conspicuous as the only creatures on the atolls with neither fins nor wings.

Atoll seahogs are a gregarious species, traveling in small family groups of about a dozen individuals as they probe the coastal shallows during the cooler parts of the day. Their secluded location leaves them with hardly any threats on dry land, but in the seas are occasionally preyed upon by opportunistic phorcas that target them from below. To counter this, seahogs tend to stick close to the shallows, where phorcas rarely venture to avoid the risk of beaching: yet even then, some phorcas, skilled at timed lunges to ambush bayvers resting on shore, try to hunt them from time to time with varying rates of success.

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Junctus was a former land bridge that formed during the Late Therocene, connecting the continents of Arcuterra and Gestaltia throughout the Glaciocene and allowing the exchange of its flora and fauna. Once, Junctus was a flourishing landscape with vast wetlands and bramboo forests. But then came the winter of the Glaciocene, stripping it of nearly all life plant and animal alike. Gone are the giant grandas, herbivorous badgebears that fed on the bramboo, or the small rabbacoons that have since also vanished with the extinction of the skragg, their final living representative, at the dawn of the Temperocene.

Today, a small leftover piece of the land bridge that once was still remains: Isla Junctus, a northernly isle commonly exposed to cold winters and hot summers, now a rarity in most other places in the Temperocene. Its soils, rich in organic matter from being formerly part of the seabed, is highly conducive for plants to grow brought over by wind or ratbat and pterodent droppings, yet much of its wildlife are semi-aquatic marine species like bayvers and narwalruses, or airborne flyers. Its land animal population is scant: the ever present furbils, duskmice, rattiles, and a few basal jerryboas or scabbers. And reigning as unlikely top predator on this small but stable sanctuary is a holdover from a time far long past: the Junctus fauxfox (Junctucyon pelagius).

The fauxfox is a relic from the time when its larger zingo ancestors prowled the forest floors of the bramboo groves all the way back in the Therocene. When the cold snap of the Glaciocene, larger species died out, but the hardy fauxfox endured--surviving the demise of the forests by turning to the sea and shoreline for food. Today, the Junctus fauxfox sticks mostly to the coastal habits of its Glaciocene ancestors, feeding heavily on shrabs, mollusks, crustaceans, sea ratbats, and the carcasses of narwalrus bulls that perish in brutal breeding-season fights and the abandoned afterbirths and any deceased pups the females leave behind. But as Isla Junctus's only land predator, it is not a picky eater, and also heads inland to exploit more terrestrial food sources, such as small animals, insects and even fruit on occasion. Thriving in a variety of environments, the fauxfox's flexibility has been its asset in surviving in an ever-changing world. In the Therocene, ancestors of the fauxfox lived side by side with far larger animals, ones that had failed to persist through the harsh winters. In the end, it is not the strongest that survive: but the ones that adapt the best to change.

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Peninsulaustra in the Glaciocene was a barren, frozen wasteland: once home to abundant life in the Therocene, the freezing of the Glaciocene left it but a lifeless, icy rock. But this catastrophe would allow a new clade to dominate the continent: the flightless semi-aquatic ratbats known as the blubbats.

In the Glaciocene, the blubbats would primarily occupy a parapiscivorous niche, hunting the various small fish-analogues like shrish and pescopods as there was scarcely any food on the land. This pressure would eventually turn some larger and more aggressive blubbat species against their own kin, and thus would rise the blubbears: large terrestrial apex predators that hunted smaller blubbat species as well as the bayvers that came ashore on Peninsulaustra's coast.

Peninuslaustra, however, would merge with South Easaterra in the Temperocene, forming Austro-Easaterra, a warmer temperate world that now offered many opportunities on land. The blubbats thus diversified into freshwater waterfowl-like niches, tree-climbing omnivores, and burrow diggers to name a few, while the blubbears became stocky omnivores that foraged, scavenged and hunted at the same time. A lingering piece of the old Peninsulaustra still endures, however, as Isla Frigor: a small island south of Austro-Easaterra that still remains frozen for half the year, but now experiences summer thaws that enable plants to bloom inland. Here, a relic survivor clings to the arctic ways of its ancestors--part-time, that is.

The bipolar blubbear (Temporursanyctus bimorphis) is the largest native species of Isla Frigor, that for half the year, during the cold winter months, lives a coast-dwelling, blubbat-hunting lifestyle, clad in thick white fur much like its ancient forebearers. Yet, as the days become longer, the snow and ice floes melt and summer draws near, the bipolar blubbear undergoes a dramatic transformation. Shedding its snowy coat that replaces with a shorter, brown-grey coat, it adopts an alternate camouflage for the other half of the year, suited to hide among rocks and plants instead of ice and snow. Its behavior changes too: it becomes less territorial and aggressive now food is plentiful, and the solitary carnivore now becomes a semi-gregarious omnivore, gorging on plants as much as it does with meat, and gathering in small loose groups. It is at this time that they mate and breed, yet it is not until winter when the young are born: well after the bipolar blubbears, with scarcer food and colder weather, revert to their solitary, white-coated, carnivorous phase once more. Here, the mother relies more on stored fat to nourish her young, typically only one, and once the youngster is developed enough can cling to her back and accompany her on hunts. Twins are rare, and usually not viable: in such a case, the mother would often abandon, or even cannibalize, the weaker of the two pups, as she frequently lacks the resources to allow both to survive.

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The North Isles, a breakaway portion of a small peninsula north of Gestaltia, is the most northernmost land mass of the Middle Temperocene: and is the only landmass polar enough as to remain cold and snowy for the entire year, with but a few cold-resistant flora briefly blooming in the snow for less than a month when the temperature is at its highest--relatively speaking, as even in summer snow still covers the ground.

The North Isles are so barren, inhospitable and devoid of life that literally only two hamster species live there: the tundra blemming (Frigirattocricetus brevicauda) and the northern snowhound (Phantasmacyon jonii). Predator and prey locked in an eternal conflict, these two extremophiles are the only survivors of the detachment and northward drift of the North Isles in the Early Temperocene.

Tundra blemmings are furbils: despite lacking the long tails normally sported by the clade, for here they would be a liability in the cold. They are very abundant, but are rarely seen above ground: banding together in large communal dens, they eat mostly underground roots, lichens, and microbe-eating invertebrates living deep in the soil. During the rare month-long bloom, the blemmings emerge in droves to gather and hoard as much food as they can, like seeds and plant matter, piling them in their dens as a stash for later. If conditions are unfavorable for a prolonged period of time, they can also enter a state of torpor to conserve their energy as food becomes scarce and they cannot easily refuel.

They themselves are an important resource for the snowhounds: the most northerly of the zingos, and a hardy survivor in an inhospitable world. Covered in thick white fur and well insulated by the cold, they use sensitive senses of smell and hearing to locate the blemmings from under the snow and pounce on them from above. Migratory ratbats and pterodents offer a welcome change in diet to the snowhound, but for most of the year, it feeds entirely on blemmings, on average hunting two or three a day, scarcely enough to dent the numbers of the prolific burrowers, which, with a gestation of as little as 16 days can produce two litters of up to a dozen young in quick succession during the brief time of plenty.

Their harsh environment, poor diet, and monotonous lifestyle has had a strange consequence in the snowhound: it has evolved to be the least intelligent of all the zingos, with a bigger and energy-hungry brain being but a liability in such a precarious niche. Elsewhere, big brains and social behavior have been an asset that allowed the zingos to become the most successful and widespread carnivore on the planet, and even give rise to not one, but two sophont species. But here, in a place where prey is small enough to hunt alone, sociality became detrimental, and conspecifics became competitors rather than partners. With a brain relatively smaller and smoother than those of an average zingo, and far tinier than those of the calliducyons, the snowhound is a testament to intelligence being but just another trait that can be selected for or against. In the end, the snowhound is good enough to just survive and hunt, and thrives, in spite of knowing nothing else.

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The Glaciocene subcontinent of Fissor was the birthplace of the rattiles: a clade that, emerging at an inopportune time when ice was abundant, now enjoys widespread success worldwide as the tropical Temperocene made the planet far more hospitable for them to grow and flourish. From plodding torticles to flying wingles to swimming seashingles and serpentine burrowurms, the rattiles are a clade unlike any other. Elsewhere, they have diversified and taken on unique forms entirely unexpected of a mammal. Yet it is here on the remnants of their birthplace, long since fused to Gestaltia, that a species both very primitive and very specialized prowls the swamps and wetlands: the marshland garitor (Rodentosuchus fissorius).

Belonging to a very basal offshoot of the rattile family unrelated to other major groups, the garitors fill the niche of aquatic ambush predator, a niche that convergent evolution has shaped repeatedly many times and even today happens in parallel with freshwater leviahams, a similar species that coexists with the garitors by being endothermic and thus more northernly-ranging into cold regions, and needing more food has a much more diverse diet. Most garitors, across Gestaltia, are much more specialized, yet none are extremely specialized as the marshland species of the Fissorian Archipelago.

Equipped with an extremely narrow snout with very elongated molars bearing numerous pointed cusps, the marshland garitor is a specialized hunter of small prey. It hunts freshwater shrish, skwoids and pescopods, and even uses its long snout to probe into burrows and extract its prey from their hiding places. But as a compromise, the marshland garitor exchanges this for a very weak bite: it cannot tackle larger prey unlike its mainland cousins which can tackle prey as big as an ungulope, and is thus restricted to much smaller quarry that it can seize and swallow whole.

Garitors breed once a year, producing a large litter of young numbering well into 50 tiny babies at one go. Once born, the mother leaves them to fend for themselves, and promptly moves out of the area instinctively as far as she can, to reduce the risk of her encountering her offspring again. Young garitors are conveniently bite-sized for an adult, and like most basal rattiles are not very social creatures, and likely would not recognize their own progeny. As such, natural selection favored for a hormonal trigger following birth that inhibits hunger for six to eight hours: plenty of time for the young to disperse before the mother becomes indiscriminately hungry once more.

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Alongside the rattiles, another clade hailing from Fissor are the rhinocheirids: a group of diverse, trunked bipeds descended from the walkabies that developed nasal trunks for pulling vegetation to their mouth. Over time, it became an increasingly dexterous appendage while their real arms became relegated to grooming or defensive functions, their trunk bearing a three-lobed tip formed of the nose and the split upper lip of their hamster ancestor. Gradually, the rhinocheirids found success in a myriad of different forms: towering treechers, arboreal treebumms, carnivorous lipgrips and even a sapient species at one point, the splintsters.

On the Fissorian archipelago, derived forms exist in abundance, such as the slow-moving, tree-living vertigoths. But mundane, generalist basal omnivores also thrive here. Many species of rhinocheirids are medium-sized, ground-dwelling foragers, using their trunks to pull down branches, pluck off fruit, tear up roots and tubers and probe into insect nests.

The splendid snuffsnout (Chromatorhinocheirus elegans) is a fairly typical species representative to many common rhinocheirid species, a forest-dweller that roams in groups in search for food. One less typical aspect, however, are their social structure: they are harem-based, as opposed to simple family groups by most rhinocheirids, with one dominant male and a group of up to a dozen females and their young. Males advertise their dominance through a display uncommon in mammals: bright coloration.

Walkabies were among the first hamsters to develop good color vision, and sport brilliant, decidedly un-mammallike patterns. This trend has now become more widespread in other groups like the tetracorns and lemunkies, as the presence of a secondary red sun likely contributed to vision seeing into the red spectrum as well. The male splendid snuffsnout's blue-hued fur is a product of hollow hairs that refract light, while sparsely-haired parts of its body sport gaudy pinks and oranges. These both attract females, and intimidate rivals: as their pigmentation intensifies based on their diet, their colors are an honest indicator of their health: signifying a strong well-fed individual worth checking out by receptive females, and better left avoided by other males. Sometimes, however, less-dominant males, while consuming reddish, iron-rich soil for the minerals, stain their faces with the dirt on purpose to appear redder: cheating their way to the top of the social hierarchy that is fairly successful on occasion enough as to keep the dishonest behavioral trait passed on.

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Well over a couple thousand ratbat species range all across the continents and islands, even in the presence of the wingles and pterodents. As the first flying hamsters to arise as early as in the Rodentocene, they have remained diverse and abundant, and settled onto landmasses inaccessible to other species.

Isla de Oof is one such example, with beach-dwelling jerryboas and herbivorous duskmice that scurry beneath the undergrowth of coast grass, while fallen nephtiles, giant, flightless wingles, roam the forest floor and forage on the shores as well. Its most notable resident, however, is the greater oof, giant, herbivorous lemunkies that specialized to a diet of weedwood trees. Alongside them is another endemic species that depends on the weedwood to survive: the iridescent bluewing (Cyanonyctus reflectus).

Iridescent bluewings get their color from the shiny, reflective coats of the males: coats that appear a dull grey most of the time but shines a bright blue in certain lighting angles. The bluewing, however, lacks any actual blue pigment: the color comes from the refraction of light. Their individual hairs are transluscent, flattened, and possess fine overlapping cuticular scales, allowing for a smooth reflective surface with multiple layers that produce color through interference with light, allowing light to pass through the hair and refracting it as it bounces back out, much like a thin film of oil on water produces iridescent bands. Males use their flashy colors to signal to females, a shining beacon in the treetops: yet, when threatened, they can ruffle their fur to disperse the light, breaking up the smooth surface and reverting to a dull grey, allowing them to almost disappear at will.

Iridescent bluewings have a diet that consists almost entirely of two things: the sugary sap of the weedwood trees, and the insects attracted to said sap. At times, the bluewings' gnawing for sap lures in insects that in turn become its main course, which over time has developed into an intentional behavior. The bluewing has a relationship with the greater oof as well. As the greater oof feeds, torn-off branches exude sap that the bluewing can access with little effort. The greater oofs are also magnets for swarms of flying insects that gather in clouds above their heads, and bluewings eagerly circle the lumbering beasts, snapping up the insects that are drawn by their warm, pungent, and massive bodies.

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Isla Frigor is home to year-round, grounded residents that live on the island permanently, such as the blubbears and blubbats that are endemic to the isle alone. But other transient species come to the islands and stay there part-time, particularly airborne ones that travel great distances between continents to search for food and nesting grounds.

The south arctic skwazzah (Marornimys borealis) is a species of wandergander that nests primarily in Austro-Easaterra in the winter and spring. During summer and fall, however, some populations migrate south to Isla Frigor to exploit a wide bounty of available prey. The skwazzah is the most predatory of the wanderganders: while most are primarily foragers or fishers, this species supplements its diet with ratbats, blubbats, and even the young of pinniped-like bayvers, which they achieve by harassing the mothers into aggression in hopes of them accidentally crushing their pups under their heavy, clumsy bodies, which, when deceased, is soon after abandoned by the parent and made an easy meal for the skwazzahs. They also trail behind bipolar blubbears, who in the fall are just entering their carnivorous winter phase, and feast eagerly upon their leftovers, or even riskily steal pieces of meat while the blubbears are eating if they are impatient or hungry enough.

When pickings are plentiful, some skwazzahs stay on the island even throughout winter, with a thick layer of insulating fur that helps them keep warm. Their massive wings, which would otherwise become heat sinks that would cause them to lose heat quickly, have a specialized joint in the middle of the wing finger like with most other pterodents, that allows the wing to almost "crumple" like origami and be folded compact and close to the body, insulated by the thick fur. Here, they fly less, and run and walk more, gorging on blubbear leftovers, small blubbats, and opportunistically on beached carrion.

While morphologically identical, the skwazzah has separated into several distinct ecotypes based on behavior and migration patterns: permanent Austro-Easaterra residents, transient Isla Frigor visitors, and Isla Frigor over-winterers, each population behaving differently at a given time of the year which has the positive consequence of reducing intra-species competition. While still perfectly cross-fertile and genetically the same, skwazzahs prefer to breed with those of their own ecotype if possible as they stay together longer throughout the year and maximize dual parental care for their pups: potentially heralding a divergent speciation within a species separated not by physical barriers but behavioral ones.

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[mariacallous]

It was around 5 pm on March 15, and the light was fading fast, when Constantin and Tatiana were attacked by the bear. The young couple, aged 29 and 31 and identified in local media reports only by their first names, were Belarusians living in Poland. But Constantin had been working for the winter as a ski instructor in Jasná, a popular resort in neighboring Slovakia. The winter season was coming to an end, and on a day off he’d decided to go hiking with his girlfriend beneath the 4,718 foot-high peak of Na Jame, in the Slovak national park surrounding the resort. What happened next is not exactly clear, but newspaper reports suggest that when the couple encountered the bear—a young male weighing about 265 pounds—they ran in different directions. Finding himself alone, Constantin tried calling Tatiana. When he failed to get a response, he called mountain rescue. It was dark when they eventually found Tatiana’s body, with the help of a search dog. She’d apparently fallen down a ravine, sustaining fatal injuries to her head.

As with previous bear-related fatalities, both in Slovakia and across Europe, the incident has sparked accusations that conservationists are protecting bears at the expense of people’s safety. In 2021, a 57-year-old man was killed by a bear in the same national park, stoking community tensions about their presence and leading to calls for a cull. As it stands, however, hunting the animals is banned under both Slovakian and European law, and experts argue vociferously that a lack of education—rather than a focus on conservation—is the primary cause of the problem.

“It’s really kicked off here, with the press and politicians I think making some unjustified statements,” says British-born zoologist Robin Rigg. A specialist in large carnivores, Rigg is the chair of the Slovak Wildlife Society, which he set up in 1998, two years after moving to the country. Initial reports suggested that Tatiana might have been killed by the bear itself rather than by her fall, Rigg explains. “And it’s been said in public—actually by someone from the Ministry of the Environment—that it was a predatory attack. But I don’t see the evidence for that.”

Although the animal was near the body when rescuers found Tatiana, “that doesn’t mean the bear was intending to kill and consume her,” Rigg says. He stresses that he hasn’t seen all the evidence, so any conclusions are provisional. But he has seen some of the grisly photos that were leaked to the media, “and none of them show signs of consumption.” Puncture marks found in the young woman’s leg, he says, “look like claw marks—they’re not signs of feeding.” “It's extremely rare in Europe to have predatory attacks, and it’s not a common thing anywhere in the world,” Riggs says. This incident occurred in an area where bears are known to hibernate, at a time of year when they are just waking up. “And what can sometimes happen is that the bear reacts aggressively in defending itself, which is what I think is most likely to have happened in this case—that it was startled by these two people appearing,” Rigg says. Unfortunately, this kind of nuance doesn’t often feature in coverage of bear attacks. “You’re actually more likely, statistically, to get hit by lightning or have an allergic reaction to a bee sting,” Rigg says, “but people don’t worry as much about that as they do about a big animal with sharp teeth and claws. It goes back to an instinctive fear that’s been with us since prehistoric times.” The argument that Slovakia’s bears are nothing to be afraid of was further undermined when footage emerged of an animal galloping down a main street in Liptovský Mikuláš just two days after Tatiana’s death. The animal was filmed lunging aggressively at pedestrians, who jumped over fences to escape. No one was seriously hurt, but the video went viral. “And now,” Rigg says, “we’ve had these two incidents within 48 hours of each other, within a few kilometers of each other. So the tendency is to look at them together and ask, ‘What should we do about bears?’” It’s a question that’s become increasingly pressing in recent years—not just in Slovakia but throughout Europe. Having been hunted to the point of extinction in many countries, brown bears had their “strictly protected” status enshrined in EU law in 1992. In most areas where they’re present, bear populations are increasing, and there are now an estimated 17,000 brown bears living in rural areas across the continent. The recovery of this keystone species has been celebrated as a huge win by biologists and biodiversity experts—but it’s not been without its problems.

In the Pyrenees, the mountains that straddle the border between France and Spain, French and Spanish farmers’ unions, sick of dealing with damage to crops, beehives, and livestock, have called for bear numbers to be cut. In the northern Italian province of Trentino, where bears were reintroduced as part of an EU-funded rewilding project, the tragic death of trail runner Andrea Papi in April 2023 brought simmering resentments bubbling up to the surface. To the horror of local scientists, Trentino’s right-wing populist president, Maurizio Fugatti, proposed killing half of the carefully nurtured population of around 120 bears overnight.

Yet, experts say, culling bears is far from the best way to prevent future tragedies. In the wake of Andrea Papi’s death, the local natural history museum invited Tom Smith, a bear management specialist from Utah’s Brigham Young University, to give a talk about how such issues are dealt with in North America. In a sign of how high community tensions were running, the museum took the unusual step of posting an armed guard at the entrance. In his talk, Smith suggested that the solutions were relatively simple: “What you have here isn’t necessarily a bear problem, it’s a people problem,” he said. Unlike in North America, where people in bear areas have grown up with the animals, Europeans living near recently recovered populations don’t necessarily know how to behave. But with some basic bear-awareness training—of the kind that’s taught “in kindergarten” in some Canadian provinces—the number of dangerous or fatal encounters could be vastly reduced. Smith runs the North American Human-Bear Conflict Database, which contains detailed information on 2,175 historic attacks, with “a quarter-million data points.” “What I’ve learned by studying these events,” he told the crowd, “is that 60 percent of them were totally unnecessary—and could have been avoided if people had behaved differently.” In an interview a few days later, Smith talked specifically about Papi’s death, telling WIRED, “I can go through the details and say, ‘You should never do that, or that, or that,’ and it’s not victim blaming, it’s trying to say, look, this was fully preventable.” Tragically, this also appears to have been the case in Slovakia. “Unfortunately, the route that they chose was a very risky one,” Rigg says. “It’s not a recognized hiking route, and it’s a part of the park that’s strictly protected, so they shouldn’t have been there. Added to that, it’s a limestone area, and that’s an area I’d expect there would be denning bears.” The encounter happened around dusk, when crepuscular creatures like brown bears tend to be more active.

And by running away from the animal—particularly by running away in different directions—the couple inadvertently made the situation a whole lot worse. “It would have been better if they’d stayed together and tried to stay calm if possible,” Rigg says, because bears almost never attack people in groups. In the entire North American Human-Bear Conflict Database, Tom Smith said, there’s not “a single case where two people stood their ground and the bear attacked.”

While the human tragedy of Constantin and Tatiana made headlines, the incident may prove damaging to bears too, affecting conservation efforts across Europe. Slovakia’s government (which, like Trentino’s, is right-wing populist) has called for the EU to strip bears of their “strictly protected” status. Adalbert Jahnz, a European Commission environment spokesperson, said he couldn’t comment on these specific calls.

But the decision in December to downgrade wolves from “strictly protected” to “protected,” a status that would allow hunting, has biologists and biodiversity experts worried. “It’s partly political posturing,” says Rigg of the Slovak government’s recent statements, “but I think they really want to try to make that happen—and they probably feel that there’s a bit of an open door now because of what happened with the wolf recently.”

[hedgewitchgarden]

By Julia Kane. April 27, 2023. On an overcast Saturday in March, Serina Fast Horse stands in a ring of freshly planted, 12-foot-tall willow cuttings. Soft white buds are just beginning to emerge from their gray stems.

Easing the tips of the willows toward the center of the circle, Fast Horse holds them in place while another volunteer ties them together with twine.

Fast Horse and about three dozen others have gathered at Shwakuk Wetland, five acres of land situated between a residential neighborhood and a freight warehouse in north Portland, just south of Columbia Edgewater Country Club.

In time, the trees they plant and gently shape will grow into a willow dome—a living structure people can gather around for ceremonies, educational programs or just to enjoy the space.

Shwakuk, which is pronounced “show-kayk” and means little frog in Chinook Wawa, is a unique site co-managed by the local Indigenous community and Portland’s Bureau of Environmental Services.

When the city acquired the land in 2016, it was a pumpkin patch.

Since then, the team responsible for stewarding it has worked to restore the wetland. Now it’s used to to cultivate first foods, medicines and basketry plants.

It’s also reconnecting area residents with the land.

Fast Horse, who is Lakota and Blackfeet, serves as a community liaison on the Shwakuk project, bridging the gap between the local Indigenous community and city employees.

Since getting involved with the project, the 28-year-old Portlander has also gone on to found Kimímela Consulting. Her goal is to bring the Indigenous community into environmental decision-making processes at the city and state level.

“When we’re able to come together and uplift Indigenous knowledge—and learn from each other, too, because there are things from western science and ecology that are important for restoration—we can change these systems to be more regenerative,” says Fast Horse.

“Indigenizing” not “de-colonizing”

For Fast Horse, the choice to use the word Indigenize rather than decolonize is intentional.

“When we say Indigenize, it’s centering the Indigenous perspective and being forward-thinking instead of centering colonization and that experience,” she says. 

In restoration work, the Indigenous perspective hasn’t often been taken into consideration.

“Our program has always used native plants, but the selection wasn’t necessarily based on the Indigenous communities’ needs or desires,” says Toby Query, a natural resource ecologist with Portland’s Bureau of Environmental Services. “It was more about what would survive and what would fulfill our agency’s goals as far as shading the water, wildlife habitat and structure, and so forth.”

At Shawkuk, the Indigenous community put together a list of desired plants, which included first foods, medicines and plants used for traditional crafts.

That list has guided Query and the rest of the team involved in day-to-day restoration work at the site.

So far, they’ve had success at growing tule, a sedge used in basketry and canoe-making, along with yarrow, a medicinal plant, and camas, a plant with an edible, bulb-like root. They’ve also planted yampah, a wild carrot.

Instead of spraying herbicide, the restoration team uses vinyl from old billboards to block the sun and kill invasive grasses. Sometimes, they’ll braid invasive grasses around native plants, like yellow dock, horsetail and cattail, so that they stay low to the ground and do not choke out other plants.

“It takes a lot of effort to do it,” says Query, who has spent many hours braiding reed canarygrass alongside workers from Wisdom of the Elders, an Indigenous-led group. “While we were doing it we were enjoying conversation, and it was kind of a healing process.”

Query has implemented many techniques he’s learned from the Indigenous community at the 20 or so sites he stewards across the city.

“It’s really informed what I plant, and how I take care of plants,” he says.

Tending parties, wild tea

Healing is a critical element of Indigenizing restoration work.

In fact, says Fast Horse, “my deepest wish for this work is to bring folks together and to heal our relationships to each other and to the earth.”

At Shwakuk, she’s brought people together by helping organize “tending parties” that attract members of the local Indigenous community, students from Portland State University, city employees and others.

The groups learn about a site, spend a few hours helping with a restoration project and gather for lunch.

Oftentimes, Judy BlueHorse Skelton, an assistant professor at Portland State University who has helped lead the Shwakuk restoration, will make tea for everyone.

She makes the tea using a sprig of Doug fir gathered onsite, and sometimes rosehips, Oregon grape and western redcedar.

“We’re taught that to sip tea together is to become a relative, or to form a relationship,” says BlueHorse Skelton, who is Nez Perce and Cherokee. “It’s also deepening our intimate relationship with the plant world. It’s a big part of Indigenous traditional ecological and cultural knowledge, and it’s embedded in the work that we’re all doing.”

Intern to owner

Restoring Shwakuk was pivotal for Fast Horse, who first got involved with the project as an intern with Environmental Services.

“I was able to be an internal advocate to make sure what the community was saying was being upheld in a really meaningful way,” says Fast Horse. “I would be in these internal meetings, and so that perspective got woven throughout the process.”

In those meetings, the impact that she could have as a community liaison became clear.

From Query’s point of view: “To have somebody that has an Indigenous perspective, but is also willing to be part of the agency side of things, and to be able to walk between those two cultures has been really important.”

Fast Horse began giving presentations about lessons learned from Shwakuk and found that other city agencies and organizations wanted Indigenous input on their projects, too.

Portland has recently become more proactive about reaching out to the Indigenous community. The city hired its first full-time tribal relations director, Laura John, in 2017—a move BlueHorse Skelton says has been “immensely transformative.”

Two years ago, Fast Horse founded her own company, Kimímela Consulting, based in Milwaukie, Ore. She’s continued to act as a liaison between the Indigenous community and various agencies and organizations.

Most of her work has to do with land restoration, but she’s also working with Portland State University to rename a street. The campus’ Native American Student and Community Center is currently located on a street named after President Andrew Jackson, known for enforcing the genocidal Indian Removal Act of 1830.

“She’s been providing a voice and venue for the Indigenous community, including students and folks across all agencies, to get involved—including just the average community member who may not have a voice,” says BlueHorse Skelton.

A reconnected future

According to BlueHorse Skelton, the work that Fast Horse is doing to ensure the Indigenous community is part of decision-making processes is critical.

“When cities look, today, at how to heal, how to begin to restore, how to protect what’s left,” says BlueHorse Skelton, “we have to be part of it.” 

She sees Fast Horse as the first of a new, emerging generation of Indigenous leaders in the region.

“As some of us become elders, who carries that work forward?” BlueHorse Skelton asks. “That’s Serina.”

“A lot of times people put us in the past, and that’s a huge misconception,” says Fast Horse. “We’ve always been adaptable people. We’re not trying to revert back to anything, we’re going into the future.

“We’re all interconnected in this physical and spiritual plane. With Indigenous knowledge, we can reconnect to that and live in a way that is more in line with natural systems that are regenerative and life-giving.”

[violetsandshrikes]

Five African white-backed vultures that were poisoned in December 2022 have been released back into the Manyoni Game Reserve, South Africa, at the beginning of June 2023!

[fatehbaz]

Bison. Corporate environmentalism. The greenwashing of bison meat products. Decolonization on the prairies and multispecies relations. The “authenticity” of food. Indigenous resistance to “cattle empires.” Obscuring histories of violence and ongoing nationalist appropriation of environmental rhetoric by claiming bison as a national emblem, as in 2016 with the US’s official declaration of bison as “national mammal.” Invoking “conservation” to create a narrative of redemption for a nation. “US historical and environmental discourses transform the bison from a site of imperial violence and ecological destruction into a symbol of American exceptionalism and sustainability.” [Excerpts from: John Levi Bernard. “The Bison and the Cow: Food, Empire, Extinction.” American Quarterly. 2020.]

---

In May 2016, President Barack Obama signed the National Bison Legacy Act, adopting the bison as “the national mammal of the United States.” [...] [T]he Wildlife Conservation Society, identified the bison as an “icon” of American “values such as unity, resilience and healthy landscapes and communities.” These optimistic assertions, however, belie the actual histories of both the bison and the Indigenous people the act purports to acknowledge. [...]

[T]he bison exists in a state of what scientists call “ecological extinction,” [...]. And though the rhetoric of “species recovery” generally refers to conservation herds in protected spaces [...], the primary mechanism of bison preservation is literally bison consumption: while thirty thousand currently live in some semblance of the wild, there are over three hundred thousand in commercial populations across North America, with sixty thousand slaughtered annually in the United States alone. [...] [I]ndeed, early conservationists like Theodore Roosevelt and George Bird Grinnell were both cattle ranchers and big game hunters [...]. Conservation efforts thus consisted of neither the restoration of populations nor the protection of individual animals from human violence but the enclosure of bison herds within either national parks or private ranches and game preserves, creating, on the one hand, symbolic spaces of ecological nationalism and, on the other, opportunities for upper-class white men to revive through recreation and commodifcation what their own imperial and commercial enterprises had largely destroyed.

---

Given its association with these sites of enclosure -- whether the public park or the private ranch -- we can see how bison conservation has always been aligned with a culture of consumption embedded in the larger context of colonization. Yet the predominant narrative of conservation, which the Bison Legacy Act reiterates, tends to obscure these affiliations. Celebrating the bison’s survival as a national triumph while ignoring the nation’s responsibility for its near annihilation in the first place [...].

These discourses shape a redemption narrative for the nation and species: with respect to national history, the bison has been framed as the tragic but necessary casualty of US development; with respect to the species, its recovery is evidence of the success of the conservationism that emerged after the closing of the continental frontier. As opposed to Indigenous accounts that recognize what Tasha Hubbard calls “buffalo genocide” as one front in a larger “colonial war on nature,” US historical and environmental discourses transform the bison from a site of imperial violence and ecological destruction into a symbol of American exceptionalism and sustainability.

This appropriation of the [...] species as a sign of the settler nation exemplifes what Nicole Shukin calls the “semiotic currency” of “animal capital.” [...]

[T]he narratives of conquest and conservation [...] effectively converge. [...] [T]he bison’s image and its flesh have been appropriated for an American exceptionalist mythology -- first in the nineteenth-century literature of the US “frontier” and then in contemporary discourses of environmentalism and sustainability [...].

---

Across the literature of US expansion, the bison was a sign of wilderness inevitably yielding to the progress of civilization while also serving as a kind of ritual meal for white settlers and tourists on the prairie. [...] American eaters today can signal a commitment to environmentalism by choosing the meat of the bison over that of the cow, investing in notions of sustainability and resilience that are equally operable in the Bison Legacy Act and the marketing materials for a variety of buffalo meat products available now -- products that literally incarnate, as the Texas-based meat-bar company Epic Provisions declares, “the timeless forces of power, resilience, and freedom embodied by our foreathers.” [...]

The focus on authenticity and simplicity would be at home in the marketing materials for a company like Epic Provisions, which advertises its products as “real foods” that are “pasture centered, and, most importantly, delicious.” Yet as food historians such as Mark McWilliams, Keith Stavely, and Kathleen Fitzgerald have shown, the rhetoric of culinary authenticity was already aligned with early nineteenth-century discourses concerning the nation’s mission [...].

Native American Natural Foods (NANF), an Oglala Lakota–owned business, introduced the Tanka Bar several years earlier; and as NANF explains in its own marketing materials, the Tanka bar is a replication of wasna, a mix of dried berries and buffalo meat that Lakota have eaten for generations. [...] Epic obscures the Lakota origins of both its product and its business model [...].

---

[T]he US government and corporate environmentalism effectively replicate the primary operations of both settler colonialism and animal capital, [...] obscuring the material violence of that nation’s business as usual. In the nineteenth century, that business involved the eradication of the bison in the interests of capital accumulation and territorial conquest, while in the twenty-first it means the enlistment of the remnants of the species in the “greenwashing” of a [...] food culture [...].

The US settler enterprise replaced the multispecies relations of the prairie with those of the cattle ranch [...].

Hogan prophesies in her poem, the realization of what the “ghost dancers heard / in their dream / of bringing buffalo down from the sky.” Hogan’s poems and Monkman’s installation situate the rise and fall of what Roosevelt called “white civilization in the West” in the deeper contexts of evolutionary and even cosmic time, offering a reminder that those five centuries constitute -- as Whyte has noted -- only the “tiniest sliver” of a much longer human and nonhuman history, and signaling the possibility of some alternative and recuperative future beyond that civilization’s fall. [...]

Just as Indigenous-led resistance to petroleum infrastructure has highlighted the necessity of decolonization [...], the bison’s enlistment in the interrelated projects of ecological nationalism and “sustainable” meat production suggests that conservation without decolonization -- conservation that fails to “resist,” as Whyte has put it, “the capitalist-colonialist ‘matrix’” of which the cattle industry is a predominant feature -- may do as much to drive extinction as it does to prevent it.

---

Text by: John Levi Bernard. “The Bison and the Cow: Food, Empire, Extinction.” American Quarterly Volume 72 Number 2. June 2020. [Italicized first paragraph added by me.]

[fascinatedhelix]

I am probably overthinking things but here's a rant motivated by this post (or rather, some of its responses) (tw: some discussion of ACAB, nothing explicit):

Does ACAB apply to the Heroes?

In real life, cops are bastards because they exist to enforce an oppressive status quo, and are rewarded for their bastardry with functional immunity from the same laws they are supposed to uphold.

In Hero Factory... it's complicated. Yes, the corporation has the Heroes cooperate with local law enforcement in many cases (for example, Stormer's buddy buddy relationship with the cop in ep3), but it is a private corporation, and given the whole Galactic Conspiracy plotline in the late books before it all got cancelled, this doesn't seem to be a universal thing. Hero Factory exists, in-universe, to deal with the growing supervillain problem, which could be tangentially regarded as law enforcement, but only in cases where local enforcement is unable to handle it (like all the acid spitting weirdos). Hero Factory Incorporated gives the impression of a private emergency services company, rather than necessarily a law enforcement agency (at least in my opinion). They even have dispatchers like a 911 call center.

Also, the franchise likes to blur the lines between "person" and "thing." One of the most obvious examples I can think of is how the robots all refer to the techno-organic species in Savage Planet as "animals" and "wildlife," despite many of them being sapient and perfectly capable of speech. There's also how they treat their own: Daniella Capricorn literally refers to her camera bot as her "mindless slave," and nobody seems to bat an eye at that, and the Fire Lord and his crew became that way because of an ill-advised "upgrade" that was intended to increase their efficiency, presumably by the company that made them for mining.

The Heroes are considered "people," but also products. They are advertised to the public in showcases and commercials, they are maintained by the company that produced them, and when they wear out, they're sent off to live elsewhere to fulfill a similar role. I don't think they're really allowed to decide what they want to do with their lives, because most that do wind up becoming Villains, if Core Hunter and Von Nebula are any indication.

Presumably, this sort of universal dehumanization is why things like Furno zapping a prisoner in episode 1, Stormer dismantling their radio guy for insulting him in Hero Factory FM, and other instances of "police brutality" in the franchise isn't really treated seriously in-universe. They're robots, they can be repaired and replaced if need be, who cares if they get hurt?

Honestly, on a Doylist level, it's obviously just regular children's copaganda. You're not supposed to think too deeply about the implications about the metaphorical cops literally being owned by a private corporation, who engage in casual acts of excessive force and brutality for the sake of a laugh, and how just about everyone in the setting gets all kinds of roughed up on the regular because they're robots so it's fine.

I don't know where I'm going with this. I did mistake Surge for a girl when I first looked up HF on tumblr and saw the HRT post, so gender stuff with him is absolutely on the menu in my mind. But also, I'm not sure if he'd be allowed at Pride. I guess it depends on where you draw the line. I stayed up way too late rambling about robot philosophy.