We are planning our meals for out in the field. Apparently our reserves of bacon may become depleted quite quickly.
Take me home. Now.
But in all seriousness, I'm concerned about this whole cooking thing. I have no skills. Poor field school kids who have to deal with my occasional turn at the grill. That's how I get voted off the island.
Things learned thus far: quit while you're ahead. At the Beringia Museum, we had the chance to throw atlatls. For non-archaeologist types, this is the technology between thrusting spears and bow and arrow (which apparently weren't adopted here--in the Yukon, in case you forgot where I am--until 1000 years ago, much later than most elsewhere).
My first throw went surprisingly well, I hit the sabre toothed tiger wood cut out. Peaked early in my atlatl career and managed to get progressively worse. I believe in beginner's luck.
This throw hit a camel. Pretty impressive stuff. Please note this is not me. I have never once in my whole life looked this graceful.
This is a giant sloth, to the right. Also giant beavers, the stuff of legends, were a thing.
The sleeping bag I brought up, with a measly 5 degrees celsius rating, somehow managed to pass gear inspection this morning. I talked it up, I can wear layers, Mr. Norm, I can wear a toque. Nah, he was chill about it but perhaps I will later regret that when I too am chill. Chilled and with my teeth chattering in my tent.
Today a local joined our group. She will be participating in the field school with us and was nice enough to serve as tour guide for the group. A steep set of stairs later will get you to the cliffs and a view like no other. This is Whitehorse.