Bishop was born in his hometown of Belozersk in city hospital No. 1 he grew up there, his father often taking him out on hunting and fishing trips. His summers were spent fishing with friends in Lake Beloe, which was a nice escape from the stale heat of the stale town they lived it. It was a bureaucratic town. The first in the area to get office buildings before factories. Bishop and his family weren't office people. His father was a hunter and he worked at a sawmill just on the outskirts of town. His mother was a paramedic. Between his father's commute and hunting trips and his mother's long hours he found himself on his own for the majority of his early years. Being an only child he learned to be extremely self sufficient at a young age. At 10 he went on his first hunting trip. He didn't get anything but he developed a love for being in the woods. His summers slowly changed from lake trips to camping trips. Sometimes with his father, sometimes with friends and sometimes alone. He would pack a bag, grab his .22 and head off into the woods. This was his escape. He did this for years. School would end, he would rush home and grab the bags he packed the weekend before and take off. The odd injury is bound to happen. A broken bone, a cut, an animal attack. But next year he would be running off again into the woods, rifle and bag in hand. By adulthood he had picked up an equally exciting and fitting occupation. He was a helicopter SAR officer. The first detachment out of Belozersk. He and his small crew operated out of a run down, nearly retired Mi-8. The only helicopter the local Government cared to afford. Nobody really went missing in the woods. They were no recreational hikers, weekend party campers. The forest wasn't welcoming, or inviting. It was ruthless and people knew it. Nobody bothered going in unless they had a goal in mind. Most of his job entailed water rescues. Kids falling in water, people's boats breaking down. The odd call for a medivac transport, or a request for a search assistance from another city. Those were the ones he loved. Getting to see another forest, another camping spot, scouting out new hunting grounds and getting paid to do it. He liked helping people too. Rarely did he ever encounter anyone who was in a life or death situation, but the satisfaction of getting people out of tough spots was enough for him. The handshakes, the thanks, the sobbing mothers as they came to pick their child up put a smile on his face and allowed him to be proud of his paycheck. His life continued as it always had, taking time off in the summer to hunt and fish and camp, year after year. On June 28th, 2017 he left for his longest trip ever. He was planning on spending 6 months in his favorite little nook up North. About two days out of town it was remote. He would set up a nice camp and see how long he could last.