Most of us Baby Boomers remember Kurt Russell as a young guy appearing in any number of Walt Disney films, before Disney succumbed to the woke virus - or we remember him as the infamous Snake Plisskin, a dark anti-hero with an uncanny ability to navigate dystopian post-collapse American cities. But there's more to Kurt Russell than that.
In a recent interview with a podcast called Table Manners, Mr. Russell described one of his primary ways of putting protein on the table: The hunt.
He makes a good case for it, too.
The 74-year-old actor opened up about the lifestyle and how it shaped his family’s connection to food, admitting he’s an avid hunter with a particular appreciation for elk meat during an appearance on the “Table Manners” podcast.
When asked if he was sentimental about animals, Russell responded, “Well, I thank them for their service.”
“By the way, there’s no pleasure in the taking of life,” he clarified. “There’s great pleasure and honor in taking an animal that feeds you. And I respect that and honor that. And it means a big deal to me. And you know, I make no apologies.”
That's a key concept; more on that in a moment. Kurt's son also has some thoughts, and this is key:
Russell’s son Wyatt – who lives in Colorado – chimed in, explaining how life in the wilderness is different.
“One of the things that we’ve really forgot, especially my children growing up – you see those things run through your backyard, and you see all kinds of animals, and they’re majestic.”
“But then you go to the grocery store, and it’s like 90% of the people are just in a pack,” Wyatt added. “They don’t know. They have no connection to food at all. And so it’s very nice. You know, we were raised with it to know that thing that you took is gonna be your dinner meal.”
Ay, that's the rub. For any life to continue, another life has to give way. Life feeds on life. And if we are to eat meat - most people do - then there are only two real options: We can take responsibility for the killing, or we can pay others to do it. Both are fine, but in the hunt, there's an understanding that you can't pick up at the grocery store.
Read More: Oregon's Proposed New PEACE Act: Ban Hunting, Invite Famine
Elk Foundation Secures Massive New Elk Habitat Boost in Michigan
The hunter knows very well the cost of the food on his or her plate. Not only has a year been spent in preparation for the hunt, planning, caring for equipment, and practicing marksmanship, but there is a mental preparation as well. The hunter has often risen long before dawn and walked the many miles to where the game awaits. In the bright sun of a meadow, in the twilight of dusk, or in the shadows of the forest, he has made the stalk, taken the shot with painstaking care, and dressed the animal. He has packed out quarters of elk or moose, perhaps a two or three-day process, often through rough, grueling country. The hunter has cared for hides, antlers, and meat, and the price for the meal of elk steak or moose roast is ever with the one for whose life the animal's life has given way.
Most of all, the hunter has seen the sudden transition from a living animal to an inanimate food source, from animate life to meat for the table. The non-hunting urbanite likely has never seen this take place, and would not care to do so; but the hunter knows, with bittersweet regularity, the price that must be paid for continued existence.
Unfortunately, the non-hunter often cannot see past the fact that the hunt results in the death of an animal. The death of an animal, it’s true, is the goal of the hunt; but a greater goal is to be found in the overall experience, of which the actual kill is only the climactic moment. The hunter’s soul often thrills as much, if not more, to the blown stalk, the bull moose that senses something amiss and vanishes into the black spruce like a puff of smoke on the breeze, leaving no trace in his wake. Fond memories include the grouse that explodes from underfoot at the worst possible moment, the squirrel that set up a warning chatter in the penultimate seconds of a carefully planned approach. The vista of a great gulch viewed from the rim, with a herd of elk grazing peacefully, undisturbed, and totally unapproachable on the far side. And, indeed, in the final moment of success, when the hunter approaches, cautiously, the downed bull, lying still now against the bed of needles; the heart-pounding thrill of success, weighted against the bittersweet regret of the necessity of taking the life, facing the final truth that for life to be, another life must give way. No, it's never without a moment of regret. But it's necessary. We understand that.
I'm glad to see that at least one Hollywood type, not a group well-known for being in touch with the real world, seems to understand this. I'm even more pleased to see that Kurt is passing that tradition on. We need to do this; we need to bring more young people into the hunt, and more into the understanding of their place in the natural world, and the price that must be paid to continue, to not only understand it, but to accept it, and to accept the responsibility for it.
