Uncle Russell

Obsession and the Great Outdoors

“That ain’t goin’ in there!” my Uncle Russell said after cousin Troy showed me a picture with Russ and two of the tiniest deer I’ve ever seen, recommending the subtitle, “Putting a hurtin’ on the spike population”—spike being a term for a small young male deer with antlers that don’t branch or fork, and hunting, like fishing, is all about size. Despite Uncle Russell’s objection, I knew the anecdote had to be in the blog (check the picture below). It works because it’s hilarious and, anyone who knows him, knows it’s a joke. When it comes to hunting and fishing, my Uncle Russell is as prolific and respectful a sportsman as any. 

Something he proved with a quick crossbow shot out the window of their hunting camp when I spent a night out there back in October. With a foam target at fifty yards and three of his sons heckling behind him, he threw an arrow dead center and shrugged “Ain’t nothing,” his boys groaning in disappointment that their old man still got it.

I hadn’t been to a hunting camp since I was a child, and it was awesome. The smell of roasting meat and cigarettes, the arsenal of a gun rack, hooks overflowing with thick camouflage jackets, the turkey feet and bear skull propped on the window sill, every inch of the walls covered in trophy bucks from around the country, and the two sticks of butter and entire package of cream cheese Russ blended into the mashed potatoes were a lot for my European-city-leaning vegan senses to take in. I brought a few bags of chips and two tofu sandwiches that I placed on top of fresh vacuum-wrapped and still bloody turkey legs in the jam-packed fridge. 

That evening and the following morning, I jumped on the back of the four-wheeler as Russ checked his trail cameras. In terms of deer hunting, it was a slow season, the motion-sensitive cameras not revealing much beyond the occasional doe. 

But Uncle Russ was undeterred. For him, hunting and fishing go beyond passion, and a word that I hear when talking about him is obsessive. If you’re regularly waking up at three or four in the morning for a hobby, that word fits. But when he does anything, he seems to go all in and has the ability to fully immerse in the task at hand. I’ve heard that one of the only times he eased up on hunting was when he coached girls' varsity basketball. Because he wasn’t going to half-a** it; he was in it to win—and still loves watching games and talking strategy. Side note: their youngest daughter is a senior and will be playing her last games soon, ending a Ryynanen varsity basketball era that stretches over twenty years.

Uncle Russell: he’s a husband, a father of ten, a grandfather, and a retired parole officer, but when anyone describes him, hunting and fishing inevitably take center stage. His father was a conservation officer and avid outdoorsman, and he instilled that passion into Russell, who, in turn, raised four sons who spend copious amounts of their discretionary income on outdoor gear and plan just about all of their vacations around hunting and fishing.

Thinking about him and his boys—my cousins—had me contemplating the nature-vs-nurture element of our passions and the paths our lives take. How much do we choose them… or do they choose us?