Billy,
A lot of what you are saying is what gets under my skin the most. An urban boy reads Thoreau, Tolstoy, Hemmingway, Emerson and others who, although I love them and can relate to them, overly romanticize nature. They know and I know what a cruel, unforgiving mistress nature is, Chris evidently did not, nor do other people that have this unrealistic view of untamed nature, such as Timothy Treadwell. This movie and the book IMO just reinforce this thinking. Most people in this country, even on this site, think it is horrible to hunt and trap, although they have never done it, yet they have no trouble scarfing down KFC or Mcdonalds. In their snug houses with pantries filled with processed food from the local Wal Mart, they read, and idealize, and long to get back to nature with out having a clue as to what they are really talking about.
In my narrow southern mind all of the creatures of this earth and nature in general are here for mankinds benefit. It is our job to use it without harming it and be a steward of nature and all things in it. Not the other way around, mankind is not here for the benefit of nature. Chris
'Here am I, Dmitri Olenin, a being quite distinct from every other being, now lying all alone Heaven only knows where where a stag used to live an old stag, a beautiful stag who perhaps had never seen a man, and in a place where no human being has ever sat or thought these thoughts. Here I sit, and around me stand old and young trees, one of them festooned with wild grape vines, and pheasants are fluttering, driving one another about and perhaps scenting their murdered brothers.' He felt his pheasants, examined them, and wiped the warm blood off his hand onto his coat. 'Perhaps the jackals scent them and with dissatisfied faces go off in another direction: above me, flying in among the leaves which to them seem enormous islands, mosquitoes hang in the air and buzz: one, two, three, four, a hundred, a thousand, a million mosquitoes, and all of them buzz something or other and each one of them is separate from all else and is just such a separate Dmitri Olenin as I am myself.' He vividly imagined what the mosquitoes buzzed: 'This way, this way, lads! Here's some one we can eat!' They buzzed and stuck to him. And it was clear to him that he was not a Russian nobleman, a member of Moscow society, the friend and relation of so-and-so and so-and-so, but just such a mosquito, or pheasant, or deer, as those that were now living all around him. 'Just as they, just as Uncle Eroshka, I shall live awhile and die, and as he says truly: "grass will grow and nothing more".' Leo Tolstoy