After four excruciating hours of baking in the hot August sun, the velvet-clad mule deer stood from his bed, unaware of my presence tucked behind a sage brush 43 yards above him. The countless hours of summer prep came down to this singular moment. I was confident in my shooting abilities at that distance, and I knew the broadhead fastened on the end of my arrow was lethal. With a deep exhale I settled my pin and sent an arrow down range, zipping through the buck and burying into the dirt behind. At the shot, the buck jumped into the bottom of the grassy draw, stopped, and intently looked back trying to figure out what had startled him, eyes and ears on full alert. Within seconds, his legs wobbled and…
