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There’s no outer limit to the absurdity of the questions we get at Cabela's, but the one I got today will likely be the reigning champion for some time.

All three of my shots in the season thus far had been more difficult than this one. Each of them had been at an angle and I had to shoot through gaps in thick trees. This Mule was completely in the open and a draftsmen couldn’t have provided a more precise right angle.

I’m helping people supply themselves for hunting—a pursuit I can say I know a fair bit about—and I’d naively hoped that other people who go hunting might know something about it as well. Nope.

At 20 yards, he was easily in range, but there was no clear shot. Not even close. I worked along the edge of the perimeter to find a spot where I could enter the thicket with the least amount of noise and took a few more steps in. Watching his head, I only stepped when his antlers were brushing the undergrowth, hoping his noise would cover my own. It mostly worked.

I was sitting there musing about the Labor Day feast I’d be eating later on, thinking of what wine to pair with the ham dad was baking, when there was a sudden snapping of branches and stomping in the undergrowth of something huge barreling through the woods.