Archery malfunctions, mishaps and misses
Three headlamps bobbed along the gated mountain road, boots treading lightly yet swiftly as my husband Christopher, our surrogate hunting father Mike, and I trekked toward our early morning waypoint.
The spot on OnX Maps that we had marked the afternoon before was where we had turned up a gnarly sounding bugle, tempting us numerous times. Unable to navigate down a hellacious slope to the bull’s fortress of a ridge, the three of us agreed that coming back the next morning would give us ample time to make a less brutal approach.
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