After the botched stalks, after the passed shots, after all the empty hours searching through glass, I suddenly, finally, had my choice between two strong mule deer. We killed the quad’s engine. The bucks stood on opposite sides of us—and both were within range. The deer to my right, feeding in a field with a few does, was bigger, but there was nowhere for me to get into position without spooking him. The left-side buck, however, gave me a better shot. He stood broadside on the crest of a hill, about 70 yards above us, backlit by the early-morning sun. He turned his head, taunting me with a vision of a wide 4x4 rack.