Last Muley I shot was with my .257 Roberts at around 10 yards. All the planets were in alignment. I'm standing against a rock face and down wind, with the sun at my back. I just waited for him to look away and shot him quartering away.
That was the fattest wheat field Muley I ever brought home and also the last. Even that Muley was considered "too gamey" by my family, and so I quit hunting them.
However, all is not lost. On occasion, my better half, after perusing the freezer will ask/tell me "you are going to get another elk, right?"
It's you and the bullet, and all the rest is secondary.
