It's not until I'm miles up the trail, my crossbow lashed to my pack and my thighs starting to burn from the elevation gain, that I recognize another inconvenience of the bow. It's wide, the horizontal limbs catching every pine branch and trailside bramble I pass. Kim and Mark are also carrying crossbows, seemingly with less effort than I'm expending. I adopt their method, carrying my bow in one hand, but the weight and T-shaped configuration become onerous. I try strapping it to my pack with one limb jutting forward over my head, but it's unwieldy and unbalanced. But I've made my decision to hunt with this implement, and as I climb through groves of whitebark pine and quaking aspen with their golden leaves fluttering, it is literally my cross to bear.