As we walked about this amazing museum, in which the numerous winding tiers were serenaded with the sounds of the wild animals on display, Shayne and Ishmael stopped to explain to me the nuances of hunting elk, horse-sized deer with massive stag racks. On many occasions, as one of these hunters explained how to kill, dress and transport these animals, I noticed civilized tourists cringing in disgust, veering away wide-eyed—but these fellows had eyes only for the preserved remains of the animals they have loved, admired, killed and mourned for over 40 years.

Amidst the details, almost immediately forgotten, concerning the migratory habits of these animals, I was thrilled to hear a bugling flute sound that made my chest flush and my forearms tingle with blood, as if I had just spent time shadowboxing and stick twirling to get ready for sparring or fighting. Shayne informed me that this was "the bugle of a bull elk."

As Shayne explained the significance of the lonely bull call—it being a predominantly a nocturnal and cold weather habit the animal uses to warm itself up—Ishmael showed me the hair bristling up on his forearm, and was shocked, that I, who have never hunted big game, had the same sensation.

If this asphalt monkey receives this same primal message as these lifelong meat-hunters than our instincts are deep indeed.