Oh crap. I've been mulling this one around for a whole day (too dern much time on a riding lawn mower), and decided I have no idea what I'd do until it happened. And here's why:
Long time ago I had a farm I hunted in Wisconsin. There was a piebald (partial albino) doe living there that was something of a local fixture...7 or 8 years old, gorgeous thing, white patches all over her like an Appaloosa horse. Lots of guys, including me, wanted a crack at her. (Albinos are protected in WI, but not piebalds), but she just never gave anyone a shot.
Anyway, last night of late bow season (Dec. 31) I went out to hunt. Colder than a witch's heart, and windy to boot. But I was young, tough and probably more important, hungry; freezer was bare, tag was unpunched, I was ready to kill any doe that walked by. My cousins and I call this "donkey-bonkin' time." So I trudged through the snow, crawled into the stand, and settled in.
Half-hour later, guess who shows up? Yup...the piebald. She was cutting through an old apple orchard out of bow-range when she hit my track. Stuck her nose where I'd been post-holing, and tracked me right to the tree. So there I had her at 7 yards; she's sniffing my track, I'm at full draw, my pin on this white patch on her back that looked like a saddle. All I gotta do is tick the release, zip the arrow through her, and I've filled the tag, the freezer and a dream.
Well....I couldn't do it. I let that old girl walk out of my life and went back to the truck froze like a block. No one ever did kill her, that we know of. I dunno, over the years I wondered if maybe other guys had a chance like me and couldn't do it, either.
I guess that's a long, rambly way of saying my head would probably tell me to take the 170, and my heart would say the monarch. And sitting here and not out there, I have not a clue what my arrow would do!