Most, anyway. One summer day I parked in the "moose-viewing area" above Indian Creek, south of the Gardiner entrance to Yellowstone. A dozen cars were already there, surrounded by eager tourists pointing binoculars and fingers toward the streamside brush. A cow moose and her 300-pound calf stood among the willows, peacefully browsing, 150 yards from the parking lot. This wasn't close enough for one guy dressed in a Miami Dolphins T-shirt and hiking shorts. It was plain to the rest of us that mama was annoyed by the time he'd walked within 30 yards, but Mr. Miami kept on and got charged by a moose with pinned-back ears and a mouth full of big yellow choppers. He turned to run and tripped in the creek, floundering while the moose took her calf and left. Dripping mud, he gasped up to the parking lot. "She was gonna eat me!" he saito his wife, who didn't seem concerned.