Many years ago I was off-trail hiking this area in the Olympics. Near vertical drop on one side thru a thin wall of brush. Thick brush on the other side of the well-used goat trail. Occasionally it was hands and knees scrambling and every once in a while the route broke out into fantastic vistas. And then it happened - I squat-walked around a tight corner of the path and a broad shoulder, old Billy was facing off against me, horns down, snorting and pawing dirt. I nearly took flight back but there was no way I could outrun this guy if he wanted me. I dropped into a cross-legged, seated position, kinda' folded up and avoided eye contact. Sat totally still except for the pounding in my chest. Finally he backed off. My view of it - had he picked my dumb arse up and tossed me over the edge of that ridge it would have been my fault for bumbling along on his turf.