Had a huge mother-moose-fucker come down out of the trees onto the roadway in front of me in Yellowstone in '76.  I stopped, he stopped (in the middle of the road), he turned his head and stared at the headlights for a moment, turned away, then back to staring at my truck.  He dwarfed my '66 Dodge pick-up. 
  
In my truck, I was scared. 
  
A year later, in the north end of the Wind Rivers, I had hiked 'til past dusk from above treeline into the upper Green River where the brush was thick.  Knackered and ready to fall asleep, I hiked for awhile longer on a game trail looking for a fairly flat, level bit of ground to flop on.  Nothing.  It was getting dark enough to have trouble seeing, so I simply spread out myself in the bag across the trail. 
  
I awoke, in the pre-dawn gray, to the sound of approaching slow footfalls and an occasional twig break.  Positioning my eye at the opening of my mummy bag, I saw a cow moose only feet away almost upon me.  What to do?  If I started, the thing might stomp me until I was a pile of goose down and loose guts.  I just laid there, it simply stepped over me.  With one eye, I had the rare sight of a moose's under-side as it passed over.  She kept walking up the trail.