It was one of those moments. I'd awoken at 4:30am ticket-free after camping illegally in the parking lot of Glacier National Park's going-to-the-sun road Visitor Center. Mine was the only car in the lot. There was no one else. As I walked toward the brush to relieve myself in that pre-sun glow, the flock of five big horn rams pictured above trotted out from behind the bush that was my intended target. Their hooves clacked past me against the asphalt, and they huddled together over one food scrap pile after another as I watched in groggy disbelief. I took two pictures, then, finding my camera to be a detracting filter, put it away to watch undistracted - ojo a ramo. When I returned to the parking lot five hours and two solitary hikes later, the lot was completely full. Where the rams had been were now hundreds of tourists armed with cameras and a general lack of self awareness. I passed a group of sixty huddled together on my way back to my car, their heads cocked toward the distant hillside. "It's a group of mountain goats," I overheard one woman say; "No no, it's Big Horns; you mean Big Horns, Grace. I asked the Ranger. There's five big ones. Look!" I followed her finger to a few faint dots hundreds of yards up the mountainside as cameras clicked in the background. More animal stories followed, each attempting to outdo the story that preceded. Though I said nothing, my superiority complex wasn't above thinking about it.