There but for the grace of good luck goes Mark Vargas and his bright-red utility box, sporting, in indelible ink, the ominous label of "Bear/Cougar Human Attack Kit — Emergency only."

The kit contains latex gloves, bandages, crime-scene tape, a body bag and a laundry list of protocols for processing the crime scene should a Southern Oregon cougar replicate Wednesday's mauling of a man on a Northern California trail.

All the gear is not for whom you might think.

"None of this stuff is for the person," says Vargas, an Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife biologist in White City. "It's to preserve evidence of the cougar, keep the crime scene clean and help determine what caused this cougar to attack."

To date, the kit's been opened only to check supplies or during the occasional mock-attack training. But it's there, next to his desk, ready should the telephone ring.

Advertisement

"We need to be prepared if it happens," he says.

There has been no verified case of a cougar attack on a human in Oregon in more than a century. But ODFW biologists believe little more than fortune has stood between Oregonians and a cougar like the one that mauled a 70-year-old man Wednesday at Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park, about 40 miles north of Arcata, Calif.

Oregon sports some of the highest estimated densities of cougars in the country and plenty of sprawling development in counties like Jackson and Josephine to put cougars and people in regular proximity to each other, biologists say.

Unverified cougar complaints locally have skyrocketed from virtually nothing 15 years ago to 262 in 2005 and 225 in 2006.

Still, no documented attacks on humans have occurred as some people predicted since the 1994 ban on sport-hunting of cougars with hounds altered how cougars are hunted and managed in Oregon, where the ODFW's cougar population estimate is 5,100 animals.

"We've been extremely fortunate that we haven't had an attack in Oregon," says Ron Anglin, the ODFW's Wildlife Division administrator. "I hope we continue to be extremely fortunate. But it's there. It can happen. Hopefully, it never does."

Cougar advocates believe state wildlife biologists are fanning the flames of fear over possible cougar attacks here to win back sport-hunting with hounds as a way to micromanage an unfairly demonized animal.

"As far as I'm concerned, all the ODFW is doing is playing the fear card," says Brooks Fahy, executive director of the group Predator Defense. "I don't think anything would make them happier than to have a cougar attack in Oregon."

But that notion bristles Vargas, who says being prepared for an attack and warning Oregonians how best to avoid one is simply good public service.

"We're spreading no panic," Vargas says. "We're advising folks of possibilities."

The message resonates because of what happened to Jim Hamm of Fortuna, Calif., while hiking on the Brown Creek Trail in Prairie Creek Park.

A 100-pound cougar attacked Hamm from behind about a quarter-mile down the trail. Hamm's wife, 65-year-old Nell, was credited with saving his life by beating the animal with a thick tree branch and stabbing it with a pen until it released its grip on her husband's head.

Hamm underwent surgery for lacerations on his head and body at an Arcata hospital and was expected to make a full recovery.

His is the 16th documented human attack by a cougar since 1890 in California, which allows no sport-hunting for cougars.

Wildlife officials later shot and killed two cougars in the area. One, a female, had human blood on its claws, said California Department of Fish and Game officials, who conducted necropsies on the two animals.

Had Hamm lived in Southern Oregon, the attack would have triggered a CSI-type response from Vargas under a recently updated set of protocols standardized statewide within the agency.

Once the attacking cougar was found and killed, a series of ODFW and Oregon State Police officials would be notified, as would the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service National Forensics Laboratory in Ashland, where the necropsy likely would be done.

Vargas would secure the scene and double-bag the paws in case any forensic evidence is present there. Eventually, the animal's body would be put through a battery of tests for everything from rabies to Lyme disease to bartonella, aka "cat scratch fever."

"It's all to figure out, is this the cougar that attacked that person and if so, why," Vargas says.

"This is all for preserving the evidence," he says.

As development fingers into traditional cougar habitat, humans and predators are pushed into conflicts during which the animals become used to having humans around as they feast on backyard deer and pets, Vargas says.

Somewhere along the way, one of these confrontations will turn tragic, Vargas says.

"Things are lined up," he says. "We have lots of people, lots of cougars and lots of interaction."

But the notion of an urbanized cougar turning on humans doesn't hold water in light of scientific studies that discount that progression, says Rick Hopkins, a cougar expert in San Jose, Calif.

Hopkins agrees that people and cougars are getting pressed together, creating more opportunities for interaction.

But studies on radio-collared cougars show they statistically avoid specific areas when they get developed, Hopkins says. And when someone sees a cougar, the animal's behavior is believed to be threatening, he says.

"When we see a cougar, it says more about our behavior than the cougar's behavior," Hopkins says. "The statistics show that cougars are using the human-dominated landscapes less often than the natural landscapes."

Moreover, cougar attacks on humans primarily occur in parks or backwoods areas, or habitats "where we want to see cougars occur," Hopkins says.

"The conflicts aren't the conflicts that happened (to Hamm)," Hopkins says. "That's a park. That's not someone's backyard."

ODFW biologists continue to field calls about cougar sightings. They regularly dispense advice to curb conflicts, such as keeping pets inside at night and bringing livestock in from pastures overnight.

Should you become the first Oregonian attacked by a cougar in a century, do what Nell Hamm did, Vargas says.

"She did everything we say," Vargas says. "Fight back. Fight back."

Reach reporter Mark Freeman at 776-4470, or e-mail mfreeman@mailtribune.com.