Calif. Hunter
Active member
(Too bad more newspapers in So Cal don't print stuff like this. What do you think? Personally, I think it's tragic that more sympathy exists for the cats than their victims. That is just plain pathetic and sick.)
They protect lions, don't they?
By Ed Zieralski, San Diego Union Tribune
January 11, 2004
It was 1994 all over again Thursday on the Cactus Ridge of Whiting Ranch Wilderness Park in southeast Orange County.
I mention 1994 because that was the year two California women, Iris Kenna of North Park and Barbara Schoener of Placerville, were mauled and killed by mountain lions.
Ten years later, Mark Reynolds, a 35-year-old, 5-foot-9, 135-pound competitive mountain bike racer, is the latest (and first adult male) victim of this state's natural-born killing machines.
Reynolds became the sixth Californian in 114 years and the third in 10 years to die at the claws and teeth of a mountain lion.
And Anne Hjelle, 30, a gym trainer and former Marine from Tustin, would have been the seventh fatality had it not been for the amazing heroics of her riding friend Debi Nichols, 47, and some fellow bikers.
Hjelle, who was attacked approximately four hours after Reynolds and on the same trail, is recovering from surgery to her face and neck and is expected to be released from the hospital this week.
So, what have we learned in the 10 years since mountain lions last killed one of our fellow Californians?
We've learned that what officials said back then applies to this latest incident on Cactus Ridge. It was very predictable.
"It's not a matter of if another mountain lion attacks, it's only a matter of when and where," said Terry Mansfield, the former head of the wildlife division of the Department of Fish and Game.
That's why the attacks on Reynolds and Hjelle in Orange County, the Department of Fish and Game's reaction, people's comments, the general public's reaction, all were very predictable.
And to truly see this, some history needs to be pointed out.
Mountain lions became a "specially protected mammal," first by the "wildlife biologists" known as the state Legislature, which affixed a moratorium on hunting lions in 1972. And the cougars, though not even close to being an endangered or threatened species, were given bulletproof protection in 1990 by Proposition 117, or the California Wildlife Protection Act. That also set up a trust fund of $30 million a year for 30 years for future state purchases of "cougar habitat."
Much of the ingredients for the bomb that went off in Orange County Thursday came courtesy of Proposition 117.
The recipe: Mix some sprawling suburbs like Lake Forest and Portola Hills into an open space greenbelt that's been preserved for deer herds and mountain lions, make it user-friendly for hikers, joggers, mountain bikers and bird and wildlife watchers, ignore nearby lion attacks on livestock and pets and combine it with abnormal behavior of lions seen wandering in midday, as was the case a week ago at Irvine County Park, adjacent to the Whiting Ranch.
The outcome was predictable.
Its numbers decimated by bounty hunters in the West before the 1960s, the mountain lion has made a very strong comeback, especially in California. Wildlife biologists estimate there are between 4,000 and 6,000 mountain lions (the same figures given in 1994, by the way) in the state, three to five cougars per every 100 square miles (10 by 10 miles), according to Doug Updike, the state Department of Fish and Game's senior wildlife biologist and mountain lion expert.
But there's an ironic twist to the protection given cougars. And don't look for those who fought to protect and preserve them to mention it when they solicit funds for such organizations as the Mountain Lion Foundation.
More mountain lions are killed each year by taxpayer-paid employees than during the one time the state opened up a hunting season for licensed hunters on cougars.
Over the past 20 years the Department of Fish and Game, on average, has issued between 200 and 300 permits to individuals to kill problem lions, according to Updike. If a lion kills or attacks a human being, kills livestock or pets, it gets a quick date with a high-velocity bullet.
"We average 100 to 120 mountain lion kills a year by depredation permits," Updike said.
In nearly 10 years since the deaths of Schoener and Kenna, that figure hasn't changed.
Nothing has changed, certainly not the collective wildlife conscience of Californians.
The female cougar that killed Schoener left a cub behind. More money was raised for the cub than was contributed to the memorial fund to help Schoener's two surviving children.
There was far more sympathy and public outcry for the mountain lion that was killed after it killed Kenna than for the poor woman.
And just as then, there are plenty of folks more sympathetic to the now very dead lion that killed Reynolds and sliced up Hjelle.
"I hate to see people die like that, and I'm probably going to have people get mad at me for saying this, but I feel really bad for the mountain lion that was killed," Karin Malinowski said Friday at the entrance to Whiting Ranch Wilderness Park. "We're encroaching on their territory more and more. What are they supposed to do?"
Ten years later, nothing has changed. It's not a matter of if another mountain lion attacks, it's only a matter of when and where.
They protect lions, don't they?
By Ed Zieralski, San Diego Union Tribune
January 11, 2004
It was 1994 all over again Thursday on the Cactus Ridge of Whiting Ranch Wilderness Park in southeast Orange County.
I mention 1994 because that was the year two California women, Iris Kenna of North Park and Barbara Schoener of Placerville, were mauled and killed by mountain lions.
Ten years later, Mark Reynolds, a 35-year-old, 5-foot-9, 135-pound competitive mountain bike racer, is the latest (and first adult male) victim of this state's natural-born killing machines.
Reynolds became the sixth Californian in 114 years and the third in 10 years to die at the claws and teeth of a mountain lion.
And Anne Hjelle, 30, a gym trainer and former Marine from Tustin, would have been the seventh fatality had it not been for the amazing heroics of her riding friend Debi Nichols, 47, and some fellow bikers.
Hjelle, who was attacked approximately four hours after Reynolds and on the same trail, is recovering from surgery to her face and neck and is expected to be released from the hospital this week.
So, what have we learned in the 10 years since mountain lions last killed one of our fellow Californians?
We've learned that what officials said back then applies to this latest incident on Cactus Ridge. It was very predictable.
"It's not a matter of if another mountain lion attacks, it's only a matter of when and where," said Terry Mansfield, the former head of the wildlife division of the Department of Fish and Game.
That's why the attacks on Reynolds and Hjelle in Orange County, the Department of Fish and Game's reaction, people's comments, the general public's reaction, all were very predictable.
And to truly see this, some history needs to be pointed out.
Mountain lions became a "specially protected mammal," first by the "wildlife biologists" known as the state Legislature, which affixed a moratorium on hunting lions in 1972. And the cougars, though not even close to being an endangered or threatened species, were given bulletproof protection in 1990 by Proposition 117, or the California Wildlife Protection Act. That also set up a trust fund of $30 million a year for 30 years for future state purchases of "cougar habitat."
Much of the ingredients for the bomb that went off in Orange County Thursday came courtesy of Proposition 117.
The recipe: Mix some sprawling suburbs like Lake Forest and Portola Hills into an open space greenbelt that's been preserved for deer herds and mountain lions, make it user-friendly for hikers, joggers, mountain bikers and bird and wildlife watchers, ignore nearby lion attacks on livestock and pets and combine it with abnormal behavior of lions seen wandering in midday, as was the case a week ago at Irvine County Park, adjacent to the Whiting Ranch.
The outcome was predictable.
Its numbers decimated by bounty hunters in the West before the 1960s, the mountain lion has made a very strong comeback, especially in California. Wildlife biologists estimate there are between 4,000 and 6,000 mountain lions (the same figures given in 1994, by the way) in the state, three to five cougars per every 100 square miles (10 by 10 miles), according to Doug Updike, the state Department of Fish and Game's senior wildlife biologist and mountain lion expert.
But there's an ironic twist to the protection given cougars. And don't look for those who fought to protect and preserve them to mention it when they solicit funds for such organizations as the Mountain Lion Foundation.
More mountain lions are killed each year by taxpayer-paid employees than during the one time the state opened up a hunting season for licensed hunters on cougars.
Over the past 20 years the Department of Fish and Game, on average, has issued between 200 and 300 permits to individuals to kill problem lions, according to Updike. If a lion kills or attacks a human being, kills livestock or pets, it gets a quick date with a high-velocity bullet.
"We average 100 to 120 mountain lion kills a year by depredation permits," Updike said.
In nearly 10 years since the deaths of Schoener and Kenna, that figure hasn't changed.
Nothing has changed, certainly not the collective wildlife conscience of Californians.
The female cougar that killed Schoener left a cub behind. More money was raised for the cub than was contributed to the memorial fund to help Schoener's two surviving children.
There was far more sympathy and public outcry for the mountain lion that was killed after it killed Kenna than for the poor woman.
And just as then, there are plenty of folks more sympathetic to the now very dead lion that killed Reynolds and sliced up Hjelle.
"I hate to see people die like that, and I'm probably going to have people get mad at me for saying this, but I feel really bad for the mountain lion that was killed," Karin Malinowski said Friday at the entrance to Whiting Ranch Wilderness Park. "We're encroaching on their territory more and more. What are they supposed to do?"
Ten years later, nothing has changed. It's not a matter of if another mountain lion attacks, it's only a matter of when and where.
