Here in Massachusetts, I’ve always considered conservation land as a place of peace and tranquility – somewhere to get away from human interaction and our own (un)civilized culture.

One experience with a fisher “cat” over the summer has had me rethinking the safety of Wentworth Farm, a conservation area in southeast Amherst that I frequent for runs. As a cross-country runner, it’s great to be able to run in a place without student-filled sidewalks.

The fields of Wentworth Farm in Amherst, MA.

Fishers are usually nicknamed fisher “cats” due to their elongated, black-brown catlike-appearance, and distinctive screech, often mistaken for the yelp of a fox. This agile mammal is a streamlined hunter, preying mostly on medium-sized mammals – even porcupines.

It’s been relaxing living off of the UMass campus in southeast Amherst, away from the noise of students and buses. On the other hand, I’ll take student-filled sidewalks over the threat of getting attacked by a hissing wild cat any day.

Getting bit by the fisher was mostly due to stupidity on my part. The fields of Wentworth offer some great scenery when running, although they also offer great ground cover for a variety of critters. On this particular day, I chose to run with my earbuds in, blaring away with music loud enough to block out anything around me.

Although they are scenic, Wentworth’s fields are actually quite dangerous. As the walking trail comes out into the field, I nearly fell after tripping in what looked like an old, unused den of a wild animal. Most likely, it belonged to a rabbit, however; it could have been that of a fox. The forest surrounding the conservation land makes Wentworth a prime location in Amherst for small mammals, fishers in particular.

Female fishers are known to make their dens high up in the hollowed out trunks of trees.

As I reached the end of the trail, I came out onto a road, signaling the end of the conservation land. I chose to run on the side of the road, along some brush that was located on the edge of the conservation land.

I ran for no more than 30 seconds alongside the brush when I felt something tugging viciously at my ankle. After cursing and shaking my leg, I turned to see the animal scramble across the road away from me.

A couple walking their baby on the trail behind me saw the entire situation – they asked me if I was ok, told me that they saw a large black “cat” jump out at me, and made sure that their baby was strapped into the stroller.

As I bent to inspect my ankle, I noticed 4 small, vampirelike teeth-marks in my white socks, two of which were dripping blood. Considering the fact that it was sunny and before dusk, I realized that blood was a life-threatening warning.

After a short walk back to my apartment, a call to the police, and call to animal control, I was off to Cooley Dickinson Hospital to get precautionary treatment for rabies.

It was late in the night, so I was given fast-track priority treatment due to the urgency of needing to receive the vaccine (within 24 hours of receiving a suspicious animal bite).

“A fisher cat, huh?” my doctor inquired when he came into my room. “Those are pretty rare out here.”

A nurse added that most cases she sees in which patients seek rabies treatment usually involve bats that are trapped in apartments and dorms.

Contrary to my first inhibitions, getting a rabies shot was painless; it was the Globulin injections that ached for days. As for the Globulin, a powerful antibiotic, I received five shots: one in each buttock, two in my thighs, and one in my arm.

On a fixed schedule over the next two weeks, I was to get three more injections of the rabies vaccine. Of course, all of this was precautionary on my part, due to the fact that I had been attacked by a wild animal in broad daylight.

If I had not gone through this treatment process and the animal really was rabid, I'd have an almost 100 percent chance of dying a slow and painful death in up to or shortly past one year.

Thinking back to the baby that was in the stroller that was behind me when I was bit, the threat of a seemingly small, yet pesky fisher “cat” seems very real for a community. Although rabies is a relatively rare disease to find in wild animals, even the smallest of creatures can still pose a threat to small children and pets.

We can think of conservation land as a place to relax, or even let ourselves go, but we must remember that it is ultimately a place reserved for nature.

Who knows? Maybe the fisher didn’t even have rabies – perhaps, it was giving me fair warning as to the dangers of (literally) running headfirst into the wild.