The complexity of conservation research and issues in Alberta require creativity and innovative problem solving; the more people from diverse backgrounds we have working on these issues, the more likely we are to define new and effective solutions. In this web series, the ACTWS is celebrating the diversity of Alberta wildlife professionals.
If you’re a wildlife student or professional with a story to share — whether it’s about your background, career path, or lived experience — we’d love to feature you in this series. Your story might just inspire someone else in this field.
Email us at execdirector@actws.ca to get started.
Let’s keep building a community where every voice matters.
Meet Brook Skagen (He/ They)
P. Biol., RT(Ag), AWB®
As biologists we walk along fine lines – transitional zones where the outstretched prairies cradle mountain’s feet, the willow-lined borders of wise cottonwoods who remember creation along the river’s stretch, or the edges of concrete and gravel lines where we have cut into new paths. Part paper-stacked desk and worn-sole boots, we are creatures of both science and nurture, astutely watching the unknown yet familiar world around us as we try to understand what home already knows. To be in our profession is to exist in a dichotomy; we are participants of the manufactured, yet children of the wild. Our hearts yearn to howl at moonlit skies, give thanks to the ground, and converse with our fellow kin – yet we remain bound to our societal ties. It is these ties which EDI initiatives attempt to detangle.
As both a wildlife biologist and rangeland agrologist working within the prairies of southern Alberta, and across the seemingly-opposing sectors of academia, government, industry, and not-for-profit, my career has mirrored this balance for over a decade. But whether I’m surveying for species at risk of flora and fauna or assessing their habitat’s diversity and resilience, I bring with me not just my breadth of expertise, but all of who I am: for starters, I am a trans man, what unfortunately to some seems like a spectacle of science, and an environmental professional, a multi-disciplinary science practitioner. I am an instructor, a mentor, and a life-long student of nature’s wonders. I am a millennial, familiar enough with technology to enjoy its offerings (thank you, Google Maps), but old enough to become overwhelmed with its constant reimaginings (looking at you, social media). I am white, with that privilege shielding me from the hardships of visible difference, yet neurodivergent, with the symptoms of bipolar II or ADHD sometimes overriding my senses in secrecy. These truths don’t disappear – but walk beside me through the grasslands and the coulees; they are just as much present when I kneel next to the tiny blooms of an endangered plant, or when I scan the sky for the soaring wings of raptors returning to a nearby nest. My identity as human, just like yours, contains many intersections which shape how I see the world, and it deepens the way I care for it. Perhaps it is because of these truths—these intersections—that nature offers such profound comfort.
I cannot simply set aside my identity like my backpack at the door; this unfortunately can weigh me down at times like an extra bag I must carry along. As a trans man living in Lethbridge, southern Alberta, I know firsthand that the world of “humanity” often lacks the touch of humanness; I have been stalked, ridiculed, and threatened – professional opportunities slipping between my fingertips. I have had to say early goodbyes to family who chose not to walk with me, and am ever-anxious of what may happen next to my vulnerable community as the turmoil found south of our border tightens its grip. But from the very moment I step from the edge of a path, I simply am. I take comfort under the vision of deer eyes and open skies over closed minds who believe my truest self is but a guise. I would much rather feel the smoothness of water-polished rocks on the benthic floor than be bruised by verbal stones. I find safety where singing larks and whistling winds muffle the sounds of bitter judgement of those who have yet to understand how to simply be.
Some of us walk more lines than others, not just between the world of our hands (that is, the “modern” world) and the world which surrounds us, but between the cracks of society etched across our palms. Some travel freely within their borders while others are constrained, some straddle these divisions while others must learn to jump between them daily. Whether it be race, gender identity, sexual orientation, physical ability, neurodivergence, mental health, cultural or spiritual roots, or even economic standing – our experiences as living beings are represented by the strokes of lines painted across our palms, fine folds and depressions shaped by challenge, resilience, and growth. These lines are akin to each of our own identities – always present, yet ever-changing as our time and experiences are solidified. Throughout my time, I have learned to walk from the uncomfortable lines of daughter, sister, and wife, to the road of manhood and child of the land. And still—I walk, professionally and personally, with the same intention: to listen, to learn, to protect, and to belong.
I challenge you, the next time you take curiosity or discomfort in the differences of another, or feel as if you don’t belong, simply gaze upon the lines of your hands or your portrait in the mirror. In truth we aren’t so different or so alone, for we all share these lines as we walk our paths – lines of hard work, lines of growth, lines of laughter, and of the time we have spent in becoming our own.
