Two black and white fluffy primates sit in dense tree cover.

Qu'est-ce que le programme de Noé du Canada ? Depuis 1988, le programme Noé du Canada offre aux biologistes de la conservation au Canada une opportunité unique. Chaque année, CFC sélectionne un biologiste dévoué parmi des candidats à travers le Canada pour entreprendre un cours de 3 mois à la Durrell Conservation Academy au Royaume-Uni, suivi d'un stage de 6 mois sur l'île Maurice dans l'Océan Indien. C'est une occasion unique pour les jeunes Canadiens d'apprendre directement comment fonctionnent les programmes de rétablissement de la faune les plus réussis au monde, et de ramener ces connaissances et cette expérience pour renforcer la capacité de conservation du Canada.

Pour la toute première fois, CFC propose ce stage à deux biologistes. Nos Noé 2026 sont Jenna Kissel – la 35e Noé du Canada de la CFC, et Daryn Farrant – le 36e Noé du Canada de la CFC. Les deux biologistes partagent leurs expériences et comment ils les appliqueront à leur retour au Canada. Merci à la Fondation Alan & Patricia Koval pour leurs nombreuses années de soutien au programme Noé du Canada et pour avoir donné tant d'efforts pour soutenir deux stages de Noé de la Fondation Koval en 2026.

Due to a delay in the approval of my Mauritian work visa, I unexpectedly had some time to explore other conservation projects on my way to Mauritius. Thank you to Pat and Alan Koval for supporting my journey and helping me see some of these amazing conservation projects along the way!


Level 0: My Least Favourite Part of
Zoboomafoo

Every young biologist has that one nature show that helped brainwash them into becoming a biologist.

For me, that show was Zoboomafoo.

I loved the animals, the adventures, the conservation messages… but there was one problem.

Zabu.

I have always been a little scared of primates. Not just a little, actually. I mean specifically the kind of fear I have for Jack the monkey from Pirates of the Caribbean. You know the one. The one that looks like it knows exactly what you did last summer.

As an ecologist, I know that every species has a role in an ecosystem. I care deeply about wildlife, and I’m a vegetarian because I care about living things.

Ok so I know it’s kinda silly, me being scared of primates when I think prairie rattlesnakes are just the cutest lil guys ever.

But lemurs?

They are so scary.

Of course, there’s a problem with being afraid of wildlife when you want to work in conservation. Fear of an animal can easily become discomfort, discomfort can become apathy, and apathy can eventually become persecution.

So, if I wanted to work in conservation, I figured I probably needed to get over my fear.

Enter: the lemur training arc.

Level 1: The Lemurs of Jersey Zoo

My first step was Jersey Zoo.

During my time at the Durrell Endangered Species Management course, I quickly became very familiar with the black-and-white ruffed lemurs.

Mostly because they screamed.

Every night. Right outside our hostel.

I could hear them calling as I was trying to fall asleep, which was perhaps not the relaxing bedtime soundtrack I had imagined for my conservation training.

But overtime, I got used to it. The calling lemurs became part of my nightly routine.

I saw the ring-tailed lemurs at Lemur Lake during our lunch breaks. My fellow classmates would rave about how they were so cute and how much they loved the lemurs. Even having a movie night in the hostel living room one night as a break from our studying. Even my friends back home on the prairies love King Julian and would listen to the sound track all summer long while we were spraying invasive weeds. Seemingly everyone I know loves lemures.

But Me?

It’s going to take more than a catchy song and nightly serenades to convince me.

But after being screamed to sleep by lemurs for long enough, I figured I gained enough experience points for level 2.

A video of a black and white ruffed lemur eating at the Jersey Zoo, don’t worry he can’t come out of the screen to hurt you. Video by D. Farrant.

Level 2: Madagascar

My next stop was Madagascar, where I volunteered with GERP — Groupe d’Étude et de Recherche sur les Primates.

This time, I wasn’t looking at lemurs from behind a zoo barrier.

I was in the forest looking for them.

Our job was to walk through the forest and record the different lemur species we encountered, helping build an inventory of the species present in the area.

Everything felt different.

I was in a forest I had never been in, in a country very different from the environments I was used to working in. I was relying on my friend and our local guide to navigate us through the forest.

Usually, I’m the person who wants to look at the map, plan the route and figure out where we are going.

Here, I was completely out of my element. And somewhere in the distance, I could hear them.

Standing on the edge of a mountain, looking out over the forest and villages below, I could hear indri calling in the distance.

It was a little chilling.

But it was also incredible.

For once, I wasn’t the person who knew exactly where we were going.

I was the person learning from someone else.

And that turned out to be an important part of the experience.

A video of Daryn out on the lookout hearing the call of indri indri (lemurs). Video by D. Farrant.

Final Boss: Seven Lemurs

The next challenge was a little more intimidating.

We were going to follow a group of lemurs and record their behaviour every minute for 30 minutes.

Our guide got word that there was a group of four black-and-white ruffed lemurs nearby.

Except…

There weren’t four. There were seven.

Four quickly became seven as more lemurs appeared, and at one point they all piled together into one giant ball of fluffy lemur.

They jumped around. They lounged around. They groomed each other. For a few minutes, everything was peaceful.

And then suddenly…

ALERT.

A mouse lemur appeared.

The entire group immediately went from relaxed to:

EVERYONE PANIC!  SCREAMING COMMENCES!

My heart started racing.

Seven black-and-white ruffed lemurs began vocalizing together, creating this incredibly loud, rough chorus of calls.

It was, subjectively, terrifying.

But standing there watching them was also fascinating.

I wasn’t just looking at “scary lemurs” anymore.

I was watching a social group respond to another animal entering their space. I was watching communication, vigilance, social behaviour and relationships play out in front of me.

And somewhere along the way, I realized that I wasn’t really scared anymore.

Well that’s a lie…

Not as scared as before.

Split image, left showing black and white primates in a tree together, and the right image showing a biologist looking up into a tree canopy with yellow journal in hand.

(Left) A ball of black and white ruffed lemurs. (Right) Daryn looking up at a bunch of black and white ruffed lemurs. Photos by D. Farrant.

Fade to black…

As I sit on the plane outbound to Mauritius and the end credits roll on my time in Madagascar what advice can I give to you?

Face Your Fears

Things are scary.

The world is big, and sometimes the places we find ourselves in are completely different from the ones where we grew up.

Conservation is a strange career in that way. We are constantly put into situations where we don’t know everything. We work with unfamiliar species, unfamiliar ecosystems, unfamiliar people and unfamiliar problems.

And that’s okay.

In fact, I think it’s important.

One of the most valuable things I have learned through my conservation experiences is to stay humble and ask for help.

None of us can be experts at everything.

Conservation needs engineers, biologists, communicators, educators, managers, researchers and people who can do a little bit of everything. Being a jack-of-all-trades can be incredibly valuable in a field where the world is so diverse and dynamic that no one person can ever master all of it.

I’m not going to pretend that my heart doesn’t race every time I see a primate.

But lemurs have definitely become the least scary members of that category for me.

And when I look at them now, I don’t just see an unfamiliar animal. I can see intelligence, curiosity, social relationships and a life that matters just as much as any other.

It’s okay to be scared sometimes.

What isn’t okay is allowing fear of something unfamiliar to stop us from treating it with respect and integrity.

So:

Go for it.

Face your fears.

Apply for that job.

Ask for help when you don’t know something.

Step outside the environment you know.

And, if necessary…

Go out into a forest full of lemurs.

Daryn Farrant

36ème Noé du Canada

Daryn est biologiste de la conservation et la 36ème Noé du Canada. Elle est titulaire d'un baccalauréat spécialisé en sciences biologiques de l'Université du Manitoba, où elle s'est concentrée sur l'écologie de la restauration et le rétablissement des écosystèmes des prairies. Avant de rejoindre la CFC, Daryn a travaillé avec Parcs Canada au Parc national des Prairies, où elle a dirigé des programmes de surveillance des chevêches des terriers et de la santé riveraine, coordonné le travail sur le terrain, la gestion des données et les relevés sur les espèces en péril. Elle apporte une expérience de terrain variée en gestion des espèces envahissantes et en surveillance écologique, et elle est passionnée par la gestion à long terme et rendre la science accessible à des audiences diverses. Daryn est bilingue en anglais et en français et est enthousiaste à contribuer au rétablissement des espèces menacées au Canada par son travail avec CFC.

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