Sheri Monk loves snakes. She wants Albertans to respect and protect them, too
Snakes on a Plain works to educate the public and conserve the often-feared reptiles
As Sheri Monk walks through an expansive plain near Medicine Hat, Alta., about 270 kilometres southeast of Calgary, she notices something in the yellowing prairie grasses.
A white snakeskin is poking out of a hole just off the dirt pathway, and she leans down to examine it.
A quick look around confirms there's no snake nearby. So she pulls the snakeskin toward her.
"This is a good sized snake. Oh, this is so fun," she said.
"When I see good-sized sheds, it makes me so happy that this huge adult snake that's capable of breeding has made it back safely for the year."
This area of southeastern Alberta is pretty "snaky," according to Monk. Warm summers, abundant prey and a low population density allows several snake species to live well.
They're also able to build their dens near rivers in the area — such as the Milk River, the South Saskatchewan River and the Red Deer River — where caverns underground provide a refuge below the frost line in the winter.
These are some of the several dozen snake facts Monk easily calls out as she continues her walk, poking at the ground with a long stick. She's searching for dens to report to the provincial government so they can be protected.
Needless to say, Monk loves snakes. She has since she was little, when she learned that some of the slithering reptiles live in Canada.
She realizes it's not a popular passion, but in her mind, that's because snakes are so misunderstood.
"We just look like a very large predator to them. So they don't want to die," she said. "When you can change the perception of an animal from aggressive to defensive, that changes things."
Monk has made it her mission to share her knowledge through her business, Snakes on a Plain, which offers snake relocations, educational seminars and environmental surveys for companies throughout southern Alberta and Saskatchewan.
To be clear, she doesn't want humans to seek out snakes. She's permitted to handle them by the province, she says. But she does want to reduce human-snake conflict and help to conserve the reptiles.
Prairie rattlesnakes are considered a species of special concern in Alberta — meaning they're sensitive to human activities — and are vulnerable to habitat loss and road mortality.
"You cannot conserve successfully unless you have people on board. So I wanted to make that a big, big part of what I do," Monk said.
And as Albertans continue to hike, bike and hunt throughout the fall, snake sightings are still possible, especially on sunny days.
"I've heard reports of basking in January in Lethbridge," Monk said. "The latest day that I've seen them out enjoying the sunshine myself has been October 31st."
'They're super vulnerable'
Yes, snakes do like to sunbathe, Monk says, but she does hear her fair share of myths about the creatures.
"Baby rattlesnakes are the most dangerous. They're not," she said.
"That they form mating balls and they'll tumble down the hill and they'll just be a big ball of rattlesnakes and you get … bit by all of them. There's that."
In reality, it's not really beneficial for snakes to engage with you, she says.
The reptiles work hard throughout the summer to build up enough calories to make it through the winter, hunting small rodents, gophers and even birds.
WATCH | Snake conservationist Sheri Monk says it's good to be wary of rattlesnakes year-round:
When they feel threatened, causing them to rattle their tail, rise up or even strike, they burn those valuable calories, risking their ability to make it to the spring.
That's in addition to other challenges like potential poaching, a low reproductive rate and no ability to cool themselves off in extremely hot temperatures.
"That's why we try and safeguard where they den so closely," Monk said. "They're super vulnerable."
Facing fears
These are all lessons Monk passed on to Allison Carroll, who has been terrified of snakes for most of her life.
Carroll moved from New Brunswick to Medicine Hat in 2012, and when she learned snakes resided in Alberta, the phobia started to impact her social life.
She gave up her passion for mountain biking because she was terrified of seeing a snake on the trails.
"The panic, the sweaty hands, the racing thoughts, wanting to just curl up into a ball.… I thought I would live with this crippling fear probably for the rest of my life," Carroll said.
WATCH | Allison Carroll fought her fear of snakes through knowledge and safe exposure:
About five months ago, Carroll contacted Monk — who emphasized she's not a therapist, just a snake lover — trying to educate her way out of her fear.
She says the change happened when she better understood snake behaviour.
"When I see a snake on the trail, I actually start to think about what is it doing and why," Carroll said.
"And oftentimes as mountain bikers, we see these snakes spread out on the trail sunning themselves. So when I encounter one now, what I can say is, 'Hey, it's sunning itself.'
The mindset shift has allowed Carroll to get back on her bike, and she hopes others with the same fear can do the same.
"Get some education, understand why they're here and how they can contribute to our wildlife."
Handling a snake sighting
Stories like Carroll's are a big win for Monk.
But along with better understanding snakes, she wants Albertans to know what to do if they come across one, too.
The best thing to do is give it space, Monk says — at least eight feet to ensure you're out of striking range. Take a look at your surroundings to ensure there aren't other snakes around, then slowly move away to avoid additional stress on the reptile.
"They're not going to chase you. That is a myth," she said.
Alberta Environment and Parks says it doesn't often hear of rattlesnake bites, and no one has ever died from one in the province, but anyone bitten should seek immediate medical care in an emergency room.
"Keeping your eyes peeled and your ears listening is always a good idea in rattlesnake country," Monk said. "No matter what time of the year."
With files from James Young