Ten years ago, I graduated with my first degree in Conservation Biology. I still remember the giddy excitement, that sense that the whole world was at my feet and the door to becoming a conservationist was finally swinging open. I was sure it wouldn’t be long before I was out on the water – collecting data – and helping to protect the species that had fascinated me since childhood.

But eight months later, I was working full-time at an energy company, spending my evenings scrolling through job listings and internship adverts, desperately trying to find an opportunity. Each one seemed to come with endless requirements, many of them skills I didn’t yet have, and any chance to gain them came with a hefty price tag. Even volunteer positions cost thousands, and almost all were overseas. It became painfully clear that, in modern conservation, gaining experience had become a luxury, one I simply couldn’t afford.

Determined, I worked a few more months at the energy company, saving every penny I could, before finally managing to travel abroad to get the experience I needed. It wouldn’t be the last time I’d work outside my field to fund opportunities within it. Ten years on, I count myself lucky to have made it through, but I’d be lying if I said the road wasn’t long and costly, both financially and emotionally.

Conservation has quietly become a luxury pursuit. To get the experience employers demand, you’re now expected to fund your own training, travel and accommodation, often in far-flung destinations. For many early-career scientists, especially those from lower socio-economic backgrounds, that’s simply not possible. We’re losing bright, passionate people not because they lack talent or drive, but because they can’t afford to prove themselves.

Conservation is supposed to be about protecting the natural world. Anyone with that desire should have that opportunity, yet the gateway to joining that mission is increasingly locked by privilege.