Raine and I are both rabid naturalists, so the things on our bucket list are often nature oriented. Today we got to check off one of our longest-running items: seeing the Monarch butterflies (Danaus plexippus, or as the locals call them, Mariposa Monarca) in their over-wintering habitat in Mexico.
To give you some indication of how dedicated we were to making this work, we got up at ten of six this morning and hoofed it two miles across sleeping San Miguel to make our seven o'clock bus. We got there with a literal minute to spare, hopped in, and traveled four and a half hours (with one pee break) to the pine-covered mountains of the Sierra Chincua Monarch Butterfly Sanctuary.
The Sanctuary itself, which sits well above ten thousand feet, was a completely different biome than anything we'd seen in Mexico so far. Huge conifers covered the steep mountain slopes, and there was a riot of flowers-- thistles, scarlet sage, tall spikes of blue skullcaps and what looked like violet fumewort-- everywhere on the shaded slopes. And it was definitely December up there-- in the mid-forties with a twenty MPH wind that sucked the heat out of us despite our puffy coats. It seemed totally bizarre that we were there to see tiny insects-- how could they possibly survive?
The Preserve offered horseback rides for 150 pesos which would take you a mile up the trail. Raine elected to ride while I decided to walk and look more closely at the fabulous plant life, so different from the high desert scrub down in SMA. We met up at the top of the trail, where walking-only started (so as not to damage the fragile habitat.) After that it was another .8 miles of stunning vistas (and plants-- did I mention the plants?) and then we were at the view site.
At first glance it looked like any other stretch of forest, allowing for the dozens of people packed onto twenty feet of path. I couldn't tell what all the fuss was about; I had expected a riot of red and orange wings, and there was nothing. Just some apparently diseased trees with huge brown masses of dead leaves weighing down the branches...
Oh.
There were thousands of them; maybe tens of thousands; clustered tightly into colonies which ranges from the size of a football (US version) to that of a full-grown man. Their brown outer wings perfectly mimicked dead leaves; their packed bodies insulated them from the worst of the cold. Our guide told me that if one flew, the rest would probably follow-- survival was entirely cooperative here-- so there was no talking and no flash photography.
I looked through my scope at the little Monarchs, and I was profoundly moved. They'd flown hundreds or thousands of miles to make it here, as they'd always done, to shelter in an environment that even people had trouble living in. What I'd come for wasn't the photo op I'd expected, but it was an incredible story-- the story of life finding a way.
On the way back we stopped at the city of Maravitio, which sits at the confluence of two major highways and is a lovely, very Mexican town. Someplace to see more of if we come back, and I hope we will.
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