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NY Times Op-Ed, Jan. 25, 2018
Are We Watching the End of the Monarch Butterfly?
By Mary Ellen Hannibal
(Ms. Hannibal writes about science and the environment from San Francisco.)
For almost 30 years, hundreds of volunteers have helped document monarch
butterfly numbers at more than 200 sites across California, from
Mendocino to San Diego. A small group of these citizen scientists
recently descended on the sleepy coastal town of Bolinas, near Stinson
Beach, north of San Francisco, to conduct the latest tally in a place
where thousands of these butterflies were once counted during their
winter migration.
The group was met by Mia Monroe, a ranger for the National Park Service
for 40 years. She was representing the Xerces Society, a nonprofit
devoted to invertebrate conservation.
“We aren’t expecting many butterflies today,” Ms. Monroe warned. Monarch
numbers have been plummeting for decades, and recent surveys of their
breeding habitats had reported low numbers. Making matters worse, only
weeks before, wildfires had swept through the region, engulfing the Bay
Area with smoke for two weeks.
“Maybe the monarchs have taken a different route, around the fire and
smoke?” someone asked. “That’s a dream,” Ms. Monroe said. “But we are
here to honor the survivors, and to be together in a difficult moment.”
Directing us to move with stealth into a lot overgrown with poison oak
vines and blackberry brambles, she pointed to a ring of eucalyptus
trees. The morning had begun cold but the temperature had inched past 54
degrees, when monarchs begin to emerge from their slumber. The brown and
green branches of one tree were stirring, as if a slight breeze was
ruffling the dun-colored leaves. But then a distinctive orange color
revealed itself. Butterflies peeled off from the branches, each one
opening like a warm kiss before fluttering into the air.
Increasingly, people without formal backgrounds in science are
collaborating with scientists to collect data on a scale that scientists
alone would be unable to compile. The work of these people in recording
the exact time, place and conditions of their butterfly observations is
vital to monitoring the health of monarch populations. Tracking these
butterflies is one of the longest-standing examples of this kind of
teamwork.
Over the period of a year, monarchs produce four to five generations.
The last and longest-lasting of them is born between August and October.
Unlike their predecessors, which live as butterflies for a mere two to
four weeks, these monarchs survive for six to eight months. After
staying put over the winter in Mexico or California, they disperse in
March or April, spreading far and wide in search of milkweed upon which
to lay their eggs. Larvae then morph into caterpillars that become the
next generation of butterflies The final generation in this yearlong
cycle will return to the same California coast as their ancestors did.
How these butterflies find their place of origin remains a mystery.
Last year’s count in Bolinas had been very low; still, the trees had
been festooned with scores of butterfly clumps, in which hundreds of
monarchs hung together for warmth and protection. This time, there was
just one clump. Later we would learn that the total count of this site
in Bolinas, which the previous year tallied 12,360 butterflies,
plummeted this winter to just 1,256 monarchs. “This animal story that
has been going on for centuries and perhaps thousands of years is
disappearing and may be gone” soon, Ms. Monroe told us, her eyes tearing.
The total number of West Coast monarchs was estimated at approximately
4.5 million in the 1980s. In the latest count, that number fell to
28,429, dipping below the number scientists estimate is needed to keep
the population going. This drastic decline indicates the migration is
collapsing. The United States Fish and Wildlife Service is expected to
announce in June whether its scientists think the monarch qualifies for
protection under the Endangered Species Act.
We love butterflies but tally them in transactional and utilitarian
terms. We say that losing so many is dangerous because in their life
stages from pupa to imago they provide food for creatures higher up the
food chain. Fewer butterflies means fewer birds, and we need birds, in
part, to help control other insects, like mosquitoes, that carry
dangerous diseases. We acknowledge that the biotic world only works by
way of the networks that connect each species in a web of life. We must
take account of our role in the demise of this species, a consequence of
habitat loss, climate change, and pesticides and herbicides, if only to
help us understand how to rebuild the population.
We can still muster hope for these butterflies. We can rally against the
chemicals we use to kill insects not only in big agricultural operations
but also in local backyards. We can create more habitats by gardening
with native plants. We can stay keenly attuned to development plans in
our communities and insist that they include sustaining habitat for
other living things. In partnership with their Ph.D. brethren, citizen
scientists can measure efforts against results and amend strategies
accordingly. We would not know the extent of the monarch decline without
citizen science, and we will continue to need these volunteers if we
hope to make a difference for butterflies and other species in trouble.
We ended our day in the yard of one Bolinas resident who relishes the
yearly return of monarchs to his tall trees. He was happy to share the
love. He explained how mowing his grass at specific times of the year
supported the growth of native grasses and flowers, food sources for the
overwintering butterflies. “This is a spiritual place,” he told us, “so
I have to take care of it.” We sat down on his lawn to watch the sky
around us fluttering with wings. The orange cloud shifted this way and
that in the sunlight, the very soul of nature, still present.
Mary Ellen Hannibal is the author of “Citizen Scientist: Searching for
Heroes and Hope in an Age of Extinction.”
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