The Monarch Migration Mystery and the Discovery That Changed Everything
Once long ago, starting in the late 1930s, Fred and Norah Urquhart, two Canadian zoologists, tracked and tagged monarch butterflies across North America for nearly 40 years. They dedicated their focus to solving the great mystery of the disappearance of millions of monarch butterflies every winter. As far as people knew at that time, the butterflies would vanish and then reappear seasons later. No one knew where they disappeared to in the winter. In order to make any dent in the research, the Urquharts relied on thousands of citizen scientists across North America to tag butterflies and record sightings. In case you don’t happen to be a citizen scientist or don’t know what one is: this is an ordinary person (not a scientist or researcher) who collects data, makes observations, and helps analyze information in order to contribute to research in a certain area. So, you and me could potentially become citizen scientists should that fancy our interests.
Photo by Erin Minuskin on Unsplash
That said, the Urquharts relied on these thousands of citizen scientists across the continent, otherwise their work would’ve been very limited due to the extensive migration of these awe-inspiring creatures. After decades of research and epic coordination across a continent by thousands of citizen scientists, in January of 1975 Kenneth Brugger and Catalina Trail solved the case of the butterfly disappearance. The disappeared monarchs were found in Michoacán, Mexico, a remote mountain top alive with millions upon millions of monarchs clinging to oyamel firs in a vast, vibrant roosting site. This discovery was hailed as “one of the greatest natural history discoveries” of the 20th century. It was the breakthrough that revealed the long-hidden wintering grounds of the monarch migration. Later the creation of the Monarch Butterfly Biosphere Reserve in central Mexico became a protected World Heritage site. Mic drop.
Monarch Butterfly Awe 101
Once not all that long ago really, a mere 30 years back from today, monarch butterflies were abundant. Plentiful. Some may even say quite an ordinary part of summertimes. They weren’t thought of as rare or precious — they were just there. Gracing gardens, fields, and school yards with their ordinary presence. Nobody in their goddamn right mind of that time ever imagined these gorgeous little butterflies could ever become endangered because their numbers were so huge and so visible. They flitted around like they owned the town.
Also abundant was the milkweed. It thrived throughout farmlands, meadows, and roadsides. I pop in this supporting character because milkweed is the sole plant monarchs rely on for egg laying and feeding their baby caterpillars. Farmers considered it a weed, but its presence was widespread enough that monarchs always had a place to lay eggs and for caterpillars to feed.
Did I mention monarchs are incredible? This is where the story continues getting juicer. They carry out one of the most extraordinary migrations in the animal kingdom, traveling farther than any other insect on Earth. Monarchs are the only butterfly to make a two-way migration like birds. South in the fall and north in the spring.
There are two populations of monarchs: monarchs that breed west of the Rocky Mountains and monarchs that breed east of the Rocky Mountains. Western monarchs migrate from the Pacific Northwest to the California coast. Eastern monarchs travel up to 3,000 miles from Canada/U.S. all the way down to the mountain forests of central Mexico. In the 1990s, they clustered by the tens of millions, cloaking oyamel fir trees in what looked like flickering orange leaves coming alive. They covered the trees so thickly that the branches sagged under their weight, even though a single butterfly weighs less than a paperclip. The overwintering colonies in Mexico covered over 45 acres of forest. On cold mornings, they remained still, conserving energy, but when the sun warmed them, entire colonies burst into flight, filling the air with orange-and-black confetti. Locals described hearing the sound of their wings like “a waterfall” when they took flight.
Monarchs are unique in that no single butterfly makes the entire migration round-trip. It takes multiple generations to complete the cycle, like a multi-generational relay race. It takes about 3-5 generations of monarchs to complete the cycle. Most monarchs typically live 2-6 weeks. Then there’s this “super generation” born at the end of summer that specifically adapted to live 8–9 months so they can fly 2,000-3,000 miles all the way from southern Canada to central Mexico, overwinter, and begin the journey north again in spring. Depending on weather and wind currents, it can take them about 6-8 weeks for the migration, which coincides with Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). It is believed the butterflies carry the souls of ancestors returning, a cultural reminder that life, death, and renewal are intertwined. The western monarchs take a few weeks to a month to travel from Oregon and Washington down to coastal California where they cluster in eucalyptus, Monterey pines, and cypress groves.
Photo by Erika Löwe on Unsplash
These amazing butterflies can cross mountains, plains, and even the Great Lakes on fragile wings. Generations of butterflies follow the same “highways” of habitat across the U.S. and Canada, south to Mexico or coastal California, then back north to where they began. Or end, depending on your perspective, or wherever the origin of their story began. They do all this with no leader, no memory of the path, and no GPS, but still succeed generation after generation.
Monarchs use the sun as a compass and they also appear to have an internal magnetic compass that helps them orient even on cloudy days. What makes this breathtaking is that every year, millions of monarchs — who have never been to Mexico before — instinctively find the same forests in Michoacán, clustering in the exact groves their great-great-grandparents used.
Come spring, they start the journey north. Part way up their path, they mate, lay eggs on milkweed, then die. It’s their offspring – the next generation – that continues their journey north for a few more generations until they make it to their summer spot. End of summer is when the “super generation” is born again and flies all the way back to Mexico to overwinter. Each migration becomes a living symbol of resilience and interdependence.
Photo by Stephen Mease on Unsplash
Butterfly Problems
So, here’s the bugaboo. Monarchs are an indicator species. Their decline is a warning signal that our ecosystems are becoming fragmented and stressed. The threats they face—habitat loss, pesticide overuse, climate change, and deforestation—mirror pressures affecting countless other species, including pollinators like bees and hummingbirds, and even the plants that we humans rely on for food. Monarch migration is a living demonstration of the interconnectedness of life.
This perfect storm of unnecessary nonsense has caused whopping drops in the monarch population across North America. Once the land of millions of fluttering butterflies, it’s now the land of alarming butterfly population drops. Eastern monarch populations have fallen over 80% in the last 20 years. Western monarch populations in California sometimes drop to fewer than 2,000 individuals, down from millions. That is a 99.9% decline from the 1980s when 4.5 million western monarchs were recorded. The problem with this butterfly math is that it indicates the entire western monarch population could disappear, which would be irreversible.
Photo by Joshua J. Cotten on Unsplash
Another one of the multi-layered problems dangling butterflies by a thread of 2,000 is habitat loss. First, and I did not know this until last year, milkweed is the exclusive plant that monarch caterpillars can eat. And it is the only plant where monarchs lay eggs. The plant contains cardenolides, toxins that make monarchs taste bad to predators. This chemical defense is what allows monarchs to survive while many other insects are eaten and enjoyed. Without milkweed, monarchs cannot reproduce, and populations crash. Unfortunately, milkweed is disappearing across North America. Herbicide use on farms and urban development are making milkweed decline a guarantee. Urban development kills milkweed by mowing them down. Insecticides poison monarchs to death and murder the insects that milkweed relies on for pollination. Herbicides murder the milkweed directly and other nectar plants the butterflies rely on as food, which ends up starving the butterflies. Roads, urban development, and agricultural monocultures create “gaps” where butterflies have no food or shelter. Monarchs’ epic 3000-mile migration requires intact habitats across multiple counties, states, regions and countries. No milkweed, no highway for butterflies. No highway for butterflies, no butterflies. No butterflies, no butterflies forever.
Photo by Joshua J. Cotten on Unsplash
Oh, and the second stinker of habitat loss is that the oyamel fir forests in central Mexico are being degraded and illegally logged, reducing the safe space for butterflies to migrate after a long-winded 3,000-mile migration. The super generation isn’t getting the memo about the disappearing forests in Mexico and end up not having the luscious habitat that they need to overwinter. Just like it’s been difficult (aka not a priority) for the U.S. government to put a stop on farms schmearing plants with herbicide and pesticide poison (it literally indicates it's poison on the box), it’s also been a similar story for the Mexican government being slow to put a stop on the illegal logging. Greed disguised as progress—the economy can be a little bitch, can’t it?
Then surprise, surprise: climate change doing the damage it tends to do. Even to the sweetest of sweet butterflies. Their once reliable migration pathway has become a perilous gamble. Extreme weather events like storms, droughts, unseasonable heat or cold can wipe out millions of butterflies in a single storm or cold spell. All this trickles down and impacts the migration timing and food availability. I don’t know about your butterfly math, but none of this sounds like good math for the butterflies.
Butterfly Problems = People Problems
Other than the issue of not having butterflies in my personal utopia dream, why would a person be worried about no more butterflies? I’ll tell you why.
Photo by The New York Public Library on Unsplash
Monarchs are pollinators, helping wildflowers, fruits and some crops. Fewer pollinators means lower crop yields, less plant diversity, and higher food prices. Pollinators like monarchs support crops worth billions of dollars globally.
And in case you’re wondering why we don’t we just pollinate these plants ourselves, it turns out people aren’t able to pollinate plants in the same way that pollinators can. My partner’s brother tried to pollinate plants himself with a little pollinator tool and had very limited success. Maybe not any. We joked about him dressing up like a butterfly to trick the plants into letting him pollinate them, but I’m pretty doubtful that would work. Plants need the touch of a real pollinator.
Monarchs aren’t just beautiful creatures – they’re
messengers. Their decline warns us that there are fewer pollinators for our
food, weaker ecosystems to protect our soil, air and water, and a fading chance
for future generations to feel wonder at something as simple as a butterfly
landing on their hand. I can’t remember the last time I had a butterfly land on
my hand. Protecting monarchs isn’t just about saving a species—it’s about
protecting biodiversity, our own well-being, food security, and a connection to
the natural world. Ignoring monarch decline is a terrible mistake.
Challenges and Political Nonsense
Even with so much public love for monarchs, there are real challenges and controversies around how to help them. This requires navigating layers of government malarkey, private landowners, and corporate decision-makers, which can be bureaucratic and politically frustrating. Even with real science, progress can be slow. Plus, in this era of our current political climate, science is ignored and dismissed. Those people who don’t believe in climate change or the disappearance of butterflies seem to be the same breed of people who didn’t believe in gravity.
Monarch conservation intersects with politics in a few tricky ways. Monarchs cross multiple states and countries (U.S., Canada, Mexico), so policies often conflict or overlap. For example, U.S. federal programs encourage roadside pollinator habitats, but states’ Departments ofTransportation sometimes resist because of budget, liability, or maintenance concerns.
Believe it or not, milkweed is political. It often grows in agricultural fields that are privately owned, and where neonicotinoids and herbicides are regularly schmeared on their crops, killing the milkweed. Farmers may pushback on planting native milkweed if it interferes with crops, and politicallobbying by agrochemical companies can slow down pollinator-friendly policies. The controversy lies in the push-and-pull between farming needs and conservation. Businesses like grocery chains, parking lot owners, or commercial developers may resist planting milkweed because of liability concerns, aesthetics, or maintenance costs. Advocacy often requires negotiating with multiple layers of management, which can be slow and frustrating.
The monarch overwintering forests are in protected areas, but local communities rely on logging or tourism for income. Illegal logging in Mexico in monarch overwintering sites has long been a problem. Balancing environmental protection with local livelihoods can be politically charged, and enforcement against illegal logging is inconsistent.
Photo by Erika Löwe on Unsplash
Another wrench is that more attention and funding go to the eastern monarchs that migrate to Mexico, while the western population that overwinters in California gets less support—even though their numbers have declined more drastically in recent years. I’m guessing the migration from the Pacific Northwest to California isn’t as glamorous as the migration from Canada to central Mexico. Less glamor and hype, less monies. Even though the western monarchs are more at risk.
Trump Admin Wrenches
No surprise here, but the current political circus in office has been unfriendly to our butterfly buddies. Trump’s policies indicate he does not even care about clean air or clean water, so it comes as a surprise to no one that he doesn’t seem to care about butterflies, either. The admin has aggressively pursued deregulation, slashing more than 125 environmental safeguards. The Trump Show revamped the Environmental Protection Agency’s leadership to shift its priority from protecting public health and ecosystems to supporting regulated industries with a stronger focus on the economy rather than environmental stewardship. There has not been a single indication of environmental stewardship to date. Instead, all we’ve seen is widespread indicators of environmental recklessness. Based on Trump’s complete disregard for the environment, it’s clear his parents did not take him fishing one time in his life—they probably didn’t even let him look at a tree.
Photo by Victória Duarte on Unsplash
The main way the current federal government is harmful to butterflies is their aggressive moves to dilute protections of endangered species under the Endangered Species Act. The monarch has been proposed to be listed as a threatened species and the current admin is delaying the listing, postponing legally enforceable habitat protections. Meaning even though the monarch population has been plummeting straight down in recent years (reminder: 99.9% plummet), we can legally wipe out all the milkweed in North America if we wanted and spray down the butterflies with a good amount of insecticide. Never mind the frightening ripple effect that would have on our lives. In the name of the economy/development, the feds are approving harmful activity and downgrading habitat standards, including removing protections for overwintering forests and allowing more destructive practices on lands reserved for monarch protection. Let me remind you there are less than 2,000 western monarchs left. No protections, no good for the butterflies. The admin is slashing the budget for the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service, the agency primarily responsible for enforcing protections. No one in the agency, no protections.
The Trump admin
is also breathing life back into the “Endangered Species Committee,” informally
known as the “God Squad.” More on this in a future post. I’ve been living under
a rock because I have never heard about this club before and I find it very
fascinating … in a very stinky way. The Trump admin reinstated this committee
which is given the broad authority to override Environmental Species Act protections in the name of development. The monarch proposal is considered a
low priority, meaning they are dragging out protections at a pace that is
non-moving. The circus in office is not a friend of the butterflies, not a
friend to clean air, soil, or water. Not a friend to our wallet if they’re
jacking up food prices because we have no more pollinators for crops. Plants need
the touch of a butterfly or a bee. And right now, the Trump admin is plundering
our butterfly buddies when it doesn’t have to be that way. It’s not supposed to
be this way.
Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
Where’s the hope?
Ok, ok, you’re not wrong. That was some real depressing shit I just dumped on you. As my good friend says to me, “Don’t fret.” And as I’ve said before and I will say again: we are not completely powerless. I’m here to report that there’s actually a lot of hope for monarchs. It’s multifaceted hope and involves science, community action, habitat restoration and government agencies across North America. These combined efforts reflect a comprehensive approach to monarch butterfly conservation, addressing habitat loss, climate change, and the need for public engagement. I’m not saying let’s get comfortable and forget about it, but here’s why we can feel some optimistic sparkles:
Monarchs are tough mother butterflies. And those mothers can rebound like a boss. They have survived habitat loss, extreme weather, and pesticide exposure. Their population is resilient if given enough food and safe breeding habitat. Historical records show fluctuations, not linear declines — sometimes dropping dramatically and then rebounding — rather than following a straight-line decline. This means well-timed conservation interventions like planting milkweed, reducing pesticide use, and protecting overwintering sites can tip the balance in favor of monarch recovery. In other words, declines don’t have to be permanent; with the right actions, rebounds are possible and even likely.
Photo by Dietra Alyssa Semple on Unsplash
The monarch’s story inspires collective action and cultural connection. Just like back in the 1930s, communities and citizen scientists have played and continue to play a significant role. Across borders, thousands of volunteers still tag, track sightings, and monitor butterflies. They plant milkweed, creating corridors for butterfly migration highways. Citizen scientist programs like Monarch Watch and Journey North give ordinary people a tangible way to help, which scales up conservation exponentially. Organizations like the Xerces Society, Monarch Watch and Western Monarch Milkweed Mapper promote planting native milkweed species, essential for monarch reproduction. Monarch Watch's Monarch Waystation program encourages individuals to create certified habitats by planting milkweed and nectar-rich flowers.
Not only that but businesses and governments are actually and miraculously joining in. Don’t get me wrong, they’d be real certified turds if they didn’t join the action, but some are actually doing the right thing. Corporations are planting pollinator gardens in parking lots and campuses. Departments of Transportation in cities are planting native milkweed along roadsides and parks. These efforts are creating new habitat at a scale that individual volunteers couldn’t achieve alone.
Conservation areas are making a difference. Overwintering sites in Mexico are now protected and managed with local communities, balancing eco-tourism and conservation. Scientists in Mexico are planting oyamel firtrees at higher elevations to provide future overwintering sites for monarchs, adapting to climate change impacts. Restoration projects in the U.S. are connecting fragmented habitats, which allows monarchs to complete their multi-generational migration successfully. Scientists have mapped migration routes, studied breeding cycles, and discovered the dangers of non-native milkweed, giving volunteers and policymakers specific, effective actions to support monarch survival. The Monarch Project focuses on protecting overwintering sites in California through conservation easements, ensuring these habitats remain undisturbed.
Photo by Matthew Bargh on Unsplash
Back in 2020, the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service ruled that listing monarch butterflies as a threatened species under the Environmental Species Act was “warranted but precluded” (meaning: yes, they qualify as endangered, but other species have higher priority). They remain on the candidate species list, which keeps them in limbo, but ensures annual review. Canada has listed the monarch as endangered under its Species at Risk Act (2023). Internationally, the monarch was added to the IUCN Red List in 2022 as endangered, highlighting the global urgency. They’re on the radar, which is good. We need our butterfly buddies.
Since 2015, Monarch Butterfly and Pollinators Conservation Fund has awarded $29 million to 156 projects aimed at conserving monarchs and other pollinators, leveraging an additional $43.9 million in matching contributions.
The beautiful, bottom line: The Monarchs’ story isn’t
over — they are a symbol of what’s possible when science, policy, and community
action come together. Every patch of native milkweed, every citizen scientist,
and every pollinator-friendly policy adds up to hope for the next generation of
monarchs.
What can we do about it?
Here’s the “action plan” for helping monarchs—what we as individuals and communities can do to make a real difference:
1. Plant Native Milkweed and Nectar Plants for the
Long Term
·
Monarch caterpillars feed only on
milkweed, so planting native species is essential.
·
Adult butterflies need nectar flowers to fuel
migration—milkweed plus a variety of native blooms is ideal.
·
Backyard gardens, community gardens, and
schoolyards can all become mini monarch sanctuaries.
·
Even small spaces matter: balcony pots, roadside
strips, or schoolyards can create important feeding and breeding sites.
·
Plant native milkweed species adapted to
your region—they’re more resilient and better for monarchs.
·
Xerces Society: Works with communities,
farmers, and public land managers to restore pollinator habitats, providing
resources and seed guides for milkweed planting.
· National Wildlife Federation: Runs the Garden for Wildlife program, helping individuals and schools create certified habitats with milkweed for monarchs.
2. Reduce, Preferably Avoid Pesticides
·
Herbicides kill milkweed; insecticides
(especially neonics) kill butterflies and other pollinators.
· Use organic gardening practices and avoid chemical sprays whenever possible.
3. Support Habitat Protection
·
Donate to or volunteer with groups like MonarchWatch, Xerces Society, or Pollinator Partnership.
·
Participate in local habitat restoration
projects or help plant pollinator corridors.
·
Monarch Joint Venture: Brings
together partners across sectors to plant milkweed and nectar plants, creating
coordinated monarch migration corridors nationwide.
· Pollinator Partnership: Engages volunteers, businesses, and landowners to increase pollinator-friendly spaces, including milkweed-rich Monarch Waystations.
4. Participate in Citizen Science
·
Track monarch sightings through programs like Journey North or the Western Monarch Count.
·
Tag butterflies (through organized programs) to
help scientists study migration and population trends.
· Monarch Watch: Coordinates the Monarch Waystation Program, where anyone can register and contribute milkweed patches to a larger migratory network.
5. Advocate for Policy
·
Support efforts to protect monarch habitats and
preserve their overwintering forests in Mexico and California.
· Encourage lawmakers to back pollinator-friendly policies and pesticide regulations.
6. Educate and Inspire Others
·
Teach children and communities about monarchs
and their life cycle.
·
Share photos, stories, and updates on social
media to raise awareness.
· Schools, community centers, and nature programs can host “Monarch Waystation” projects.
At the broadest scale, monarchs
remind us that no action is isolated. Every milkweed planted, every
pesticide avoided, every citizen-scientist report, and every advocacy effort adds
up. Monarchs survive through connected habitats and community action—we
can be the link that ensures their epic migrations continue for generations to
come.
Wrap it up
A delicate, orange-and-black butterfly that depends entirely on milkweed and an ancient migration route is collapsing under the combined weight of industrial agriculture, deforestation, and climate change. And yet, it’s a species people deeply connect with, which makes it a powerful symbol for conservation and hope.
The monarch butterfly reminds us of something essential: even the smallest creatures can carry immense meaning. Their survival depends not only on vast forests and healthy ecosystems but also on the choices we make in our own neighborhoods. Protecting pollinators benefits ecosystems, agriculture, and human communities. Their migration connects countries and people in a shared responsibility for the natural world. The monarch is both a warning and a beacon: small changes in our behavior—planting native species, reducing pesticide use, preserving habitat—can ripple outward, sustaining life across borders, species, and generations.
Zoom out far enough, and the monarch butterfly is no longer just a species. It is a mirror, reflecting the health of the planet and our role in preserving it. Protecting monarchs is not only about saving a single insect—it is about safeguarding ecosystems, reconnecting people to nature, and nurturing hope for future generations. In the delicate flutter of its wings, the monarch carries a message: the survival of life on Earth is a shared responsibility.
