With folded wings, dusky surface out, the butterflies look almost drab. When they flex to soak up the sun, they flash their orange and black inner surfaces, and trim the firs with jewels. The usually quiet and stately grove fills with massed flight, a swirl of life, a whispering rain of sound. Monarchs dance past, for the most part avoiding human contact, but sometimes bestowing a kiss of wings or tiny feet, bumping against shoulders, perching on breast pockets. The butterflies arrive in Mexico about the first of November - Dia de los Muertos , or the Day of the Dead.
Indian people believe they are the returning spirits of dead children or the souls of lost warriors.
The spring monarch departure signals planting time. We came to these mountains in early March with a trip organized by The Monarch Program - a California research organization. Dr. Pyle was our teacher and raconteur, and, outside the refuges, our butterfly catcher. Founder of the international invertebrate conservation group The Xerces Society, he spent one recent autumn tracking monarchs from British Columbia to Arizona. Dr. Pyle is a robust man with a tender heart and an uncanny resemblance to the late musician Jerry Garcia.