Orange Crush

Monarch butterflies don’t make any noise, but it was way too quiet in the dense eucalyptus grove at Natural Bridges State Beach in Santa Cruz, CA. It felt like there was no life at all in this damp riparian corridor along the wave-battered North Coast. Not seeing any orange flutters was deflating. 

With our binoculars, we scoured the high reaches of the eucalyptus trees hoping for a flash of orange. There was a nice boardwalk that led to a platform where clusters of monarchs typically gather for warmth in the winter, but nothing stirred beneath the canopy.

Afterwards, naturalist Holly Lohuis and I walked over to the visitor center and got the whole story as to why there wasn’t a single monarch butterfly in what has been in the past a reliable wintering locale for these milkweed butterflies also known as common tigers. The story wasn’t what we were expecting considering the plight of monarch butterflies.

My initial feeling was monarchs are in trouble. As tough and resilient as these insects are, they are very susceptible to climate change, pesticide use, habitat loss and fragmentation. Like so many other species, they are on the brink of extinction. Since 1980, 99% of the western populations have declined. In 2022, they were added to The International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) Red List.

A couple of simple remedies can help save monarch populations. Our reliance on pesticides needs to subside, and planting native plants in our yards – particularly milkweed – would enhance their survival. 

Backstory

“The big windstorm we had last November blew over one of the more prominent eucalyptus trees inside the grove,” said the naturalist working inside the visitor center. “It was a chain reaction of events that forced the monarchs to move on.”

We were relieved to learn that it was natural elements that made the monarchs find another place to roost. The tree that blew over was also home to a roosting great-horned owl. Once the great-horned owl left, it opened the door to black-capped chickadees to move in. They are one of the few bird species that feed on monarch butterflies. The tree was also a natural windbreak, allowing the monarchs to roost comfortably. The combination of the fallen tree, no great-horned owl keeping the chickadees at bay, the grove all of a sudden transforming into a wind tunnel, and then the monarchs becoming a smorgasbord for the hungry chickadees – it all explained the obvious absence of the colorful monarchs.

“Head to the open space on Pelton Street,” she continued. “Several hundred monarchs have moved over there.”

Patches

When it comes to wildlife surviving in today’s world, sometimes certain species have only a patch of habitat to cling to. Pelton Street was only a couple miles south of Natural Bridges. There’s a small patch of open space behind a parking lot at Steamer Lane, a prominent surf spot. It was packed there after a recent stretch of good winter swell. On the other side of that open space was a cramped neighborhood, homes squeezed in like sardines.

Still, it was a good example of how wildlife adapts in dire circumstances whether it’s manmade or natural elements coming together. When Holly and I arrived, we had our doubts that we would find any butterflies. It was Christmas Eve, and there were lots of folks walking along the nearby bluffs to watch surfers at Steamer Lane, dodging the huge beams that had been part of the wharf, and that fell into the ocean after a huge day of recent surf and powerful downcoast currents.

It was crowded with cars, bike riders, and people strolling through the open space. But we saw a small group of people looking up into the canopy in what was mostly eucalyptus trees. However, the tightly clustered monarch butterflies were resting in a native Monterey cypress in the middle of the eucalyptus, even better. We guesstimated there being about 1,000 monarchs huddling together but out in the open for all to see.

When the sun broke through wispy wintry clouds, shafts of warm sun shone directly on the cluster of monarchs, their orange wings accentuated by the low-lit aura of the North Coast. As soon as the sun hit the cluster of monarchs, there was a flurry of activity within the cluster as butterflies flitted around the main grouping. Several monarchs readjusted, flying to different pockets in the congregation before settling down once again.

The sun didn’t last long though, as dark clouds moved in blotting out the sun. There was an instant chill in the air, but the monarchs knew just what to do. There was safety in numbers as they clambered on top of each other, that small patch of open space delivering just enough habitat to keep this group of monarchs secure.