Nature Note #205: Colorful Wanderers
The sun was already out by the time I arrived at the beach. A warm breeze wafted over the greenbrier (Smilax rotundifolia) tangles along the shores of Bogue Banks while a sweet perfume of nectar hung gently in the air near the shrubs where towhees and mockingbirds hid chattering.
I sniffed the air; if only I could fully smell it. Having a cold really puts a damper on experiencing the outdoors especially when breathing is kinda of important for one's survival. Wrinkling my nose and blinking sun-sore eyes, I scoured the nearby bushes for any signs of butterflies that had been moving through the past few days.
Initially, nothing moved. Perhaps I had come too early or maybe it was too breezy for these colorful insects. I glanced over the beach and noticed a squadron of brown pelicans (Pelecanus occidentalis) and infantry of laughing gulls (Leucophaeus atricilla) bombarding a school of fish in the surf zone. Over and over, I saw feathery missiles diving in the crystal blue waters, snatching up prize after prize, before flying a few short feet towards the next target. After a few minutes of watching, I walked up the ramp to the pavilion overlooking the dunes to see if a higher vantage point would allow me a better view.
Two garbage cans had been ravaged by a nocturnal scavenger, maybe a raccoon? I sighed, swallowed, winced at my sore throat, and picked up the garbage. After putting each torn scrap back into the pails and securing the lids, a yellow flash caught my attention. Over the shrubs and greenbriar sat two lemon yellow butterflies, resting with their wings closed. Hanging like old leaves from the shrubs, they looked like they were disguising themselves to prevent being picked off by a predator, but I wasn't too sure. They were cloudless sulphurs (Phoebis sennae) and as I mentioned in Nature Note #202 they are a short distance migrant that cross the Southeast in search of warmer areas to feed, mate, and fly about in. Though the two I saw were resting, others could be seen chasing one another around the paths up and down the dune stairs, nectaring on trumpet flowers or engaging in short spats with the other butterflies nearby.
The largest butterflies present were the great wanderers, the monarchs (Danaus plexippus), easily recognized by their bright orange wings outlined with black and dotted with delicate white spots. Many were passing through, nectaring on the seaside goldenrod (Solidago sempervirens) that waved gently in the breeze or fluttering to rest on the shrubs flanking the narrow staircase that lead to the lawn below. When most people are prompted to think of butterflies, monarchs are usually the first that come to mind. They have a lot of things going for them. Charismatic and easily recognized both as an adult and as a caterpillar, they are best recognized as long distance migrants.
Initially thought to overwinter in the northern states, the actual reason for their annual disappearance was poorly understood. Knowledge of their whereabouts was eventually pieced together by a pair of married entomologists named Fred and Norah Urquhart of the University of Toronto, Canada. Over a period of 40 years, they engaged in one of the largest citizen science experiments in North American history. Utilizing interested citizens in the field, they started a program called the Insect Migration Association, an organization which would eventually become Monarch Watch, to determine where these butterflies were going. At the start of the program in 1952, twelve people applied to assist with the program. Twenty years later, six hundred people were helping with the program and since then, thousands, including yours truly, have helped to capture, tag, and release monarchs at sites across the country.
To achieve this, they attached small labels to the hind wings of monarchs with an individual number and letter and the address to the Zoology University in Toronto, Canada. Those numbers worked in a similar fashion to how wing tags and bands help ornithologists figure out the banding location and date of birds across the country. If they are found on a bird or butterfly, they could be sent in to help figure out how far that animal had traveled over time and distance.
The Urquharts soon learned that as the monarchs traveled north, they were seeing a variety of butterflies, all in differing conditions. Some had fresh wings, while others were noticeable worn and tattered. This seemed to indicate that some butterflies might be older than others, even by a few weeks and suggested that there were insects traveling further to get to southern Canada while fresher individuals were arriving from nearby.
Monarchs engage in separate stages of breeding when they are traveling north in the spring. After leaving their wintering grounds south of the border in early March, the adults that overwintered breed in the open fields of Texas before dying off and the next generation grows up into butterflies to continue the staggered journey north. From there, the butterflies advance in stages and each successive generation moves north as temperatures warm and their preferred food plant, milkweed starts flowering. Only the fall generation migrates the 4000 mile journey from Canada to Mexico and their ability to do so is legendary. While they are slow flyers (12 mph) compared to other species of butterflies, their endurance is admirable and have been recorded traveling up to 80 miles a day.
It wouldn't be until 1976 when they teamed up with two naturalists, Kenneth Brugger and Catalina Trail, that the wintering grounds of the eastern population of monarchs was discovered. Deep in the mountainous pine forests of Michoacán, Mexico, they found the now legendary stands of ancient trees, quietly rustling with orange and black wings. The discovery was published in National Geographic in an article written by Fred Urquhart entitled "Found at Last: The Monarch's Winter Home" and is also where I relearned a decent chunk about the journey to discover the wintering grounds of these incredible butterflies.
After admiring the gentle flapping of a female monarch over the leafy expanse, another orange butterfly caught my attention. It was smaller and radiant orange, like a flickering flame drifting through the air. The flame alighted on a yaupon holly (Ilex vomitoria) bough and flexed its wings; it was a Gulf fritillary (Agraulis vanillae). A common sight along the shore, these butterflies prefer woodland edges, brushy fields, and gardens with their preferred foodplant; the passionflower (Passiflora incarnata).
Nearby a frantic fluttering caught my eye. It was small and iridescent green so much so that I almost mistook it for a hummingbird seeking nectar from the coral beans (Erythrina herbacea) and honeysuckles (Lonicera sempervirens). I peered closer and watched the little imp alight on the foliage. Raising my camera, I depressed the button waiting for the image to come into focus. Sensing that I was part of the naturalist papparazzi, it sprang from its perch and flitted away to a deeper, more secluded part of the bush. Luckily, it wasn't the only one of the mystery butterflies dipping and dabbing on the flowers below. After waiting for a few moments, I saw another one alight on a holly twig and snapped a photo. A small, iridescent green butterfly with long hind wing tail sections shone back on the camera screen. It was a long-tailed skipper (Urbanus proteus)!
Satisfied that I had seen all that I could and struggling to breathe while doing so, I decided to leave before either the sun or my cough would do me in. It was a pleasure to spend a short while with such splendid creatures and watch them go about their business. It is as fascinating as any birding expedition I have ever undertaken. One can hope that we will see these colorful wanderers for a little while longer before the cold winds of winter blow them from our shores and our hearts.
I sniffed the air; if only I could fully smell it. Having a cold really puts a damper on experiencing the outdoors especially when breathing is kinda of important for one's survival. Wrinkling my nose and blinking sun-sore eyes, I scoured the nearby bushes for any signs of butterflies that had been moving through the past few days.
Initially, nothing moved. Perhaps I had come too early or maybe it was too breezy for these colorful insects. I glanced over the beach and noticed a squadron of brown pelicans (Pelecanus occidentalis) and infantry of laughing gulls (Leucophaeus atricilla) bombarding a school of fish in the surf zone. Over and over, I saw feathery missiles diving in the crystal blue waters, snatching up prize after prize, before flying a few short feet towards the next target. After a few minutes of watching, I walked up the ramp to the pavilion overlooking the dunes to see if a higher vantage point would allow me a better view.
Two garbage cans had been ravaged by a nocturnal scavenger, maybe a raccoon? I sighed, swallowed, winced at my sore throat, and picked up the garbage. After putting each torn scrap back into the pails and securing the lids, a yellow flash caught my attention. Over the shrubs and greenbriar sat two lemon yellow butterflies, resting with their wings closed. Hanging like old leaves from the shrubs, they looked like they were disguising themselves to prevent being picked off by a predator, but I wasn't too sure. They were cloudless sulphurs (Phoebis sennae) and as I mentioned in Nature Note #202 they are a short distance migrant that cross the Southeast in search of warmer areas to feed, mate, and fly about in. Though the two I saw were resting, others could be seen chasing one another around the paths up and down the dune stairs, nectaring on trumpet flowers or engaging in short spats with the other butterflies nearby.
 |
| Cloudless sulphur butterfly. personal photo. |
The largest butterflies present were the great wanderers, the monarchs (Danaus plexippus), easily recognized by their bright orange wings outlined with black and dotted with delicate white spots. Many were passing through, nectaring on the seaside goldenrod (Solidago sempervirens) that waved gently in the breeze or fluttering to rest on the shrubs flanking the narrow staircase that lead to the lawn below. When most people are prompted to think of butterflies, monarchs are usually the first that come to mind. They have a lot of things going for them. Charismatic and easily recognized both as an adult and as a caterpillar, they are best recognized as long distance migrants.
 |
| Resting among the shrubs, personal photo. |
Initially thought to overwinter in the northern states, the actual reason for their annual disappearance was poorly understood. Knowledge of their whereabouts was eventually pieced together by a pair of married entomologists named Fred and Norah Urquhart of the University of Toronto, Canada. Over a period of 40 years, they engaged in one of the largest citizen science experiments in North American history. Utilizing interested citizens in the field, they started a program called the Insect Migration Association, an organization which would eventually become Monarch Watch, to determine where these butterflies were going. At the start of the program in 1952, twelve people applied to assist with the program. Twenty years later, six hundred people were helping with the program and since then, thousands, including yours truly, have helped to capture, tag, and release monarchs at sites across the country.
To achieve this, they attached small labels to the hind wings of monarchs with an individual number and letter and the address to the Zoology University in Toronto, Canada. Those numbers worked in a similar fashion to how wing tags and bands help ornithologists figure out the banding location and date of birds across the country. If they are found on a bird or butterfly, they could be sent in to help figure out how far that animal had traveled over time and distance.
The Urquharts soon learned that as the monarchs traveled north, they were seeing a variety of butterflies, all in differing conditions. Some had fresh wings, while others were noticeable worn and tattered. This seemed to indicate that some butterflies might be older than others, even by a few weeks and suggested that there were insects traveling further to get to southern Canada while fresher individuals were arriving from nearby.
 |
| Monarch chrysalis at ranger station in Everglades, FL in 2012. Personal photo. |
Monarchs engage in separate stages of breeding when they are traveling north in the spring. After leaving their wintering grounds south of the border in early March, the adults that overwintered breed in the open fields of Texas before dying off and the next generation grows up into butterflies to continue the staggered journey north. From there, the butterflies advance in stages and each successive generation moves north as temperatures warm and their preferred food plant, milkweed starts flowering. Only the fall generation migrates the 4000 mile journey from Canada to Mexico and their ability to do so is legendary. While they are slow flyers (12 mph) compared to other species of butterflies, their endurance is admirable and have been recorded traveling up to 80 miles a day.
It wouldn't be until 1976 when they teamed up with two naturalists, Kenneth Brugger and Catalina Trail, that the wintering grounds of the eastern population of monarchs was discovered. Deep in the mountainous pine forests of Michoacán, Mexico, they found the now legendary stands of ancient trees, quietly rustling with orange and black wings. The discovery was published in National Geographic in an article written by Fred Urquhart entitled "Found at Last: The Monarch's Winter Home" and is also where I relearned a decent chunk about the journey to discover the wintering grounds of these incredible butterflies.
After admiring the gentle flapping of a female monarch over the leafy expanse, another orange butterfly caught my attention. It was smaller and radiant orange, like a flickering flame drifting through the air. The flame alighted on a yaupon holly (Ilex vomitoria) bough and flexed its wings; it was a Gulf fritillary (Agraulis vanillae). A common sight along the shore, these butterflies prefer woodland edges, brushy fields, and gardens with their preferred foodplant; the passionflower (Passiflora incarnata).
 |
| Gulf fritillary on yaupon holly. Personal photo |
 |
| A little green imp. Personal photo. |
Satisfied that I had seen all that I could and struggling to breathe while doing so, I decided to leave before either the sun or my cough would do me in. It was a pleasure to spend a short while with such splendid creatures and watch them go about their business. It is as fascinating as any birding expedition I have ever undertaken. One can hope that we will see these colorful wanderers for a little while longer before the cold winds of winter blow them from our shores and our hearts.
"Then we saw them. Masses of butterflies - everywhere! In the quietness of semidormancy, they festooned the tree branches, they enveloped the oyamel trunks, they carpeted the ground in their tremendous legions....While we stared in wonder, a pine branch three inches thick broke under its burden of languid butterflies and crashed to earth, spilling its living cargo. I stooped to examine the mass of dislodged monarchs. There, to my amazement, was one bearing a white tag! By incredible chance I had stumbled on a butterfly tagged by one Jim Gilbery, far away in Chaska, Minnesota. Later Mr. Gilbert sent me a photograph of the very field of goldenrod where he had marked this frail but tireless migrant." - Dr. Fred Urquhart
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