My journey 11,500 feet above sea level to Piedra Herrada: the monarch butterfly's winter home

This week I traveled from Upstate New York to Temascaltepec in the State of Mexico, where I embarked on the adventure of a lifetime to see every super monarch in North America.

Every year around the beginning of October, dozens of monarch butterflies stopover at my property in Upstate New York, where they refuel on the zinnias, goldenrod, aster, cosmos, Mexican sunflowers, and marigolds I have awaiting them on their 2,500 mile migrations.

It’s one of the great scientific wonders of this world, how a butterfly that is born in the northern region of the US/Canada knows to travel 2,500 miles to a very specific site nestled 11,500 feet above sea level in the State of Mexico (its own region within the country of Mexico), with no prior parent or member of its species to show them how.

The last and final generation of monarch butterflies, known as the fourth generation or “super generation,” using the earth’s magnetic field and the angle of the sun, will depart around the autumnal equinox to make a long and perilous journey to Piedra Herrada, where oyamel firs, asters, ironweed, sunshine, and an arid climate will welcome them home through February.

This super monarch will live for as long as 8-months, whereas all other generations of monarch butterflies will only live for 4 to 8 weeks. They are able to do so by entering a state of diapause, where they will roost, rest, and feed out of these Mexican forests until it’s time to venture back up north and lay their eggs on their host plant: milkweed.

The oyamel fir forests are very sacred to the Mexican people… and not easy to reach.

But from the moment I purchased my land in 2023 and made a pact with myself that I will do everything in my power to steward my acreage and save the pollinators, I have wanted to visit this spiritual site located in the municipality of Temascaltepec, Mexico.

And so I did. Here was my experience from that wild, whimsical, dangerous, and unforgettable day.

Arriving at Piedra Herrada

There are close to a dozen mountaintops in Temascaltepec that play host to every eastern monarch butterfly in North America throughout the winter. I chose Piedra Herrada simply because it was the destination selected for the tour company I used out of Mexico City (CDMX).

We departed CDMX very early in the morning on an over 3-hour car ride into the Mexican wilderness. Before we reached the sanctuary, we were stopped for over an hour on the only highway into the region as construction crews tore the road apart. We were told there was a chance they would not open the highway that day. While sitting there for that hour, I knew there was a very real possibility I would not reach this sacred site, and accepted that whatever was meant to be… was meant to be.

Alas, we started moving again on very steep, winding roads into the forest, finally reaching our destination of Piedra Herrada.

I knew Piedra Herrada was one of the smaller sanctuaries that I could visit for this expedition, yet I had read because of the smallness, we would receive a more intimate experience at the top. That worked for me!

I had planned to hike to the top from the sanctuary you see above. It was about a 2-mile hike. As someone who hikes often in Upstate New York and on the Adirondack Mountains, I did not think this would be physically demanding.

However, I severely underestimated the effect the elevation was going to have on my body. At the base of the mountain, you’re around 9,500 feet above sea level. I live, at all times in Upstate New York, at around 350 feet above sea level. I am not someone who is acclimated to altitude.

The hike to Piedra Herrada would include another 2,000 feet in elevation gain before reaching the top.

We began the hike, and it was not long before I was losing vision and consciousness. I thought I was going to faint.

The amazing Mexican guides there with us quickly spotted my lack of color, as well as those from Finland on our tour that were struggling with the altitude, too. They brought us horses to help us reach the destination. I was incredibly grateful to them, as well as the horses that are trained to traverse steep and difficult terrain, for without their help, I am not sure I would have made it to the top.

It took about 45 minutes on horseback to reach the second base at the top of the mountain, just before you enter into the oyamel fir forest. Once we all arrived and dismounted, it was time to complete the journey on foot. I was doing my best to gulp down oxygen along the way as there is no time to waste once you reach the top.

Our Mexican guides let us know two things before we entered:

• The monarch butterflies are incredibly sensitive to sound. No talking was permitted.

• The butterflies are sensitive to crowds as well. We were not permitted to stop along the path, but rather, move evenly and constantly so as not to cause them to relocate.

I was thrilled to hear both of these things. I would rather there be restrictions on ecotourism than risk upsetting the very beings we were there to visit.

I grabbed my things and we moved ahead, single file, onto a very rough-cut path that would lead us up to what I would call is the closest one can come to experiencing heaven on planet earth.

Somewhere between earth and heaven

Whether it was a combination of the altitude, the lack of oxygen, the sun peeking through the trees, dappling light all over the ground, the sound of soft butterfly wings flapping in breeze, or the fact that we had undoubtedly found ourselves in an energy vortex that was so carefully crafted by God, my experience at the top of the mountain among the butterflies felt like a dream.

I have since reflected that perhaps that’s how it’s supposed to feel… that we had set foot briefly into a dimension that exists somewhere between heaven and earth. That is certainly what it felt like.

I am also here to tell you it’s certainly how the Mexican people there treated the monarch butterflies as well. Our guides took great care in keeping the butterflies safe while sharing what they had learned with all of us around them.

Monarch butterflies are more than just pollinators to these peoples. They are spiritual messengers, representing souls of their departed that return home by the end of October. It was here that I learned the Day of the Dead coincides with the return of the monarch butterflies to their oyamel fir forests, marking a spiritual day of celebration that connects our earthly world with the one to come.

More humble than the Americans I come across, our Mexican guides, who spend their days stewarding this forest, acknowledge that science can’t fully explain why these super monarchs know to return to this very specific site, solo, from thousands of miles away. To the Mexican people, science doesn’t need to explain it - the divine already has.

It’s hard to put into words how spiritual it felt walking around this forest that day. Pictures and sentences don’t do it justice. In the short amount of time I had up there, gasping for air, I felt deep in my soul that it’s more important than ever to get the word out that saving the pollinators is about more than making sure our plants stay pollinated - perhaps these winged phenomenons are spiritual guides or environmental omens that deserve our respect, reverence, and softened care, no matter how rushed our modern world seems to be.

When I asked our Mexican guides what we can do to keep their numbers stabilized, they all unanimously told me the biggest threat to the monarch butterfly is the lack of milkweed available to them when the journey north.

I have been aggressively making content about milkweed for two-years now, ever since learning commercial farms eradicated nearly 900 million stems of this host plant starting in the 1990s to make way for Roundup-ready crops.

Without milkweed, the monarch butterfly will go extinct. It’s the ONLY host plant for this pollinator. The most impactful thing we can all do is plant NATIVE milkweed to our regions this year. My land already came blanketed in Common Milkweed… but that doesn’t mean you can’t plant some this year, too. This butterfly needs its host plant back. And the Mexicans are counting on US to do something about it.

As they concluded to me on top of the mountain, the monarch butterfly is something that connects Canada, America, and Mexico in a way that no other species does. Its survival depends on all three of us cooperating. In a world where herbicides, pesticides, commercial farming, clear-cut logging, renewable energy experiments, and dwindling prairie habitat reign supreme, the monarch butterfly could be one of those miraculous, hopeful stories that inspire people everywhere to change how they treat the earth beneath our feet.

It starts with one person. You will have more of an impact on your neighbors and community than you realize when you choose to prioritize these winged angels this year.

That is what I learned atop Piedra Herrada.

It was hard to conceive how much time we spent at the top of the mountain. It felt like time itself had changed. In some ways, it felt like I was there for only a minute. In other ways, it felt like time hadn’t moved at all, like we had stepped into a spirit realm as the world below us paused while we took a peek into heaven, something that awaits all of us.

God was present in this forest. I don’t have to tell the Mexicans that.

As we descended back down the mountain, I thanked the Mexican people again for their knowledge and quick-thinking that made it possible for this gringa to reach Piedra Herrada.

I asked how I could possibly send more donations in the future via my nonprofit, American Land Rescue Fund. They seemed to be content with the money they had and told me they like their sanctuary being small, remote, and authentically Mexican. I respect that immensely.

My work is only beginning for getting the word out there about what we need to do in the U.S. and Canada to save our environment. I plan to dedicate the rest of my life to doing so, and thank you all for being here.

There is much to come.

FURTHER READING