In Ray Bradbury’s 1952 short story, A Sound Louder Than Thunder, hunters of the future time travel to the prehistoric past to hunt T-Rexes. During the hunt, one hunter accidentally steps on a butterfly. When he returns to the present he discovers, much to his horror, that everything has changed. One small, seemingly inconsequential act produces a dramatic effect in the future. Although Ray Bradbury didn’t coin the term, his story birthed the notion of the Butterfly Effect.
As long as humans have been observing nature and our interventions in natural systems, we’ve been able to discern the consequences of big actions. Over-hunt one season and you starve the next. Pollute the lake or the river and aquatic life is adversely affected. We can see some effects immediately. We’re not so good, however, at forecasting the effects of smaller actions or multiple smaller actions.
That’s where scientists come in. Looking back in the geological or fossil record. Looking forward with models and statistics. Observing, tracking, monitoring and counting.
Take the monarch butterfly. Each year from November to February thousands of western monarch butterflies migrate from cold northern winters to take shelter on the Central Coast. They congregate in the upper branches of the eucaluptus groves at Pismo State Beach and other such stands nearby. These butterflies are fifth generation monarchs that emerged from their chrysalises 6-8 months ago. The typical lifespan of the monarch is only 6-8 weeks. But something in the butterfly DNA gets triggered by geography, cold and/or butterfly instinct. Gotta leave the cold and return to the Central Coast, and it’s gonna take much longer than 6-8 weeks.
And they did not always shelter in eucalyptus trees – non-native eucalytus trees. Before the arrival of the eucalyptus, at one point in Monarch butterfly history, the butterflies sheltered in different trees and bushes. “Why eucalyptus trees today?” I ask the docent at the Monarch Butterfly Grove. “Frass,” I’m told. Butterfly poop. Eucalyptus trees were planted in their traditional sheltering grounds. And the grass and their unique homing instincts keep them coming back to the same spot. They are adaptable and hardy, to say the least.
But there is a limit to monarch butterfly adaptability and resilience. The monarch count is down. As of this writing, the Grove has recorded the lowest count of monarchs ever. Monarchs are now endangered; their numbers have been decimated due to habitat loss, climate change, pollution and pesticides.
The problems certainly imply some solutions. Reduce your carbon footprint. Don’t use pesticides. Plant milkweed (monarch food). You can learn more ways to help at the Monarch Butterfly Grove. Supporting the efforts at the Butterfly Grove is one small way to help keep the monarch population healthy and returning to the Central Coast. Monarch butterfly season at the Grove runs from late October through February.
We’re time traveling into the future. And the monarch butterfly health clock is ticking faster and faster. Monarchs need our help. A positive butterfly effect, if you will. For a world without monarch butterflies would produce something awful. And so much louder than thunder.
