There is a pleasure in the pathless woods
Lord Byron

I depart early from the village of Angangueo, in Mexico's Transvolcanic Mountains, with a small group, all from "Gringolandia." We are hunting for monarch butterflies. Lots of them. The day is deliciously perfect. Something good is in the air. Following a short hike we mount horses for a jaunt through the misty, evergreen woods. An hour passes and we have seen nary a butterfly. A murmur of restlessness spreads through the group.

Eventually we see an occasional monarch. Then there are a few clusters and unrest becomes anticipation. We dismount the horses to march on up the mountain. Soon, without warning, we round a bend in the trail, lift our eyes, and encounter a massive orange and black wall of 300 million monarch butterflies (more or less). It is the holy grail of insectdom! Our quest.

Where had this come from? It seems to have magically materialized out of the forest; only Bambi is missing from this fantasia of murmering wings. And every gringo exclaims, "Oh my God!" (next photo)