YOU’RE MY BUTTERFLY, SUGAR BABY

Published in the Dec. 6, 2025 issue.

How do you teach people to count butterflies? Well, community scientist Richard Rachman likes to start by taping Doritos to trees. 

Rachman is a plant ecologist by trade, but is also a volunteer with Xerces Society’s Western Monarch Count as a coordinator and ambassador. 

On Wednesday night, he presented findings from the Western Monarch Count in Saline Valley at the Eastern Sierra Bird Alliance and the California Native Plant Society Bristlecone Chapter’s annual potluck in Bishop. 

“What I tell people is that they look like Doritos. They’re about the same size,” he said. “So I’d go buy a bag of nacho cheese Doritos — and, well, I guess you’ll have to see.” 

Monarch butterflies have a distinctive black and orange pattern on their wings that resembles stained glass, making them one of the most recognizable North American insects. But their uniqueness goes beyond coloring: the monarch is the only butterfly known to make a two-way migration like birds do. Unlike other butterflies that can overwinter as larvae or pupae, monarchs can’t survive the cold winters of northern climates. 

Instead, they head south. This migration unfolds over generations. About four generations of monarchs emerge each year, but the final, overwintering generation lives much longer. It enters a phase called reproductive diapause, pausing reproductive development to conserve energy for the long journey. 

Scientists like Rachman focus on this generation because it’s the best time to survey the population. While in diapause, monarchs tend to stay in one place, and in the early morning hours they’re relatively inactive, making them easier to count. By counting butterflies in this phase, scientists can estimate the size of the overall population. 

And although it’s still unclear why monarchs choose specific overwintering sites, researchers know they’re selective. Most gather along the California coast or in Mexico, but a small number take up residence in the canyons of Saline Valley, a saline, high-desert environment within Death Valley. The area lies only 13 miles from Lone Pine as the crow flies, but there’s no paved road into the valley. 

To study the butterflies, Rachman makes a three-hour off-road commute. Once he’s in the canyons, the environment changes dramatically. In McGolvoy Canyon, for example, a lush waterfall supports such dense vegetation it can be difficult to navigate. Compared to the valley floor, temperatures inside the canyon are moderated by shade, water, and thick plant growth. 

Sunning themselves on branches near streams in the early mornings are the monarchs. Using binoculars and careful notetaking, Rachman, his colleagues, and the occasional volunteer track the few butterflies that spend their fall and winter there. 

But the count didn’t always look like this. The Timbisha Shoshone people, who historically lived in Saline Valley in seasonal camps built from local vegetation, have observed the butterflies for generations. After Death Valley was designated a national monument in 1933, federal officials pressured the Timbisha Shoshone to move from their homelands, relocating families to concrete-block housing. 

The tribe fought for decades to regain recognition and a foothold in the park, eventually securing a small land base through the 2000 Timbisha Shoshone Homeland Act. Today, the monarch remains an important part of their cultural landscape. 

When mining companies entered the region in the late 19th century, many of the canyons became occupied by miners who also took note of the butterflies. 

“Even though they weren’t intentionally doing the count, they were there,” Rachman explained. In the 1970s, scientist Derham Giuliani began what we now think of as a modern butterfly count, documenting more than a thousand monarchs in Saline Valley. His work created a baseline that Rachman and his colleagues still use to model and track monarch populations in the valley.

So far, the numbers have fluctuated dramatically. Some years, they see more than 150 monarchs; other years, none at all. But on a national scale, the monarch population is declining, and the butterflies are being considered for protection under the U.S. Endangered Species Act. 

This year’s Western Monarch Count recorded a peak of just 9,119 butterflies, the second lowest overwintering population since tracking began in 1997. The number marks a sharp drop from the past three years, when more than 200,000 western monarchs were observed overwintering each year. 

“Why are monarch numbers really good some years and bad in others? And why are we in such a spiral right now?” Rachman asked when presenting his data. “Deforestation, pesticide use […] and people raising and releasing monarchs without proper training all play a role.” 

Anybody can volunteer for the count. All you need is a way to monitor wind and temperature, hiking shoes, camping gear, binoculars, and a four-wheel-drive vehicle. When you spot monarchs, you can upload photos to apps like Survey123 and iNaturalist, which feed observations into larger research databases.