Parks Canada: National Parks and National Historic Sites

Tammy Clarke holds a “newborn” monarch on a plate of sugar water. The butterfly knows it’s near the sweet nectar because it can taste through its feet.

Photo: Tobi Asmoucha

BY THE TIME WE RETURN to the visitor centre, another drama has unfolded, literally. A brand new monarch hangs from the mesh of the display, airing its lovely wings. Damn. We missed the final stage of metamorphosis by a mere five minutes. I take a seat heavily in front of the last remaining dark chrysalis. And watch. And wait. It’s more addictive than solitaire.

“Hey, isn’t that a crack?” he asks casually. I am about to tell him he’s wrong, that I have thought the same thing a dozen times, that it is an optical illusion, when suddenly, the main fault line erupts.

It’s time. The six-year-old fortuitously stumbles back and the three of us witness a little miracle together. It takes less than a minute. From the split chrysalis, the adult monarch unfolds and hangs from its Sharpie-fine-pointed little black feet. Its abdomen is huge and pulsating, its wings shrivelled. We watch the abdomen empty, pumping the wings full of fluid. A couple of minutes later, the process is complete and a fully developed monarch, roughly the width of my hand, hangs upside down, drying its unfurled wings.

The next day, Clarke and summer student Nycole Brebric carefully tag and release the temporary captives, including the male I was lucky to watch emerge. (I know it’s a male because he has a spot — a scent sack — on his hind wing and because his veins are thinner than a female’s.) Clarke gingerly tents her hand around the butterfly, as though it’s an injured sparrow, and peels a confetti-sized self-adhesive tag from a sheet, then applies it gently to the mitten-shaped right-hind wing of each insect, MLB730 and MLB735 respectively.

Next, the boys are given a drink. Mine is coy and won’t extend his curled proboscis, so Clarke “encourages” him to take a sip by caressing his hidden sap-sucker with a straightened paperclip. He knows there is good stuff to be had; he can taste through his feet and is currently standing monarch-knee-deep in sugar water. Still, he won’t cooperate and eventually Clarke gives up. A clutch of kids cluster around her. She leads them outside and Brebric follows with the monarchs. Clarke asks for a couple of volunteers and a cute gap-toothed boy named Carter steps up to get his nose coated in sugar water. One of the monarchs is then placed on the child’s nose. Carter, well named, patiently hauls the butterfly around the park for the next half hour, giving it a free ride all the way to the tip to help kick start its long journey.

While watching that monarch emerge from its chrysalis, Kersey and I mirrored the six-year-old’s wondrous smile, and the three of us were briefly united by an insect with a brain the size of a grain of sand. I came here to witness monarchs in the millions and was enthralled by just one.

Kate Barker writes for magazines such as explore and Cottage Life and lives in Toronto (katebarker.com). Photographer Tobi Asmoucha (www.tobiphoto.com) also lives in Toronto.