Just few years ago, Palau’s Jellyfish Lake on Eil Malk island was closed to swimmers and divers due to declining jellyfish numbers. This was a smart decision by the Palau powers-that-be; just another instance of a small government leading the way in conservation and preservation of the natural world.
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The good news: Jellyfish Lake is back open. Even better news: the population of (harmless) ethereal golden jellyfish are well and truly on the rise. Having built the population back to pre-tourism levels, a number of measures have been introduced to ensure this extraordinary phenomena can be experienced safely and without disrupting the natural environment.
Perhaps the best news is that while most migrations might take place once a year, or once in a blue moon, the jellyfish here migrate EVERY SINGLE DAY (also known as a diel migration), spending much of their lives on the move as they follow the arc of Big Yella.
Mobula Rays are a species of ray that move in thousand-strong squadrons along the Sea of Cortez off Mexico’s Baja California Peninsula.
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Our favourite fact about Mobulas? They leap as high as two metres out of the water to impress a potential mate. What a sick way of flirting.
Witnessing their acrobatics up close isn’t difficult to organise. The Mobulas aren’t secretive about their migration—Mobula madness takes place along the Sea of Cortez coastline every year from April to August and then again from November to January.
They’re pretty chill with human interaction too, so divers and decent swimmers can paddle up close alongside the Mobulas during this show of extraordinary aquatic acrobatics.
Imagine: thousands of reindeer (also known as caribou) hurtling, slipping, sliding and galloping across a mass of white snow and ice.
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That's what to expect from Canada’s reindeer migration, where the fairytale-like (but very real) creatures make the trek north to preferred breeding grounds. The 80-kilometre trip sees hundreds of thousands of reindeer travel from Inuvik to Richards Island, Northwest Territories, anywhere from late-March to late-May.
It is a fascinating (if a little chilly) event to witness. At Arctic Haven Wilderness Lodge in Nunavut (a long way north) you can actually watch them go by from the comfort of your own room, given they *fly* straight past the lodge.
We recommend getting out there and amongst it—you can get pretty close without affecting the natural order of the herd. The sound of so many majestic beasts flying towards you, and around you, will make you feel as if the tundra you stand on is on the move.
While Tbilisi, Georgia's capital, might be a trendy metropolis of art, culture and cool bars, the rest of the country is somewhat different. Take the Tusheti region in the country’s northeast, for example; a poster-destination for remote, untouched, rugged beauty.
Every September, the shepherds of Georgia’s north herd flocks of sheep down mountains to a warmer climate. What is done by trucks in other countries is not possible here; the narrow, slippery roads that hug the steep bends of the Caucasus Mountains are not safe enough to transport livestock by vehicle. It is therefore done the old-fashioned way—by foot and on horseback.
For an incredible experience, head to the high-altitude village of Omalo around the end of September, and follow the same trails that have been walked for thousands of years. Hospitality is a big part of the culture here, and in the little villages dotted along the trails you’ll be sure to find guesthouses and delicious home-cooked meals. And probably (definitely) wine.
You might be thinking entomology AKA insect watching is less get lost and more Pensioner's Weekly; a safer alternative to bird watching (you never know when the rare black-browed babbler might swoop). But trust us, when we say Mexico's monarch butterfly migration is absolutely get lost-worthy.
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We’re not talking about a few hundred or a few thousand butterlies here—we’re talking colonies of no less than 20 million of these pretty flutterers travelling south, upwards of 120 kilometres per day.
They leave Canada and the U.S. for the warmth of Mexico in the winter, and then head back again in summer (ain’t no wall stopping these guys, Trumpy). If you’re in Mexico, butterflies start arriving in November through to late-March. We highly recommend visiting one of their summer sanctuaries to witness them landing en masse. Pretty epic.