In Nanacamilpa, a magical display of fireflies is attracting tourists by the thousands—now locals wonder how they can sustain the insect that brought them so much prosperity. As night falls on Laguna Azul, an ecotourism lodge on the outskirts of the Mexican hamlet of Nanacamilpa, it looks like rain, and a group of eight tourists nervously watch the sky.
Their guides look unconcerned. Cold rain makes for a miserable walk, but the fireflies love it. A younger guide introduces himself in a strong voice as an older one looks on, leaning on a thick walking stick.
The guide lists the basic rules of the tour: walk only on the path, no wandering, no music, no alcohol, no insect repellent, no lamps, and absolutely no cell phones. Any light, even that of a cell phone display, can distract the fireflies.
She is one of very few academic researchers looking into this species, about which very little is known. The walk follows sprawling farmland up a hill to the very edge of the forest.
The guides pass fields of wheat, barley, fava beans, and corn before stopping for a moment. The hybrid corn to our left, abutting the forest, requires regular spraying. In the forest we see pines, oaks, and a fir called oyamel. The crowd bunches and murmurs. Several children look bored and start to squirm. Then it begins, slowly—a blink here, a flash there. When the dusk fades, the fireflies come out in earnest. Individually they are yellow points of light wandering crooked paths, rhythmically blinking.
