11 Places to See the World's Most Magnificent Wildlife Migrations

Seeing any animal in the wild is a privilege — but seeing huge numbers is something else. For a start, it’s both humbling and heartening to encounter any species in abundance. It’s also genuinely exciting. When big groups of creatures seasonally cluster in one place, there’s always something to watch — from courting and mating to fighting or family-raising. It may be a sensory assault, too: noise, tumult, pungent smells, crashing waters, mad flurries of dust. And where masses gather to move together, hungry predators may lurk, adding a macabre but fascinating dimension. Here, we’ve picked the most dramatic migrations through the year and around the globe.

Monarch Butterflies, Mexico

When to go: December to March

How does an insect the weight of a paperclip make a journey of 3,000 miles? That’s the feat of the extraordinary monarch butterfly, which somehow flutters from its summer breeding grounds — spread across Canada and the American northeast — to a patch of oyamel fir forest in the highlands west of Mexico City. Most only survive for a month or so but, in autumn, a generation emerges that lives eight times as long, capable of making this perilous trip. How they know where to go is a mystery — the butterflies that migrate are the great-great-grandchildren of those that left Mexico the previous spring. No matter, the results are spectacular: millions upon millions of orange-black wings blanketing trees, raining like tickertape. The Monarch Butterfly Biosphere Reserve, in the mountains of Michoacán state, is home to more than half of the overwintering colonies of the monarch butterfly’s eastern population. The sanctuary of El Rosario is easiest to reach; lesser-visited Sierra Chincua can be explored on horseback. The colourful, cobblestoned Mineral de Angangueo makes a good base.

Reindeer, Norway

When to go: April to May

The Indigenous Sámi of Europe’s far north work to their own calendar. Their year has eight seasons, and giđđa (spring) means melting snows, fast-increasing daylight and reindeer on the move: around April, the animals start migrating from their inland pastures towards the coast for summer grazing. Norway has around 275,000 reindeer, some wild, but mostly semi-domesticated herds that are ushered across the country’s Arctic plateaus by Sámi families whose livelihoods have depended on the practice for generations. Finnmarksvidda, an empty vastness of low hills, glacial lakes, pine barrens, birch woods and bogs in northernmost Norway, is a Sámi stronghold, where a few operators offer the chance to join the herders on the move. Days are shaped by the reindeer and the weather, perhaps involving sledding, snowmobiling or feeding the animals, followed by sharing stories around the fire, feasting on Arctic fish and sleeping in lavvus (traditional tents). Seeing swathes of animals trot across the tundra is a treat; being immersed in Sámi culture is an even greater privilege.

Sardines, South Africa

When to go: June to July

A strange thing happens off the South African coast each winter in the Southern Hemisphere: sardines in their millions, maybe billions, swarm north from Cape Agulhas, following a cold current towards the Indian Ocean. Strange, because it doesn’t benefit the sardines at all. But it’s a bumper buffet for other creatures: dolphins, tuna, seals, sharks, orcas and whales, plus dive-bombing cormorants, gannets and gulls. The result is marine mayhem. The sardines become silvery shape-shifting bait balls, chased down by great gangs of hungry predators and pierced by an avian invasion from above. Fish numbers have plunged in recent decades and the Sardine Run has become less predictable, but it’s still known as one of Earth’s greatest shoals. Activity peaks off Eastern Cape province, with boat trips leaving from towns such as Port St Johns and Gqeberha (formerly Port Elizabeth, handy for Addo Elephant National Park, too). Diving amid this chaos is thrilling, if challenging; snorkellers can launch into the action more quickly. Or, stay on board to watch the feasting frenzy from above.

Pelicans, Romania

When to go: May to July

With their massive bills and bodies, capacious pouches and wide, powerful wings, pelicans look both immensely impressive and distinctly prehistoric. Come spring, around 32,000 of them — mostly great whites, plus a significant scoop of dalmatians, the biggest species — leave their winter hangouts and make for Europe’s largest natural wetland, the Danube Delta. This splurge of rivers, lakes, marshes, forest, sandbars and reedbeds spreads mostly across eastern Romania. It’s a paradise for the pelicans, as well as other birds such as herons, storks and white-tailed eagles. The pelicans begin arriving in March, but May is an ideal time to visit, when colonies are a-bustle, large pods gather for herd-fishing and adults are in full breeding splendour, their great gular pouches beaming bright-orange. June, on the other hand, is good for spying chicks, and July the time to go for sheer numbers. Navigate the delta on boat trips with licensed guides (mandatory for exploring core areas) or stay on a floating hotel for 24/7 avian action.

Salmon, Canada

When to go: July to October

No migration is easy, but the journey of the Pacific Northwest salmon reads like a Greek tragedy. Born in fresh water, they head out to sea, mature for a few years, then navigate back to their natal streams using the earth’s magnetic fields and their own sense of smell. They battle against the flow, leaping rapids, dodging grizzlies and eagles, only to spawn — and then die. It’s a privilege to witness this fatal journey, either from the riverbank, as the fish fling themselves from the froth, or in the water amid the shoals. The town of Campbell River, on Vancouver Island’s east coast, is the self-proclaimed ‘salmon capital of the world’, and the top spot for snorkelling with the chinook, coho, chum, pink and sockeye fighting to return home. Floating in the swift current, you might see hundreds, even thousands, of salmon swim past — and possibly some bears hanging about. From the banks, you can watch salmon leaping two metres into the air, perhaps only to be snatched by those waiting bears. From mid-August to late October, the Homalco First Nation run bear-watching trips to Bute Inlet.

Fruit Bats, Zambia

When to go: October to December

No migration is easy, but the journey of the Pacific Northwest salmon reads like a Greek tragedy. Born in fresh water, they head out to sea, mature for a few years, then navigate back to their natal streams using the earth’s magnetic fields and their own sense of smell. They battle against the flow, leaping rapids, dodging grizzlies and eagles, only to spawn — and then die. It’s a privilege to witness this fatal journey, either from the riverbank, as the fish fling themselves from the froth, or in the water amid the shoals. The town of Campbell River, on Vancouver Island’s east coast, is the self-proclaimed ‘salmon capital of the world’, and the top spot for snorkelling with the chinook, coho, chum, pink and sockeye fighting to return home. Floating in the swift current, you might see hundreds, even thousands, of salmon swim past — and possibly some bears hanging about. From the banks, you can watch salmon leaping two metres into the air, perhaps only to be snatched by those waiting bears.

Green Turtles, Costa Rica

When to go: June to October

Sea turtles: so cumbersome on land, so graceful underwater. These reptiles swim vast distances across oceans but must return to shore — back to the beach where they were born — to nest. There are seven species worldwide, five have nesting grounds in Costa Rica. Unsurprisingly, given its name is derived from ‘tortuga’ — the Spanish word for ‘turtle’ — Tortuguero is a hotspot. This national park on the country’s Caribbean coast is home to the western hemisphere’s largest green turtle rookery, as well as significant populations of leatherbacks and hawksbills.

Thousands of female greens haul up onto Tortuguero’s rainforest-backed black sands during rainy season (peaking August to September) to dig nests and lay eggs. Strictly regulated night tours offer chances to witness this intimate moment. Hatching may occur a few weeks later; the timing is unpredictable but you may be lucky and see a spill of little’uns making dashes for the sea. Join a volunteer project to help conduct night patrols, tag turtles and protect hatchlings from the predators lying in wait.

Puffins, Wales

When to go: May to July

Endlessly comical and endearing, puffins are sometimes affectionately described as the ‘clowns of the sea’. They winter out in the Atlantic but, in late spring, return to the colonies of their birth to breed, digging burrows in the cliffs, rubbing bills with their lifelong mates. The UK is home to around a million birds. In general, numbers are declining, but Skomer is bucking the trend: in 2026, a record 52,019 puffins were counted on this little volcanic outcrop just off the Pembrokeshire coast, up from 43,626 in 2025.

Fringed by dramatic sea cliffs, Skomer is superb for seabirds — around half the planet’s Manx shearwaters nest here, as well as 10,000 razorbills — while grey seals slob on the rocks and dolphins frolic offshore. Boat trips run from shingly Martins Haven beach: cruises observe the avian hijinks from water-level, while landing trips allow you to go ashore, walk via Iron Age relics and look for the endemic Skomer vole as well as birds. Bag a hostel bunk to explore after day-trippers have left.

Cranes, Japan

When to go: November to March

In Japan, the tsuru (crane) isn’t just a bird, it’s a symbol of good fortune, so seeing 13,000 of these stately creatures in one spot should be lucky indeed. Every winter, a siege of cranes migrates from as far as Siberia to western Kyushu in the south of Japan’s archipelago, concentrating on the marshy plains and paddies of the old samurai town of Izumi. It’s a mixed gathering, dominated by hooded cranes — aka the grey-bodied, white-headed ‘nun’ crane — and white-naped cranes, plus a peppering of sandhill, common and demoiselle species, and many other over-wintering birds.

Izumi’s Crane Observation Centre is in front of the migration grounds. Visit at sunrise to see the leggy birds rise en masse from their roosts, filling peachy-pink skies with their whooshing wingbeats and loud, bugling calls. Then explore the site during the day to watch them forage, flirt and dance — a posturing show of up-pointed bills and half-folded wings. From Izumi, head to Kagoshima, where ferries run to Yakushima Island, a wonderland of moss-cloaked primeval trees, endemic deer and macaques, and nesting loggerhead turtles.