On the other side of the world, another spectacular generation of nomads is about to hatch. Over the next three weeks, the red crab eggs will drift in the perilous nursery of the Indian Ocean and morph into larvae. Most years, the larvae never make it home, swept away by ocean currents or devoured by fish. But once or twice every decade, a confluence of mild weather and scarce predators gives birth to a moving miracle. 

 

By the millions, they pour over the beaches of their birth like a living pink tide. They shed their larval casing becoming air breathers and retrace their parents' tortuous course guided only by instincts encoded deep in their DNA. From this moment on, they are migrants, compelled to move, no matter what.