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America the Beautiful: Wildlife Heartlands | MEGA EPISODE | National Geographic
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Contemplate this.
You live by a time bomb.
Perhaps you dig under it.
Somehow fly through its core.
Or even scale its snowy peaks.
Now, ascend from plain...
to peak...
and beyond.
And discover extraordinary life
within the most explosive mountain range in America.
(music)
(playing America the Beautiful)
(music)
If you're a pristine mountain range,
like the Cascades of the Pacific Northwest,
a volcanic eruption can really mess things up.
(music)
But out here, the land is used to destruction.
Healing is just a matter of time...
and the right recipe.
First ingredient, a very large cup of water.
(music)
Good snowmelt can ensure a year-round supply.
Then, to bake any lava cake, you need a little flower.
Blow in some seeds, and eventually a few flowers
find just enough nutrients to take hold.
It's not much, but it's a start.
What can happen to them next is where things get weird.
(music)
Out here, flowers don't get uprooted.
They get down-rooted.
Shrinking violets have nothing on disappearing daisies.
(music)
The mysterious force behind this phenomenon?
These blooms are getting bagged from below
by a plucky little pocket gopher.
(music)
(music)
This rodent is strictly vegetarian.
To cope with all the chewing, his chompers grow fast.
If he wasn't grinding them down with gritty eating,
the pocket gopher's teeth would lengthen
about one inch every month.
His favorite salads are made of roots, flowers and bulbs.
All of which he can grab
from the safety of his extensive burrows.
(music)
Being a gopher is a dirty job.
He excavates about a ton of soil every year.
His ears and eyes are able to shut tight
while he digs tunnels for foraging and protection.
He makes new emergency exits as he goes.
And then seals the entrances.
It's this underground specialty
that protects many gophers from eruptions.
And they are among the first to venture
into the ashen remains above.
(music)
Their diggings aerate the soil.
Like good gardeners preparing a garden bed.
(music)
Despite their appetite for destruction,
gophers provide one of the final ingredients
needed for this land to heal.
Their services have been most useful in the Cascades,
America's most volatile mountain range.
(music)
The U.S. Cascades stretch from
Northern California to Canada.
Among its peaks lay
13 major volcanoes.
Of these, seven have erupted
in the past 300 years.
All of the recent eruptions in the Lower 48
have been from Cascade volcanoes.
Life doesn't always return so easily.
California's Lava Beds National Monument
sits in the southern end of the Cascade Range,
inactive for nearly a thousand years
and still barren.
But there is a belly to this beast.
(music)
As streams of lava subsided,
their outer layers cooled and solidified.
As the lava that remained liquid continued to drain...
A network of massive, underground tunnels formed.
More than 700 twisting, turning caves in this one area alone.
(music)
They average 55 degrees year-round
with reliable pools of freshwater.
(music)
That makes these lava tubes the perfect pit stop
for thirsty mammals who relish the darkness.
(music)
When night falls, in they come.
(music)
This is a Townsend's big-eared bat.
He's left his daytime roost...
...to drop in for a quick drink.
And he has plenty of friends that follow.
(music)
Infrared cameras allow us to see this action.
But these bats are flying in complete darkness.
They navigate with echolocation that works like radar.
Their signals are too high-pitched
for a human to hear.
But for the bats, they are so loud that they close their ears
just before chirping,
only opening them again to detect the return signal.
It's so accurate it allows them to home in on a moth in midair.
(music)
Tonight some of these bats
will eat their own body weight in insects.
It's thirsty work.
(music)
The lava tubes are a quiet retreat for parched visitors.
They are also reminders of how volatile the Cascades can be.
Today, these smoldering giants still hold devastating power
within their jagged peaks.
(music)
Look no further
than Washington's famous fire-breather.
Mount Saint Helens is best remembered
for its massive eruption in 1980.
That's when she blew her top clean off;
1,300 feet of height, gone.
The blast reached speeds of more than 600 miles per hour,
leveling 230 square miles of lush forest.
It took out 185 miles of highway,
47 bridges, and killed 57 people.
Mount Saint Helens' slopes were scarred by molten rock
and gases from deep within the earth.
But she's had help recovering, cultivated by pocket gophers
and pollinated by returning birds and insects.
(music)
Now, some four decades after
the Mount Saint Helens eruption,
there's regrowth on an epic scale.
(music)
And where wildflowers bloom, more critters come a-knockin'.
(music)
This is the Cascade golden mantled ground squirrel.
(music)
It's not bothered by a lack of trees.
They're happy to live their entire lives on the downlow.
(music)
Their fun in the sun only lasts the summer.
The rest of the year,
they'll hunker down in the dens they're furnishing.
For as long as eight months, they won't eat at all.
And only stir for a bathroom break.
The Cascade golden-mantled ground squirrel
lives solely in the northern Cascades.
(music)
From its lookout on Mount Saint Helens,
it has a clear view up to this simmering giant...
Mount Rainier.
About 50 miles to the north.
Think the Saint Helens eruption was big?
You ain't seen nothing yet.
At 14,410 feet,
Washington's Mount Rainier stands out in the crowd.
It's the highest mountain of the Cascades;
the fifth tallest peak in the Lower 48.
Ice-cold streams course down her sides.
These cascading waterfalls gave the range its name.
Some of this water comes
straight from the melting glaciers.
It's a chilly place for a swim.
But one skinny little creature takes the plunge.
Fast-moving mountain streams
are an unlikely place for a frog.
Most prefer a nice, still pond.
But the tailed frog can handle the pace.
(music)
There are few amphibians like him;
he's uniquely designed not to get washed away.
His lungs are small to help him sink to the bottom.
Where he clings to rocks with special hard-tipped fingers.
They grip like claws.
He can stay underwater for days.
He gets most of his air from the water,
absorbing its oxygen through his skin.
But the coolest part about this frog
is the tail that gives him his name.
It helps him overcome his biggest hurdle:
mating.
(music)
First, he has to find a female.
Easy to spot.
They're bigger, and the girls don't have tails.
(music)
When you find a gal like this, you don't want to let her go.
Better to be a bit clingy than to risk her being swept away.
Other female frogs lay their eggs in the water
for males to fertilize.
But in a stream like this,
all those future frogs would be washed away.
That's where the tail comes in.
Surprise!
It's not a tail.
(music)
This is one of the only species of frogs
that fertilizes internally.
It's a silent ritual.
They can't croak or even hear.
But they'll have plenty of time to get to know each other.
They'll stay locked together like this for up to three days.
(music)
The only thing more unique in the frog world
than a tailed frog
is a tailed frog tadpole.
They also have to be careful not to get washed downstream.
Instead of the usual tadpole mouth,
junior here has one big suction cup.
He clings hard to rocks
and inches his way along
looking for algae to eat.
(music)
The best of these little suckers
can travel up waterfalls.
(music)
The weaker ones,
they'll have to hope for better luck farther downstream.
(birds chirping)
Other creatures take advantage of these fast-flowing waters.
(music)
Every time the rapids dip and bubble,
these icy streams are filled with more oxygen.
(music)
And that suits the Pacific giant salamander just fine.
This adolescent isn't giant yet.
But he'll get there.
Thanks in part to that freshwater
rushing through his bushy red gills.
It's like taking a big, deep breath.
With a steady diet of seafood,
he'll grow up to six and a half inches.
Then he must make the most extraordinary decision
of his life.
Deep in the Cascade Mountains,
a Pacific giant salamander preps for his next move.
And it's like something out of a sci-fi screenplay.
It has a 'Matrix'-style
red pill/blue pill kind of a choice.
This one takes the blue pill option.
He'll keep his gills
and forever remain in the aquatic larval stage.
Blue pill salamanders keep growing,
go on to dine on fish and crayfish,
even have a family.
But they will forever be tied to life within these waters.
(music)
This guy, he takes the red pill option.
He heads for dry land and undergoes a metamorphosis.
He loses his gills and leaves his underwater life behind.
(music)
He still needs to keep his skin damp,
but after a good rain,
this young pioneer will explore
the farthest reaches of his habitat.
He may grow up to a foot in length
and hunt mice, shrews, even snakes.
But at this early stage of his transformation,
he'll take what he can get.
(music)
(music)
Here, on the Cascades' west side,
the snowmelt that pours into streams and lakes
keeps the rich volcanic soil moist.
This area would also be brimming with prairie grass
and wild flowers, except for one thing...
Rabbits...
by the thousands.
European rabbits were brought here in the 1800s
and have turned the land underfoot into Swiss cheese.
(music)
In this one area alone,
they've dug more than 300 feet of tunnels
with more than 50 separate entrances.
They'd be even more out of control
if it weren't for their native nemesis...
the fox.
(barking)
These are called red foxes,
but they can be any color from orange to black.
(music)
What unifies them is a white tip on the end of their tails,
and their taste for rabbit.
The foxes take some tunnels for their own,
and look out for easy meals.
The living is good here under the high Cascades,
and that means kits.
(music)
(mewing)
It's early spring, and this one is less than two months old.
He still needs mom for milk and fun.
It's a game every mother knows.
It's called nag.
(music)
You win when mom starts paying attention.
(whining)
(music)
Of course there's no winning for mom.
She has more than one kit to keep happy.
Including a one-eyed runt.
She'll baby him for now, but just like the others,
he still has to learn to get by.
And that starts with play-fighting;
not just with mom, but with each other.
(music)
(squealing)
The skills they learn here
will soon help them make their first kill.
All the rabbits can do is look on.
(music)
While the kits practice,
mom ventures out for the real thing.
Bunnies beware.
Death in the Cascades is just a burrow away.
This red fox mom has got a knack for hunting
beneath Washington's Cascade Mountains.
Specialized ears allow her to home in
on the low-frequency sounds of underground scurrying.
(music)
With a little concentration,
she can pinpoint just the right spot.
(music)
(music)
She has just a couple of weeks left
until her kits will accompany her on the hunts.
(music)
Until then, she brings home
as many as rabbits as she can catch.
The kits grow on the flesh, and play with the rest.
(music)
Smelling, pouncing, tracking.
(music)
By the time summer ends,
they'll be hunting for themselves.
Some foxes venture farther up the slopes
of the mighty Cascades.
But that's only for
the strongest and hardiest of creatures.
More than a mile above sea level,
freezing slopes mix with subalpine meadows.
(music)
Overlooking it all, hoary marmots.
They soak up the sun and contemplate the season.
(music)
They've survived winter by sleeping underground
for eight straight months.
Now they must make up for lost time.
Make hay while the sun shines.
And eat it, too.
High up on Mount Rainier's western slope,
there's a colony of about a dozen spread over 20 acres.
Young, up to two to three years of age.
And the old.
The largest weighs about 20 pounds,
and 20% of that is pure fat.
And this time of year,
a third of his weight will be the contents of his stomach.
As they work to put on the padding,
they also watch out for each other.
This one senses trouble.
And makes a single whistle.
This says to the group, 'Don't panic, but pay attention.'
(music)
Then the threat shows itself.
It's the red fox's highland cousin,
the Cascade red fox,
found solely in these mountains.
(music)
He catches the scent of the marmots and creeps in.
(music)
He only needs one not to heed the alarm.
(music)
He spots young marmots by the main burrow;
maybe he'll be able to catch one off guard.
(music)
The marmots spread the alarm throughout the whole clan.
(chirping)
More frequent whistles means more danger.
(chirping)
(music)
They disperse into burrows,
some six or more feet deep and with multiple entrances.
(music)
The craftiest of critters has been outfoxed.
(music)
(music)
He'll have to look elsewhere for his calories.
And fast.
(music)
There's deep trouble coming,
deeper than anyone can imagine.
The Cascade Range may have fire within,
but up top, it's one of America's greatest snowmakers.
The volcanic mountains run close and parallel
to the Pacific Ocean.
And its towering peaks trap
most of the Pacific's incoming moisture.
Up high, that water turns to snow, with astonishing results.
(music)
Mount Shasta holds the United States record
for the most amount of snow from a single storm:
189 inches fell here in a single week in 1959.
That's nearly 16 feet.
In 1999, Mount Baker recorded the world's highest snowfall
in a single season: an incredible 95 feet.
(music)
Volcanoes caked in snow.
Just because you're hot stuff underneath
doesn't mean you can't have a chilly exterior.
And that's just the way one elusive mammal likes it.
(music)
The American pine marten may look a little foxy,
but it's more like a mini wolverine.
And snow makes their day.
In it, they're fast, agile.
(music)
These winter weasels freely hop around their range,
which may be as big as 12 square miles.
This female is her own lookout,
totally comfortable standing on two legs.
Her long, thin body is not the best at holding heat.
So if bounding above the snow gets too much,
she has shelter below.
(music)
Tunnels: an out-of-sight labyrinth.
(music)
And a hollowed log to call home.
The marten is impressive on the ground.
But that's the least of it.
(music)
The volcanoes of Washington support thick forests.
Most of the life here is above ground.
(music)
The marten has adapted.
(music)
She's a tree-climbing specialist.
(music)
Her semi-retractable claws extend for grip.
(music)
The canopy is her hunting ground.
(music)
Birds, eggs, insects, and other mammals.
(music)
No squirrel is safe.
(music)
(chirping)
(music)
She has it cornered.
A dead tree, stripped of bark, and slippery,
is barely an obstacle.
Not even a squirrel can hide for long.
All it takes is a little patience.
(music)
(music)
You'd think winter would be a good time
to escape the mountains,
head south for some sun.
But the marten has a stealthy companion up here.
There's a phantom in these woods.
For him this is a warmer area.
Washington's Cascade Mountains are the southern part
of the range for the Canadian lynx.
He crosses the border whenever he likes.
No visa required.
(music)
He's completely at home in the deep snow.
His wide, furry paws act like snowshoes.
They quietly distribute his weight
to keep him on top of the deep white powder.
(music)
Many believe those ear tufts
amplify the sound of potential prey.
(music)
It's patient work.
His main prey is hard to find.
(music)
Snowshoe hares also have oversized feet
for managing snow.
And an all-white winter coat.
(music)
It's the rabbit's perfect camouflage for this season.
(music)
But no season lasts forever.
Spring warms the Northwest's Cascade Mountains.
It brings a burst of green.
(birds chirping)
(music)
But not only the landscape changes color.
(music)
The snowshoe hare is getting a new outfit for the season,
trading in his white coat for brown.
The full transition can take up to 12 weeks.
Until it's complete, he stands out in the shadows.
And for him, that's a problem.
The lynx is still here.
He's not heading back to Canada anytime soon.
(music)
(music)
(music)
(squeal)
(music)
It's a good spring to be a lynx.
(music)
He dines on the eastern slopes, at the top of the Cascades.
He steers clear of the eastern foothills below,
and for good reason.
The Cascade's lower east side is like another world.
(music)
The range's high peaks block moisture.
(music)
Vertical pillars of ancient lava tower above barren plains.
(music)
Dry, open, and lifeless.
You gotta love sagebrush to hang out here.
But among these woody shrubs is a wonder of its own.
(warbling)
These early birds aren't looking for worms;
they're looking for love.
Greater sage grouse lie low
and dine on the brush for most of the year.
But come spring, as many as 70 or more males meet up,
to perform one of the most extraordinary mating rituals
in all of North America.
(warbling)
The more experienced males grab prized spots
in the middle of the group.
Then, a wiggle in their walk,
and a jiggle in their giblets,
and it's game on.
They gulp a gallon of air into pouches on their chest.
(music)
Breathe in.
(warbling)
Breathe out.
(warbling)
Breathe in.
Breathe in; breathe out.
Up to 10 times a minute.
(warbling)
Those that can't make the cut quickly get the boot.
(chirping)
After all that, it's still up to the females
to choose their man.
Most will pick the same lucky guy
and will make it clear when they're ready.
(music)
And that's it.
All that work for a fleeting moment of fancy.
(warbling)
He'll have no further contact with her or their young.
(music)
The future for him, his family, and any creature here,
is only as secure as the Cascades themselves.
(music)
A single eruption could inflict unthinkable destruction.
(music)
And in a heartbeat, reboot the entire ecosystem.
(music)
Whether on the eastern slopes, or the western...
up high...
down low...
or even underneath...
this mountain range looms as a constant reminder
of our volcanic past
and an uncertain future.
(birds chirping)
In a realm of titans,
one giant stands above them all.
(music)
Redwoods are nature's skyscrapers.
(music)
Now, meet the tenants.
Secretive...
strange...
...and deadly.
(music)
Swim among sprawling roots.
And scale the dizzying heights.
To discover an extraordinary tree of life.
(music)
In a land...
...of giants.
(playing America the Beautiful)
(music)
If coastal California has a king, it's the redwood.
(music)
These trees have reigned over America's West Coast
for 20 million years.
And their crowns are the tallest in the world,
up to 370 feet high.
(music)
Taller than an Apollo rocket.
(music)
Future redwood heirs may start small.
But saplings develop fast.
(music)
In peak conditions,
they can grow to a regal 50 feet in just 20 years.
(music)
As their branches reach for the heavens,
their roots stretch into rivers and streams.
(music)
Every tall structure needs a solid foundation.
(music)
Redwood roots only go 10 to 13 feet deep into the soil,
but they spread out up to 80 feet wide,
giant, thirst-driven tentacles.
And down here with them, something extraordinary.
(music)
For millions of years
redwood roots have shared this freshwater
with another prehistoric life-form...
the lamprey.
It may look like an alien species,
but its time on Earth stretches back further than most.
They are a fish that formed before the world knew gills.
They survive instead on primitive breathing holes
along the sides of their bodies.
And their mouths, they have to be seen to be believed.
(music)
Rings of rasping teeth inside a round mouth.
It's all designed to lock onto another fish
and suck its blood.
Most of their feeding is done in the ocean,
but their lives are bookended
with a year or so in freshwater.
In the shadows of the redwoods
is where Pacific lampreys are born and where they die.
(music)
Returning to freshwater is an epic journey.
(music)
Think your drive home is tough?
You ain't seen nothing yet.
His commute begins with a headfirst battle
against a fast-flowing stream.
He is your average Joe lamprey,
doing what his life cycle demands.
(birds chirping)
He works the night shift,
sometimes covering five miles at a time.
Even the smallest waterfalls become enormous speed bumps.
That's when the mild-mannered Pacific lamprey
does something extraordinary.
He reveals a superpower.
Suction.
He uses it to inch his way upstream
from one smooth rock to the next.
It's still a struggle.
And it requires a 'try, try again' attitude.
(music)
Then, a major roadblock.
A man-made dam looks insurmountable.
But on the side,
a toll booth of sorts.
(music)
It's heavy traffic with no E-ZPass.
(music)
And no guarantee of success.
(music)
The cost is high.
An entire night's work.
(music)
Finally...
Triumph.
(music)
Exhausted, he makes it into the heart of redwood country...
(music)
...where roots of the giant trees stretch into the water.
But his commute from hell was just the beginning.
He's worked hard to reach a suitable mate.
And now, together, they must build a nest for their young.
How they do this is truly remarkable.
(music)
They dig some with their tails.
But it's not enough.
Again, super suction to the rescue.
(music)
The collection of rocks they make is called a redd,
and it will go some way to protecting their eggs
from being washed downstream.
When their home is complete
they each secure themselves to a rock and embrace.
The male fertilizes the eggs as they leave the female.
And just like that, their greatest life's work is done.
A one-time deal.
The pair part ways and, all alone, start to die.
(music)
(music)
Above the water, vultures know the lamprey's life cycle well,
and relish its end.
(music)
(screeching)
(music)
When the lamprey embryos hatch,
they move downstream until they find a sandy bottom
they can dig into for safety.
(music)
They'll stay here, mostly underground,
for at least a couple of years,
developing eyes and teeth and growing fat on algae.
For now, these baby lamprey are filter feeders.
(music)
Just like the redwoods above.
(music)
Coast redwoods span more than 500 miles
along California's Pacific coast.
From Big Sur all the way up to southern Oregon.
They follow the California Fog Belt.
A strip of coast where miles of marine fog
regularly move inland.
(music)
And where it hugs the coast
is where redwoods thrive.
(music)
Redwood needles specialize in catching fog.
(music)
And some plants below depend on it.
The understory may get as much as 13 inches of moisture
from a redwood on a single foggy day.
Here, to cash in on all that wonderful wetness,
another giant...
of sorts.
The banana slug is the largest slug in North America.
It can grow more than seven inches long.
He's guided by his tentacles.
The top two detect light,
and the lower two smell what's before him.
They lead this California native
from one meal to the next.
And that's vital for the health of the redwoods.
The slug's recycled feces is a primary fertilizer
for the forest floor.
From little things, big things grow.
(music)
Other creatures slink around the base of these woods, too.
(music)
Dangerous ones.
(music)
The garter snake specializes
in the redwood's cool and dark climate.
(music)
The giant banana slug is an easy grab.
(music)
Too slow to get away.
(music)
Down the hatch it goes.
But not so fast.
(music)
There's a catch.
And the garter snake is only just starting
to realize his mistake.
Among California's giant redwoods,
this garter snake has gotten himself
into a sticky situation.
(music)
At the time, banana slug for breakfast
seemed like a good idea.
But the slug's mucus is an anesthetic
that numbs the snake's mouth.
He chokes on the slime.
(music)
(music)
The slug may be dead,
but the garter snake has learned a lesson.
(music)
Scratch big yellow bananas from the menu.
Such defenses exist throughout the animal world,
and the tree world has some of its own, too.
There's a reason why these giants live so long.
Each redwood has three major lines of defense.
First, it's fireproof.
An old redwood has bark thick enough
to survive the hottest of wildfires.
(music)
Second, they can regenerate.
A fallen redwood will sprout new trees
along the toppled trunk.
(music)
And finally, tannins.
The chemical responsible for the red color of the bark
is a weed killer and an insect repellent.
The redwoods drive away most insects.
But one is drawn to them.
(music)
They're here to use the bark as shelter, not food.
(music)
And they set the redwoods buzzing
with a low, vibrating chorus.
(music)
Ladybugs by the thousands.
(buzzing)
There are almost 6,000 species of ladybugs worldwide,
but convergent ladybugs are the only ones in this area.
And they're one of only two species
known to swarm like this.
These beetles are usually loners.
But every winter, they gather in the heart of the redwoods,
sheltering in the tree bark and on the ground.
Come spring, they begin some very important bug business.
(music)
You see, not all ladybugs are ladies.
(music)
(music)
It's a risqué business.
Females often mate with several males.
And males can be a tough bug to bear.
(music)
Once the fun is over, they'll split up,
beat their wings around 85 times a second...
(buzzing)
...and fly out to the fields and meadows to their lay eggs.
The tiniest of creatures,
hiding out here with the giants.
(music)
(music)
Roosevelt elk are the largest of all the elk subspecies
in North America.
They grow fat on the ferns and leaves
that thrive in the redwood rain forest.
The males can always do with extra vittles,
especially those that help them make keratin.
Every year they use this protein to grow giant antlers
at an astounding rate, as fast as an inch a day.
(music)
They shed them in February or March,
and then grow them again from scratch.
All so the males can fight over females in the fall.
And win the right to become dads.
(bugling)
Calves are born away from the herd
and stay separated among the redwoods for around two weeks.
Once big enough,
they join their mothers in the nursery herd.
Here they learn to live out in the open.
Plenty of time to play and to feed.
They spend up to 12 hours a day nursing and grazing.
These young also attract some unwanted attention.
(music)
This coyote could take out a fawn.
(music)
(bugling)
(music)
Especially one that's all alone.
(music)
At the edge of California's redwoods,
chances like this don't happen often.
(music)
No nearby adult means an easier kill.
(music)
(bugling)
But the fawn runs back to mom.
(music)
Female elk will charge a coyote.
(music)
He's missed his chance.
(music)
Best to get while the getting's good.
(music)
(music)
Out here, where the redwoods hit the coast,
they mix it up with a patchwork of meadows
and offer up bouquets of flowers.
(music)
(music)
Next to the land of giants, a domain of mini miracles.
(music)
(music)
Some of these hummingbirds are no bigger than a Ping-Pong ball
and no heavier than a nickel.
(music)
And they are all suckers for some nectar.
(music)
They beat their wings too fast to see without special cameras.
(music)
More than 70 flaps a second.
That's around 10 times faster
than the spin of a helicopter blade.
But the effect is similar.
(music)
They can fly forward or backward at will,
dive at speeds of 50 miles an hour,
and hover with ease.
(music)
(buzzing)
While their wings purr like a motor,
their heads stay still enough
to dive into a tubular flower for a drink.
(buzzing)
(music)
Hummingbirds are so reliant on flight
that their legs barely work.
They can neither walk nor hop.
They can scoot sideways a little,
which is enough to help them come bath time.
(music)
Close to dusk is a good time to freshen up.
The toughest part of this bird's day is about to begin.
(buzzing)
These are Anna's hummingbirds,
among the most common on the Pacific coast.
Life would be sweet here for them,
except for an incoming rival.
(buzzing)
The Allen's hummingbirds move in once a year
for their breeding season.
They are fiercely territorial.
And they'll do whatever it takes to get the best flowers.
Get ready...
for a duel.
It's a battle for the skies
on the fringes of California's redwoods.
Two hummingbird species duke it out mid-flight.
Their beaks become weapons of aerial warfare.
Male Allen's will chase out the Anna's,
and even other Allen's,
to claim territory close to nesting females.
(music)
And the winner stakes its claim over the best flowers.
(music)
This is important because the flowers close at night.
(music)
(music)
As the sun sets, mom heads back to the cover of the redwoods.
Bringing her hard-earned food to share with her family.
(music)
The nest is a little more than an inch wide.
It will stretch as her chicks grow.
But it'll never reach the size of some spectacular digs
just a little farther up.
(music)
Don't let its messy exterior fool you.
This tree house is the pinnacle of modern architecture.
An eight-square-foot loft in a remote neighborhood,
a nest 50 feet high.
The architect has big plans for this penthouse.
The dusky-footed woodrat
is one of the animal kingdom's best builders.
And a redwood is her hardware store.
She may use other trees for food,
but for construction,
a redwood provides all the materials she needs.
First, the foundation.
Redwood branches make a solid frame.
She cements them together with a layer of urine.
Now to work in some pest control.
She chews on bay laurel leaves
to release a chemical insect repellent.
She'll use this as wallpaper.
Finally, the interior.
Every house needs a kitchen and a place for the kids.
She digs out multiple rooms
and stocks the pantry full
with enough food to last more than 200 days.
The thick branches of a redwood are ready-made real estate.
But interior decorations call for some late-night shopping.
(music)
Woodrats are also called pack rats.
(music)
And they've been known to adorn their nests at night
with everything from bones to bottle caps.
(music)
But retail therapy has its risks.
(music)
Down below, a prowling fox catches her scent.
(music)
(music)
The décor will just have to wait.
(music)
She scampers back to her fortress
where no fox can follow.
(music)
But she's not in the clear yet.
(music)
Daylight brings another predator,
and it's one of the most extraordinary tree climbers
in all America.
The fisher is made for life among California's redwoods.
They often den high up in the trees.
Fishers are whoppers of the weasel family.
Full-grown males can reach more than two feet in length,
plus a tail.
This female is only about half that size,
but still a deadly predator.
(music)
She keeps her nose to the ground,
and sniffs out trails used by her prey.
(music)
A woodrat was here.
And not that long ago.
(music)
Her semi-retractable claws dig into the bark,
and she travels up and down with ease.
Her tracking skills lead her
right to the woodrat's front door.
(music)
She digs in.
(music)
But the crafty woodrat has an emergency exit.
(music)
She escapes into the upper reaches of the redwood canopy--
no ordinary canopy,
but one with many places to hide.
On the surface of these massive limbs,
rough bark and crevices trap falling needles
that break down into a soil called arboreal humus.
(music)
This humus absorbs rainfall like a sponge.
In short, it becomes earth;
a planet above the planet.
And from this earth sprouts new life.
A hidden forest unseen from below.
(music)
There's a commander in chief up here,
the leader of the tree world.
Even though he weighs a tenth of an ounce,
the wandering salamander is a permanent resident
in this canopy.
He has no lungs.
Instead he breathes through his skin.
It's a nifty trick that's possible
only if his skin stays wet.
Up here, that's not a problem.
Enough moisture stays trapped
in the sky-high foliage year-round.
These salamanders are only found in North America,
where they've become expert climbers.
(music)
A prehensile tail can grab ahold of twigs,
and gripped toe pads allow them to easily scale these giants.
(music)
They tunnel under moss, find mates, eat insects,
and jump from limb to limb with confidence.
(music)
Year after year,
the wandering salamander thrives in the clouds,
100 feet high plus,
and may never touch the ground.
(music)
A luxury high-rise in a city of branches.
Climb higher,
and you reach the crown of the redwoods.
(music)
Best have wings to get here.
(music)
The northern spotted owl moves up and down
to find the ideal temperature on any given day.
(music)
Agile, maneuverable,
and his wings, near silent.
(music)
Night and day,
from ground to crown...
...his prey is never safe.
(music)
(music)
It's dinnertime.
(music)
In California's redwoods,
'silent but deadly' is a badge of honor.
And it's worn by the spotted owl.
His soundless approach goes completely unnoticed.
(music)
(music)
He'll catch as much as he can.
Once he's had his fill,
he stashes the rest in cool tree limbs for later.
(music)
Spotted owls live almost exclusively
in old growth forest.
As the big old trees fall, so do they.
Despite federal protection,
less than 10,000 northern spotted owls remain,
and there are fewer each year.
(music)
One thing more precious than a spotted owl...
is two.
This breeding pair has bonded for life.
(music)
Under their powerful gaze...
...spotted owl Junior.
(music)
Just two months old
and already acting like a famished teenager.
(music)
Mom and dad prefer to hunt by night.
(music)
But Junior's insatiable hunger doesn't allow for a day off.
(music)
(music)
(music)
Junior catches on slowly.
(music)
But within a couple of months,
he, too, will be dispatching mice
by snapping their necks and downing them whole.
(music)
Live and learn, little one.
It takes practice to become a phantom of the redwoods.
(music)
The hunt of the owls brings us back down to earth.
But what defines this space
is still the rise of the ancient redwoods.
Some of them are more than 2,000 years old.
(music)
Among the longest-living organisms on the planet.
(music)
Each is like a high-rise building
for an incredible range of tenants.
From the ancient swimmers around their sprawling roots...
to the salamander living in the heights of the canopy...
and from America's biggest slug...
(music)
to its biggest elk...
(music)
...this is a kingdom of giants.
And it's the redwood that wears the crown.
Meet nature's bulldozers.
(music)
An incredible force that's carved the planet
and challenged its wildlife for thousands of years.
(music)
But America's glaciers are on the run.
(music)
Creatures must sink or swim in their wake.
(music)
(growling)
Now, witness an extreme transformation of winter
into an ever-warming spring...
(squeaks)
(music)
...in a place where even mountains seem to melt.
(music)
In America's Glacier Land.
(music)
(playing America the Beautiful)
(music)
America's Northwest wears a white cap--
millions of acres of snow-covered mountains.
(music)
Too frigid in winter for most life.
(music)
Even colder are the glaciers, tucked among the peaks.
(music)
But believe it or not,
there are more creatures inside some glaciers
than there are people on the planet.
(music)
Slithering just below the surface
is a familiar face you wouldn't expect to find
in a giant ice cube.
(music)
Not earthworms, but ice worms.
Billions of them.
(music)
Anti-freeze proteins keep them from freezing solid,
and at night they squirm to the surface for a winter ball.
(music)
It starts with a feast.
(music)
They dine on algae trapped in the soft snow.
Then these kids dance.
(music)
It's party time for the wiggles.
(music)
Sometimes more than a hundred join in.
(music)
Scientists think this is more than a simple social event
or a way to get warm.
(music)
It's when Mr. and Mrs. Worm tie the knot.
(music)
The mating balls break up at dawn.
(music)
They quickly retreat deep into the ice and away from the sun.
(music)
A mere 40 degrees is enough
to start turning some worms into mush.
(music)
They'd be washed downstream in the snowmelt without a trace.
(music)
In the warmer months, glaciers are their salvation.
(music)
But these icy homes are disappearing fast.
(music)
Glaciers tuck into mountains
across the western United States.
(music)
And although Montana is known as glacier country,
scientists think they'll all be gone from here by 2080.
(music)
Many creatures have a lot to lose,
even those who don't mind getting their feet wet.
(music)
Grizzly bears once roamed as far south as Mexico.
Now they're confined to the mountains.
(music)
Montana's wild glacier country is their prized domain.
(music)
This young grizzly lost
about a quarter of his 600 pounds
hibernating over winter.
(music)
Trout will help him put it back on.
(music)
It's a welcome treat.
And a swim takes the edge off the sun.
(growling)
Fish are a small part of his diet
compared to berries and nuts.
He moves on.
(growling)
Insects and larvae might hide under logs and branches.
(music)
It's worth a look.
(music)
To get the bugs out, just add water.
(music)
(growling)
(music)
A bit of a temper tantrum.
(growling)
(music)
Or perhaps just fun.
(music)
His agility and speed are remarkable for his size.
He can sprint up to 35 miles an hour.
Over a short distance,
that'll keep him nose-to-nose with a horse.
(music)
He continues upstream on a never-ending search for food.
(music)
(growling)
(music)
90 pounds of food a day would keep him happy.
(music)
And in glacier country, he may just find it.
(chirping)
These rodents would certainly make a great snack.
This standing pose is how ground squirrels look out
for predators like bears.
Eat and look.
Dig and look.
Eat and look.
(music)
There's good reason for this vigilance.
(music)
They're vulnerable on the ground,
and trouble is never far away.
(music)
Don't let this badger fool you with his cuddly looks.
(music)
Even coyotes have been known to let badgers take the lead.
(music)
He moves in too close for comfort.
(chirping)
And a lookout warns the colony.
(chirping)
They all get the message.
It's time to run.
Hide.
(music)
(chirping)
(music)
(chirping)
(music)
The nearest hole is good if you're hiding from a bird...
(music)
but not from this guy.
He's designed to dig.
And squirrels are his favorite meal.
(sniffing)
Spring in Montana's glacier country
has left this soil soft.
Perfect for a badger
digging in pursuit of a ground squirrel.
(music)
His forelimbs have thick claws for breaking ground,
and his back legs act like shovels to scoop out the dirt.
(music)
Some burrows have emergency exits.
But the badger is smart.
He breathes deeply into each hole...
(sniffing)
and smells his quarry below.
(music)
Next he firmly plugs up all but one entrance.
(music)
Now the squirrel is trapped.
(music)
The only way out is up.
And the badger has that covered.
(music)
Game over.
(music)
Instant death from powerful jaws.
(music)
And a hearty meal.
(music)
No wonder some small mammals
avoid digging burrows altogether.
(birds chirping)
A little higher up, the melted snow and ice
reveal mountains of boulders and rocks.
It's a labyrinth of nooks and crannies.
And the perfect domain
for a hardy and well-camouflaged creature.
(music)
The pika darts around these outcrops with ninja-like moves.
(music)
Each dart, dash and sudden turn
helps protect him from predators.
(music)
He's hard to get a lock on.
But he claims his territory with distinctive calls.
(squeaks)
His squeaks and yodels echo off the barren landscape
as he sets about his main mission.
(music)
He's already preparing for next winter.
(music)
He'll spend the coldest months in tunnels, buried under snow,
up to 16 feet of it.
To survive he stashes a lot of food,
piling hay high in several stacks.
(music)
Along with the grass and grain, an unsavory supplement.
(music)
He regularly eats his own feces.
(music)
There is a catch to all this preparation.
He runs a fine line.
He must work hard to prepare for winter.
But if he works too hard in summer, he may also die.
(music)
He's an expert at surviving the cold.
But not the heat.
Warmer days can be deadly.
Just half an hour exposed to 77 degrees,
and he'll perish from heat stress.
(music)
And when you run as many as 27 foraging trips per hour,
your odds of survival swing with the sundial.
(music)
It's what you have to do
to make it up here in Glacier Land.
(music)
Make hay while the sun shines.
(music)
But now more than ever, the pika has to pace itself.
(music)
The loose, broken-up boulders of these upper scree fields
are fit for few mammals.
(music)
A marmot might move into such terrain.
(music)
But even he must make way for the true king of the mountain.
(music)
(music)
This mountain goat fearlessly climbs ever higher.
(music)
Sunshine has him shed his winter coat...
(music)
and chase the receding snowline to dine on new growth.
(music)
He and his kin have serious predators to avoid.
Rising temperatures
bring wolves and mountain lions through here.
(music)
And this grizzly bear is out of hibernation earlier than usual.
He looks for a big meal.
(music)
The grizzly doesn't mind a bit of a climb...
if it means filling his belly.
(music)
The mountain goat's muscular shoulders
help haul him up the steep sides
of Montana's glacial mountains.
(music)
His short legs lower his center of gravity,
making it easier for him to balance
on the narrowest of ledges.
(music)
It's a strategy that comes with risk.
In these parts,
17% of goat deaths are due to falling.
(music)
But when stuck between a rock and a hard place,
he chooses rock every time.
(music)
He can scale 1,500 vertical feet
in just 20 minutes...
and make rapid vertical descents.
(music)
Even the bravest of grizzlies dare not follow.
(music)
The mountain goat is the most skilled rock climber
of all North American mammals.
(music)
Goats hang on the sunny side and mow the fresh grass.
(music)
On the shady side of Montana's mountains,
some lakes can hold icebergs all year round.
(music)
But even these chilled corners contribute to spring cascades.
(music)
Among these flows,
the most unusual songbird you'll ever meet.
(music)
This is a dipper.
It's easy to see how she got her name.
(music)
She dips in...
and plucks insects straight from the flow.
(music)
She may plunge her head under up to 60 times a minute.
(music)
This songbird is less of a diva...
and more of a diver.
(music)
Dippers are America's only truly aquatic songbird.
(music)
She'll happily travel up to 20 feet underwater.
A nasal flap closes her nostrils,
and transparent eyelids act like goggles
to help her see water bugs.
(music)
(music)
Back on shore she easily sheds water
from her oily, almost waterproof, feathers.
Dippers never leave the company of water.
(chirping)
They have a sweet tune.
(singing)
But it's hard to hear over the flow.
(water rushing)
(music)
This mom has a nest on the side of the cliff
behind the waterfall.
(chirping)
A safe place from predators.
(music)
Mom flies to the nest as many as 18 times an hour.
Her chicks demand it.
(music)
These dippers may move to bigger streams in winter,
but they don't migrate south.
(music)
For many creatures,
glacier country is their one and only home.
That's even true for some of the fish below.
(music)
Kokanee salmon were introduced to Montana
more than a hundred years ago.
They're early settlers who stayed.
They don't migrate to the ocean and back
like some other sockeye,
but live in lakes or move up streams to spawn.
(music)
Rainbow trout are here year-round, too.
They clear the streams of insects
and can weigh in at more than 30 pounds.
(music)
But there's a growing problem.
The warmer the water, the less chance their eggs will survive.
(music)
The same can be said for another aquatic creature.
One with an even stranger life cycle
that uses spring as a starting gun.
Ready...
set...
hop!
(music)
In Montana's Glacier Land,
this western toad hibernates underground for winter.
(music)
Now his pond is ready for him,
and he races in to look for a mate.
(music)
This toad lives at elevations up to 12,000 feet.
Even in spring, he likes things chilled.
Less than 50 degrees.
There aren't many romance options in the clear.
But among the reeds he finds his heart's desire.
(music)
He's a partner with attachment issues.
He has no intention of letting go.
(music)
No matter how far or how fast she swims.
(music)
Nearby four or five other toad couples have the same idea.
(music)
They'll stay connected for a few hours.
Or even a few days!
(music)
The males just have to hope
that no nearby bachelors try to join the fun.
(music)
When she's ready, the female releases thousands of eggs.
(music)
The male fertilizes them as they leave her body.
The result is like a necklace.
Two strings with as many as 16,000 black pearls.
Fewer than 1% of these gems will make it to toad-hood.
Even less if temperatures get too warm.
(music)
Warmer summers change life here in many ways.
Rivers flow fast with snowmelt.
These waterways bleed into mountain basins
and turn fields into shallow lakes and slush.
(music)
For some animals here, it's like a day spa.
(music)
Time to kick back and enjoy the mud bath.
(music)
A glacial facial.
(music)
Muskrat mornings are made for this.
It's a more leisurely time...
with meticulous grooming and big breakfasts.
(music)
They eat about a third of their body weight
in vegetation every day.
(music)
Most of their busy work they do in the evening.
They use sticks and mud to build feeding platforms.
(music)
The water, even in summer, is still chilly,
and there are no robes at this resort.
The platforms let them warm up their naked feet and tails
while they eat.
(music)
They also have special control over their blood flow
that keeps their core warm.
When there's ample food,
muskrat populations can soar to as many as 36 per acre.
That kind of abundance attracts some unwanted attention.
(music)
The kind that can get you eaten.
(music)
The air may be clean and clear in Montana's Glacier Land.
(music)
But that's no help
for a muskrat under aerial attack.
(music)
Muskrats have poor eyesight and hearing.
(music)
Her only hope for escape...
(music)
a last-minute duck dive.
(music)
Her blood has a high tolerance for carbon dioxide.
That allows her to stay submerged
for as long as 17 minutes.
(music)
Too long of a wait for this passing predator.
(music)
(music)
But there's something else lurking below,
bubbling in the depths of the marsh.
(music)
You've heard of the 'Creature from the Black Lagoon'?
(music)
Well, this...
isn't it.
(music)
It's a ruddy duck.
(music)
Within only a day of hatching, a ruddy duck can swim and dive,
and they spend the vast majority of their lives
in the water.
(music)
They duck down for long periods to scoop up mud
and filter it through thin plates in their bills.
(music)
They eat what's left:
larvae, water fleas, worms and bits of plants.
(music)
They dip, duck and scoop, all day long.
Rain or shine.
(music)
And the muskrat huts give them a safe place to nest.
(music)
Summer might be warmer than usual, but it's still short.
(music)
September, and a sudden flurry of snow.
(music)
The best place for a nest now is up in a tree.
Bird or not.
This squirrel is strictly nocturnal.
A snack of pine cone seeds is just as nutritious at night,
and the chances of being spotted by a predator are slim.
Slim, but not zero.
(music)
A pine marten.
A member of the weasel family.
A tree climbing specialist and a savage carnivore.
This squirrel is in deep, dark trouble.
A squirrel moves quickly through the canopy
of Montana's Glacier Land.
But out on a limb like this, your average squirrel
has little chance against a pine marten.
(music)
But this is no ordinary squirrel.
(music)
(rustling)
He's a northern flying squirrel.
He has wings to glide.
All he needs is height for his takeoff.
And the pines give him plenty of that.
(music)
The membrane between his limbs keeps him aloft,
and his tail acts like a rudder.
If he chooses, he can make a 90-degree turn in mid-flight.
(music)
He's an impressive escape artist.
(music)
But the pine marten has super powers of his own.
(music)
He has no wings.
(music)
But the agility and strength to jump from tree to tree.
(music)
He follows the squirrel into another cavity.
(music)
But when he gets there, the cupboard is bare.
(music)
The northern flying squirrel stays one step ahead.
(music)
He'll live to see another winter.
And he doesn't have long to wait.
(music)
An icy breeze begins to chill Glacier Land once more.
(music)
Down on the ground this female moose
brings her calf for a final fall harvest.
(music)
One more snowstorm will take grass off the menu for months.
(music)
But their spots at today's table are already taken.
(bellowing)
(music)
This group of males has the same idea.
(bellows)
And they can be dangerous.
Best to wait it out
and let the boys be boys.
(bellowing)
(urinating)
(music)
(bellowing)
(music)
(bellowing)
Moose usually eat at a table for one.
(bellowing)
But these males are here to pack on the pounds in a rush.
And the best way to do that is to watch each other's back.
The more eyes you have on lookout,
the longer you can keep your head to the ground.
The fall rut, when males fight for females, has come and gone.
And the pecking order here is clear.
The size and shape of antlers say it all.
(bellowing)
The bigger and flatter the better.
(bellowing)
This guy's the big boss.
Flat with eight points.
(bellowing)
(music)
This male is less than two years old.
And with only four points on his antlers,
he's lucky the rut is over.
(bellowing)
But he'll keep his antlers the longest.
The bigger the rack, the sooner it'll be shed.
(bellowing)
(music)
With a shake of the head, some will lose
more than 70 pounds of weight in an instant.
(music)
(bellowing)
Moose welcome the white.
(music)
The extra-hot temperatures
plagued them with swarms of biting insects.
(music)
Now some relief.
(bellowing)
They hit their quota of food
by eating needles, bark, and branches,
as much as 45 pounds a day.
(music)
Then winter buries it all.
(wind howling)
Snow covers the glaciers in a protective cloak of cold.
For a short time, it conceals the dramatic truth:
that every summer the glaciers get smaller.
(music)
Over the years, these photos show
how much of the ice we've already lost.
Within 60 years, most, if not all the glaciers,
will be gone from Montana.
Animals already struggle with the rapid increase in warmth.
(music)
Pikas are at a greater risk of overheating.
(music)
Fewer fish hatch from their eggs.
(music)
The same for toads.
(music)
For most of us, spring and summer
is a welcome escape from the harshness of winter.
But here, life thrives in the cold.
(music)
In Glacier Land, it's relief from summer that many crave.
(music)
In a place of great extremes there will still be snow...
and ice.
But as the glaciers diminish, the greatest extreme of all,
and the biggest challenge, is yet to come.
Life in the Rockies can be a real headache.
Too high, and you're out on a limb.
And the snow can be a bear.
But there's more to these mountains than altitude.
The Rockies create the strange...
(music)
control the flow...
and challenge everything...
(roaring)
in their shadow.
(music)
(music)
Welcome to the top of the world.
Colorado's Rocky Mountains
hold seven of the ten highest peaks in the Lower 48.
(music)
And more than 600 others rise above the tree line.
(music)
This is where the Rockies...
reveal their rock.
(music)
A pointed crown
ringed by green gems made of pine.
(music)
And just below, around 8,000 feet elevation...
...is where the Rockies tuck away their fall leaves.
(music)
It's a color-coded message.
A signal that says, 'Come and get it.'
The last buffet of the year is ready.
And it's all-you-can-eat.
(music)
These American robins have a hankering for hawthorn berries.
(music)
A crucial last course before winter hits.
(music)
Roosting sites like this
can hold up to a quarter million birds.
(music)
And this restaurant also has clientele
that insist on larger portions.
(grunt)
This diner ambles in without a reservation.
And no respect for the dress code.
(grunting)
Black bears don't always sport a black coat.
(grunting)
Here, out west, they can also be brown or blonde.
(music)
This mom teaches her two young
about the best dish on the menu.
It's the start of a lifelong habit.
(music)
Nearby, a male climbs high for the berries.
Something he's been doing since he was a cub.
But he's not a cub anymore.
15 feet in the air,
this 300-pound giant tests just how far
the tiny hawthorn branches will bend.
90% of what a black bear eats is vegetarian.
It's fine fall dining until...
Overnight, the berries freeze.
(music)
The first big winter storm.
And just like that,
a blanket of white takes out the fall colors.
(music)
All that's left to eat is frozen food.
(music)
But the very berry bistro remains open for business.
(music)
Now its fruits are more precious than ever.
(growling)
Bear essentials.
(growling)
As winter sets in, it's a race to feed
and convert these carbs into fat.
He can eat 20,000 calories.
And gain five pounds in a single day.
(music)
Sooner or later
there's a little berry
that's one too many.
(roar)
(grunt)
Finally, he must settle down for the winter.
(music)
Five months of hibernation eat away
up to 40% of a bear's body weight...
as winter buries the southern slopes of the Rockies
under 50 feet or more of snow.
(music)
The Rockies stretch 3,000 miles from Canada to New Mexico.
It is the backbone of America.
But it's Colorado that's known as the home of the Rockies.
From Rocky Mountain National Park,
just over 50 miles northwest of Denver,
and down south to the Great Sand Dunes
of the San Luis Valley that mountains shaped,
Colorado is the U.S. state with the highest mean elevation.
(music)
Winter here has bite.
Some shelter in the trees.
Up in a pine, this white-tailed ptarmigan nibbles on needles.
It's an elusive bird
that will mess with the chilled winds of a Rockies winter.
But this one has special abilities.
By mid-December, she transforms herself from this...
...to this.
She is an ice queen.
This camouflage is designed to keep her safe.
But there are some keen eyes up here.
(music)
Mountain lions are expert climbers.
(music)
They don't have dens.
So a branch is as good a place to hang out as any.
(music)
She gets the lay of the land.
(music)
And sits like a coiled spring,
ready to launch an ambush attack on any passing prey.
(music)
She is an expert in stealth...
patience...
(music)
...and death.
(music)
(music)
By late fall,
the pickings in Colorado's Rocky Mountains are slim.
(music)
No catch for this mountain lion all morning.
It's time for plan B.
Her range can be as much as 200 square miles;
smaller than some males,
but still a lot to cover.
(music)
She uses her terrain to hunt for a hefty feed.
If not a bighorn sheep, then a deer or elk.
But she has a backup plan.
She hits up a stash from a previous kill.
One of several she keeps handy.
When she first got this kill,
she ate as much as 10 pounds of it in a single day.
The Rockies provided a well-chilled freezer
for storage,
but now, weeks later,
other birds and animals have had a go,
outside and in.
(music)
What's left would barely feed a rodent.
(music)
She has no choice but to move on.
(music)
Winter is mean and lean.
Up high, it's April before there's relief.
(music)
Soon after, each Rocky Mountain becomes a runaway bride.
They lift veils of white.
(singing) Ave Maria
(music)
And send spring snowmelt running down the aisles.
(music)
Icy water flows all the way down to their cold feet.
For one creature here, the very sound of this flowing water
seems to trigger an impulse.
It's like a reflex action.
Even an audio recording of a running stream
can set a beaver a-building.
This big male starts with the small stuff.
But don't let that fool you.
He works about a 12-hour day,
beginning in the late afternoon.
Bit by bit, he builds his own mountain.
(music)
(music)
Beaver dams can be up to 10 feet high
and nearly 3,000 feet in length.
He's a clever engineer.
This is not just a pile of sticks,
but a complex latticework cemented with mud
and packed down to be near waterproof.
(music)
In slow water, they build the dams straight;
in fast water, they curve them
to be stronger against the current.
(music)
For beavers, this is all about safety.
He knows he's protected from predators when in the water.
A good dam enlarges his safety zone
and gives him access to more trees--
wood he needs for construction
and for food.
(music)
Beavers eat bark and the soft tissue under it,
up to four and a half pounds of it a day.
It's mostly cellulose, like glue for the gut,
that most mammals can't digest.
But beavers are brewers; living distilleries.
They have a sac between their small and large intestines
that ferments vegetation to make it digestible.
All that brewing in the belly takes time.
What he eats today won't come out the other end
for another 60 hours.
He cuts branches into manageable chunks
and selects some to store nearby.
(music)
(music)
He is a provider and must think ahead.
His family will soon grow.
(music)
(music)
He's the hard-working responsible cousin.
(music)
Then there's the other side of the family.
That cousin who's a little slow.
(music)
No early riser here.
(music)
Porcupines are the sloths of the rodent world.
Just getting out of bed can be a chore.
They're nearly as big as a beaver but more pear-shaped.
And they don't have a great need for speed.
Breakfast is never that far way.
(music)
Porcupines also have the diet of a mulching machine.
They can munch on leaves or bare twigs.
(music)
Even pine needles.
Or forget the greens altogether and just eat the bark.
(music)
Then, the surprise.
Those long claws are the only hint
that this prickly character has a superpower,
one that takes it above and beyond
the realm of its beaver cousins.
(music)
When it's time for porcupines to find a sweet dessert,
it's up, up and away.
Beneath the Colorado Rockies, they take to the trees.
(music)
Well, sure, it's only three feet up.
But porcupines are one of the only mammals here
that eat spring buds up off the ground.
They grab on with those claws and large pads.
The stiff hairs on their bellies also grip.
They're safest among the trees; the forest provides more cover
than can be found farther down the slopes.
(music)
Just below is where the Rockies
create an entirely different world.
(music)
Anywhere else, the Rockies' eastern foothills
would transition straight to flat grasslands.
But here in Colorado's San Luis Valley
they drop into something else.
Sand.
Lots of it.
The highest sand dunes in North America.
The 30 square miles of this dune field
would look more at home by the beach or in the Middle East.
In summer the sand can heat up to 150 degrees.
Too hot for most life.
Unless you come with your own set of stilts.
(music)
The Great Sand Dune tiger beetle lives here
and nowhere else on the planet.
He's elevated just enough from the scorching sand below.
(music)
And built to dash and dart about the dunes
in search of insects.
(music)
He's a bejeweled Bedouin.
But that hasn't always been the case.
As a kid, he definitely went through a homely stage.
Nearby, a Great Sand Dune tiger beetle
is still in its larval stage.
No long legs yet.
No dazzling green.
But don't underestimate this baby beetle.
It already knows how to dole out death.
(music)
It digs a snug burrow.
A perfect cylinder.
(music)
When it gets too hot, it'll cap it with a lid; but not yet.
First it wants to trap a victim.
(music)
The larva anchors himself inside
with two protruding hooks...
Sits with just his eyes at the surface...
(music)
And waits.
(music)
Then, when the time is right...
(music)
At the foot of Colorado's Rockies,
the patience of the Great Sand Dune tiger beetle larvae
finally pays off.
(music)
Fast food doesn't come much faster.
(music)
It may stay here for a year,
taking down passing ants,
and preparing for a transition into beetlehood.
Unless, of course,
Colorado's Rockies make other plans.
(music)
The Rockies are responsible for these dunes,
but they also water them.
(music)
That seasonal snowmelt from the slopes
makes it all the way to desert central.
(music)
It's unpredictable and sudden.
Not so good for burrowing beetles.
The water swirls around the dunes,
then drains into the plains of the San Luis Valley.
No more mountain terrain here, just miles of open air...
...and the perfect racetrack
for America's fastest land animal.
(music)
(music)
Pronghorn have been clocked at almost 60 miles an hour.
(music)
They have no collarbones,
allowing their legs to stretch forward an additional 20%.
(music)
It's a sacrifice for speed
that's left them unable to jump;
but it's been worth the price.
(music)
Their ancestors probably had to run
from fast-moving prehistoric cats.
Out here they have slower,
but still formidable predators to worry about.
Coyotes keep close watch.
(music)
The older pronghorns are vulnerable.
(music)
So, too, the injured.
(music)
Males may have fearsome, nearly foot-long horns,
but canines usually attack from behind.
(music)
No telling who would come out best in an ambush.
Too risky.
Strike one.
The coyote moves on.
(music)
It's three weeks before newborn fawns
can keep up with the herd.
Until then, they have only one good line of defense: mom.
Her bulging eyes give her
a near 360-degree field of vision.
She spots the interloper before he sees her.
(music)
She hides her twins in some bushes...
and walks about 70 yards away...
...within sight of the coyote.
She acts as a decoy.
But did she hide her young well enough?
The coyote knows the game.
But at the base of Colorado's Rockies,
it could take hours for him to find the hidden fawns.
And he's lost the element of surprise.
Strike two.
(music)
About this time each year, a new option hits the menu.
(music)
The Rockies lead to a giant wetland
the size of 11,000 football fields.
Every spring, this basin becomes a super bowl.
(honking)
The players it attracts have some extraordinary moves.
(music)
The Monte Vista Wildlife Refuge,
in the middle of the valley,
is a favorite migration rest stop for sandhill cranes.
(music)
They trickle in at first.
(squawking)
Then...
...a deluge.
These birds average four feet high,
with a wingspan of more than six feet.
(squawking)
More than 23,000 take over the valley.
It's something they've been doing for millions of years.
And why not?
This marsh has plenty to offer.
Freshwater and loads of seeds and insects to dine on.
(music)
While they're here, they have some serious business to do.
To get this far, many of them bonded into survival groups--
gangs of unrelated cranes
that decided to fly, feed and roost together.
(squawking)
But now it's spring break from all that work.
And they're in the world's best pick-up joint.
Any single sandhill crane
that's between two and seven years old
is probably looking for a mate.
Problem is, how does one stand out in a crowd like this?
(music)
The answer: duke it out on the dance floor.
You just need some fancy footwork...
a flirty flap...
(music)
...and the right flair.
(music)
It's high-stakes choreography.
(squawking)
When you're picking a mate for life, you want to get it right.
(music)
Two lovers lock eyes and take center stage.
(music)
It's a dance that dazzles the crowd.
(music)
The aim is to get in sync with your partner.
No missteps.
(cooing)
It was meant to be.
You may kiss the bride.
(cooing)
(music)
(cooing)
Now bonded in the shadow of the Rockies,
they're ready to continue north
where they'll work together to build a nest.
(music)
Soon, they'll have two eggs.
(squawking)
A month after that, chicks.
(squawking)
And in the fall, they'll pass back through
the San Luis Valley with the whole family.
And take in their bird's-eye view.
They're one of the few creatures
to get the full picture.
They see the Rocky Mountains from top to bottom.
(music)
Only one other animal in the Rockies
comes close to reaching their heights.
(music)
And it is the undisputed king of the mountain.
Safety for the bighorn sheep of Colorado's Rocky Mountains
is about going where predators dare not roam.
These climbing kings have hooves that stick like glue.
And a confidence that has them scaling slopes
and scrambling over loose rock at up to 15 miles per hour.
(music)
Summer fills their alpine fields with much to munch on.
(music)
They stack on the weight while they can.
But still spend a third of their day resting.
That's when they must turn rock beds...
into day beds.
(music)
(music)
They arrange themselves to face every direction.
Now they can see danger coming from up to a mile away.
Predators are out there.
Just down at the tree line,
the mountain lion hasn't gone far.
Nor the black bears.
And the bighorn can't stay up here all year round.
Soon they'll have no choice but to overlap territory
with their most fearsome foes.
(music)
Fall chills the peaks.
The herd moves lower and hides among the trees.
(music)
They must contend with predators down here,
and now each other.
(music)
The first snow triggers the rut...
...when males fight for females.
A large alpha male stands out; the heavyweight champ.
But Rocky has challengers.
Stand back.
(music)
30-pound horns collide at speeds of 20 miles per hour.
Backed by a 300-pound body.
(music)
There's enough power here to crack a young skull.
But the older champ is well built for the battering.
(music)
He has a fully formed double-layered skull
with enlarged sinuses
to cushion his brain from the blows.
(music)
It's not nonstop boxing; more a match of endurance.
(music)
Each round may only be five hits across an hour.
But they might go at it for 25 rounds.
(music)
(music)
The older male proves once again
that he's the king of the ring.
And he's not done.
He humiliates the loser with a show of dominance.
A soft kick, as he would give one of his cows.
(music)
Then an attempt to mount.
(music)
The spurned male won't go far.
He still needs the safety of numbers
to protect him from predators.
He's just got to suck it up.
That's part of being raised up here in the Rockies.
From the coldest snow to the hottest sand...
and all its altitudes and diverse terrains
seem to have one thing in common:
tough love.
Animals out here face challenges daily.
But they keep coming back for more.
Because from these same peaks comes life.
Underwater...
in the trees...
and in open plains.
A rugged oasis
for those who know how to survive...
...in the shadow of the Rockies.
(cranes squawking)
(music)
Everything about this coast is big.
(music)
Steep cliffs.
Rugged landscapes.
And miles of sparsely inhabited wilderness.
(shrieking)
Here the spice of life is salt.
Mini-miracles rise from the ocean...
and titans clash.
Now, climb a food chain full of surprises...
on California's coast with the most.
(playing America the Beautiful)
(music)
(music)
For throngs of sightseers,
the famous Highway 1 up California's central coast
means spectacular views.
(music)
For passing wildlife, the coast
is one of the busiest pit stops they know.
(music)
Smack dab in the middle
of winter mating and summer feeding grounds.
(music)
Birds flock here; mammals migrate.
And right now, just under the waves...
(music)
...a major arrival few people ever see.
(music)
It's spring break for these anchovies.
They swarm here for easy eats and cool temperatures.
And they bring friends.
A single school can consist of one billion individuals.
Hair-like sensors allow them
to detect the slightest movement by their neighbors...
and they react in the blink of an eye.
(music)
Every side watches for incoming predators,
but there are some threats you can't run from.
(music)
A gaping mouth joins the party.
(music)
The ribbed skin-folds along a humpback's throat
expand like an accordion,
allowing it to gulp thousands of fish in one pass.
(music)
These 30-ton visitors
can swallow 3,000 pounds of food a day.
This group is on its annual voyage north.
Some travel around 10,000 miles,
one of the farthest migrations of any mammal.
(whale moaning)
(music)
It's this calf's first journey north...
learning the ropes from mom as he goes.
(music)
Female humpbacks nurse their youngsters for almost a year.
He already weighs more than a ton.
On this trip they'll map out
the crucial path to summer feeding grounds,
and he'll remember it for life.
(music)
Plus a few tricks from mom along the way.
(music)
They take in the coastal scenery as they go.
(music)
The wildest section of California's coast
stretches from San Simeon,
100 miles up to Monterey Bay, and beyond.
It includes Big Sur, and takes in rich ocean waters
from Monterey Bay's
two-mile-deep underwater canyon.
In both depth and scale, it's comparable to the Grand Canyon.
(music)
Life here is just bigger,
out of the water and in.
Stands of giant kelp grow fast,
as much as two feet in a single day,
until they reach more than 150 feet tall.
(music)
Among the kelp, a less obvious giant.
This coastal traveler packs a lot into his hard case.
Red abalone have a foot
that stretches their entire body length.
That's it there, the frilly part on the bottom.
But this sea snail is not much of a runner.
He uses this oversized appendage
to grip massive kelp leaves.
And he has a razor-like tongue to shred them like a chainsaw,
measuring one-third of his body length.
(music)
Ruffled folds of tissue and writhing tentacles
stick out from his foot, probing for his next meal.
He uses the holes on top of his shell to breathe,
for waste, and to make babies.
He releases clouds of sperm and fills the shallow waters
with billions of microscopic Mini-Me's.
(music)
On cue, a nearby female
shoots out millions of her own green eggs.
(music)
All this X-rated action
attracts others who join in the fun.
(music)
The eggs contain chemical lures,
a beacon to light the way home for each abalone sailor.
The young settle on the bottom
and dine on pink coralline algae.
This will be their main course for the next few months,
giving each one its pink color:
You are what you eat.
These youngsters are just under two inches in size.
But they've got the appetite of a teenager.
And big eyes fixed on kelp.
(music)
They chow down.
(music)
Red abalone can grow shells up to one foot in length.
But few will make it to that size.
(music)
California's intertidal area is a cutthroat arena...
filled with killers.
And this lined shore crab
is the best abalone assassin of them all.
(music)
He takes advantage
while the juveniles are still bite-sized.
(music)
The young abalone doesn't have enough suction
to withstand the crab's iron grip.
It has no chance.
The feast is frenetic.
And for good reason.
Open shellfish are only on the menu
for a short time each day.
(music)
This landscape changes by the hour.
It's a clock set to the rhythm of the tide.
As soon as the water rolls out,
the anemones and mussels close up shop.
From fully submerged...
to fully exposed.
(music)
From pounding surf...
to baking sun.
(music)
This lined shore crab is unfazed.
He can stay out of the water for up to 70 hours.
(music)
He's one of the more terrestrial crabs of his kind.
(music)
After his first meal of shellfish
he simply moves on to his second course,
a side salad of seaweed and kelp.
(music)
But spending so much time on land...
is risky.
(squawking)
Threats from above make this hunter become the hunted.
(music)
If you're not careful out here, you end up as bird food.
On this coast, there's always a bigger fish.
(music)
Further down the beach, the tide is bringing in
perhaps the strangest-looking coastal creature of all.
(music)
A northern elephant seal.
(snorting)
And he's not alone.
(birds squawking)
Ahead of him, hundreds lounge on this single beach.
(birds squawking)
The females have recently given birth
and lay quietly with their pups.
(music)
But the peace is soon broken.
(music)
A latecomer sneaks in to look for a mate.
But he's stomping on someone else's territory.
(bellowing)
Big mistake.
(music)
A reigning elephant seal
guards his piece of California's Golden Coast.
He has more than a hundred females under his watch,
and he could mate with almost all of them in a single season.
(music)
The big bosses can grow to nearly 20 feet in length
and weigh around 8,000 pounds.
That's longer and heavier than a fully loaded pickup truck.
Far too intimidating for the sneaky intruder
who's chased off with a burst of elephant energy.
(music)
That mini trunk helps him fend off some interlopers
with sound alone.
(belching)
The male aims his massive nose down his throat,
and towards his voice box, to create an echo chamber.
(bellowing)
His call can be heard from a mile away.
(belching)
(bellowing)
A recent study of this population
shows that males can recognize rivals
by the rhythm of their call.
(belching)
That stops some battles, but not all.
(music)
Only weeks after giving birth,
the females are ready to mate again.
When the king senses this, nothing stands in his way.
(music)
Not even his own pups.
(music)
(squealing)
While he's distracted by his manly duties,
smaller males on the edges of the harem make their move.
(music)
(snorting)
And the competition between lesser males is fierce.
(bellowing)
(belching)
(music)
(growling)
(music)
(belching)
(music)
(growling)
The two young males clash with thousands of pounds of force.
Teeth larger than that of grizzly bears
puncture and draw blood with each blow.
(music)
(belching)
(music)
(belching)
The loser slinks away,
while the victorious male wastes no time.
He must make his move on the nearest female fast.
If he's lucky, the king won't notice.
(music)
Creatures of all kinds fixate on this edge.
(music)
This fine line between sand and sea is a food delivery service.
Waves bring dinner to the doorstep
of millions of coastal birds.
The mountains of kelp and seaweed
that wash up every year aren't too tasty.
But they attract something that is:
(buzzing)
Insects. Lots of insects.
They multiply and swarm.
These little beach hoppers could take over the coast,
except for one thing.
(music)
Enter the snowy plover.
(chirping)
He's the pest control around these parts.
(music)
(chirp)
Without these little winged fur balls,
beaches would be infested.
(music)
They may look like young, but these are indeed adults...
zipping around like pinballs,
with a dash-dart-and-dine technique.
(music)
If it was a dance, it'd be a quick step.
(music)
When they're done chasing insects, they chase each other.
(music)
This game is called 'getting to know you.'
(music)
This piggyback is probably not what you think.
It's just a warm-up act.
(music)
wait for it.
And there you go.
Both mom and dad take turns egg sitting.
(music)
Dad usually takes the night shift;
mom the day shift.
Vigilance is vital.
There's danger above.
This hawk would love nothing more
than a scrambled-egg breakfast.
To counter, the plover is about to do something extraordinary.
Along California's Golden Coast,
snowy plovers make dash-and-dart moves.
(music)
It's their best defense against an aerial attack.
Now this dad uses it to divert a hawk's attention
away from his family.
(chirping)
It's a bold move.
But it may not be enough.
(music)
So he changes tactics and now pretends to be injured.
(music)
A living decoy.
(music)
(calling)
He catches the hawk's eye and distracts it from the nest.
(calling)
(music)
When the hawk comes too close for comfort,
the plover suddenly finds his speedy little legs again.
It's a strategy that works.
Soon enough, the nest is chock-a-block with chicks.
(music)
Within hours of hatching, the chicks are up and running.
(music)
The next generation of insect catchers.
(music)
Their mother is not the maternal kind.
She immediately leaves to find another mate.
(music)
But dad hangs around for about a month
and takes the young'uns under his wing
whenever danger swoops by.
And there's one predator's shadow
that can swoop over him faster than any other.
(music)
Of all the birds on this Golden Coast,
one raptor stands above them all.
A diving peregrine falcon
is the fastest creature on the planet.
In the cliffs above, a young falcon stretches its wings.
(screeching)
He's just over a month old.
But peregrine chicks are dependent upon mom and dad
for food for at least 40 days after hatching.
(music)
It must wait while its parents soar above,
searching for opportunity.
(music)
(squawking)
They have three gears.
Around 30 miles an hour when commuting,
close to 70 when chasing prey,
and a top speed of more than 200 miles an hour in a dive.
(music)
Dad is a little smaller.
It's mom who rules the roost.
(music)
What she'll bring back for dinner is anyone's guess.
(music)
But it'll certainly be something slower.
(music)
Today's meal is another bird.
And her keen eyes have spotted one in trouble.
(music)
It's hard to see at first,
but it's a dove clinging to a rock in the surf.
The dove chooses to weather the waves.
It knows that to fly away now would be suicide.
He's no match for the falcon.
It's between a rock and a hard place.
The rock is being pounded by surf,
but the hard place is a peregrine's talons.
A stalemate...
until Neptune intervenes.
Peregrine falcons on California's Golden Coast
live for opportunities like this.
A dove trapped in among the waves.
(music)
The male tries again.
And again.
It's a tricky maneuver.
He doesn't want to risk getting soaked by a wave
or pulled under.
This is a job for momma.
(music)
Much closer.
(music)
Finally.
(music)
(music)
She takes her fair share before feeding her chick.
(music)
Dad needs to hold his own.
(music)
Once more back to the beach.
(music)
The ocean thrusts her bounty up on the sand,
into the tidal pools...
and farther into California than you'd imagine.
The icy ocean current from Monterey Canyon
heads inland for seven miles.
It carries with it something important:
lunch.
(music)
The water is full of yummy morsels,
bits of kelp and plankton.
These nutrients feed one of the largest tidal marshes
in California:
Elkhorn Slough.
A salty kingdom ruled by the tides.
It's a gentle oasis for this sea otter.
He's a water-loving weasel with massive webbed toes
that make this male look like he walks with two left feet.
(music)
But once deep enough, he finds his sea legs...
and a whole bunch of friends.
(music)
Almost every moment of their lives is spent afloat.
(music)
Some take on a prayerful pose; it's how they sleep.
For others, wakey wakey.
Time for a morning scrub.
(music)
Otters are the heaviest members of the weasel family
and are uniquely adapted to life around water.
They use their tails for balance and as a rudder.
They can open and close their small ears for diving.
And they have the densest fur in the animal kingdom,
like a full-body lifejacket.
Eight hundred million hairs trap air close to their skin
and keep out the icy ocean.
(music)
Sea otter romance leaves much to be desired.
A skinny dip with a partner might sound romantic,
but it ain't.
(music)
It's a rumble and a tumble
until the male gets a good grip.
(music)
(squeaking)
(music)
He can draw blood with those teeth
and will hold her head underwater
until he gets his way.
(music)
It's a life-or-death struggle for this female.
And she already has a juvenile at her side.
If she goes down, so does it.
Two lives hang in the balance.
(music)
It's a California love tangle that can turn tragic.
This reluctant female sea otter and her young pup
could easily be killed by this determined male.
(music)
It's a close call,
but the mating battle ends, and all survive.
(music)
He'll leave her to raise their new offspring alone.
(music)
Pups are born in the water.
But can't swim until they reach two weeks.
Mom uses her stomach as a furry cradle.
But every parent needs a little me time.
And mom's got just the solution.
(music)
Fill the pup's dense fur with air.
Like blowing up a balloon.
Now this kid will float for hours.
(music)
She wanders off
while the youngster bobbles like a buoy nearby.
(music)
Hunting is essential for a young mother.
She's on a high-calorie diet,
eating up to 30% of her body weight each day.
A large innkeeper worm makes a perfect starter.
(music)
(squeak)
(music)
For another female, catch of the day is clam,
freshly cracked and served raw.
Her pup is a little older and can swim.
(pup cries)
But he's not happy mom has a table for one.
(music)
(cries)
(music)
(cry)
(music)
He depends on her until he can wrangle his own dinner.
(music)
Until then, this momma's boy will keep living at home...
(squeak)
(music)
...a little otter growing up on a big coast.
(music)
In the hills above them,
another Golden Coast family commotion
comes with a strange twist.
Here, vast meadows weave through coastal hills...
chock full of some
of California's finest wildflowers.
(music)
Look carefully, and you'll see
there's another speck of color moving among this grass--
western side blotched lizards.
(music)
Every spring these males take on
one of three shades of color:
blue, orange, or yellow.
(music)
All so they can play a very special game.
A cutthroat round of rock-paper-scissors.
And to the victors, go the females.
Let the games begin.
These lizards turned blue.
Blue spots, blue scales, and blue chin to match.
(music)
Blues are the team players.
They work together to set up a security detail
around their females.
(music)
And their guards keep watch.
(music)
The push-ups signal that he sees trouble.
It's a dreaded orange.
Same species, different color, different tactic.
He's no team player, but he's blessed with genes
that give him brute strength and a short temper.
Which he uses to hit the nearest blue head on.
(music)
The attack is relentless...
(music)
...barely a contest.
(music)
Rock beats scissors.
Orange beats blue.
Those are the rules.
But don't forget yellow...
the unlikely third contender.
(music)
Yellow males don't need to fight.
They have other skills.
Namely, they're small and sneaky.
The blues' defenses are too strong
for the yellow to slink by.
But yellow's sly tactics are perfect against orange.
(music)
While orange was busy fighting, he left his females alone.
(music)
Yellow slips right in...
(music)
...and beats rock.
So orange beats blue...
blue beats yellow...
yellow beats orange.
Rock-paper-scissors.
It's all-consuming if you're a lizard.
But there is one predator here on the Golden Coast
that can consume them all.
(music)
Atop the cliffs of California's Golden Coast,
a bobcat roams her territory.
(music)
There's about a square mile of grasslands
this bobcat calls her own...
(music)
...where she lives...
sleeps...
and hunts.
(music)
She's twice the size of your average housecat.
Around three feet in length.
And she's a lot more of a loner.
(music)
There is another cat nearby.
It's her offspring from last year.
(music)
This young female would like to tag along
like the good old days.
It'll take a few months for her to learn
that mom's not having it.
(music)
She already has plenty on her plate back at her den.
(music)
(music)
Two kittens can be a handful.
These wide-eyed wonders are just over a month old.
At this age they're still working on their motor skills.
Climbing.
Playing.
And testing their balance.
It's a work in progress.
One day these kittens will keep up with their mother
by following the white spots behind her ears
and on the end of her tail.
(music)
But for now she hunts solo.
(music)
With mom gone, this duo is left to entertain themselves...
seeing how far their little legs can take them.
(music)
But straying too far on this coast can be deadly.
(music)
(shriek)
Hawks watch from above.
(music)
And coyotes stalk below.
(music)
It's enough to lose your appetite for adventure.
They go back to the den.
(music)
But they shouldn't wait up.
Mom's going to be out late.
She scents the trail to mark her territory.
(music)
It's a five-mile circuit,
starting at dusk and going into the night.
(music)
Then in the morning she leaves her kittens again
for another five miles that'll finish around sunrise.
(music)
It's a whole lot of hurry up and wait.
She's been here for hours,
staking out a single gopher hole.
(music)
Then, at just the right moment.
(music)
This time, not worth the wait.
(music)
Maybe the next hole.
(music)
California's Golden Coast
has no shortage of permanent residents.
(shriek)
Even some of the birds live here year round.
When a location is this bountiful, why move?
This is more than a wild stretch of beach.
It's a mid-point for feeding...
(music)
and mating migrations.
(music)
A salty food chain that runs up and down the coast.
From the depths of the Pacific, to the top of Big Sur,
this pristine marine ecosystem runs like clockwork,
driven by the tides.
Complex...
unstoppable...
and totally wild.
(music)
If hell is the lowest and hottest place in America,
and heaven the highest,
then everything in between is purgatory.
Now, dance with the devil.
From Death Valley...
to Mount Whitney.
146 miles of gross scraps...
painful naps...
and deadly traps.
This is a tale of survival...
...between two great extremes.
(music: America the Beautiful)
(music)
(music)
Here lies a valley called death.
It's the hottest place in America.
A fine summer's day can hit 130 degrees-plus.
It has all the desert and desperation you'd expect.
Plants have a tenuous grip on life.
Animals appear just as stressed.
(music)
So, when the going gets tough,
the tough do a round at the golf course.
(music)
It's not a mirage,
but a surreal man-made oasis,
nurtured by thousands of gallons of underground water.
There are hazards here.
Especially for the wildlife.
Only a privileged few coyotes are brave enough
to take a swing at this high life.
But their rewards are liquid refreshments.
And maybe a birdie.
(music)
(music)
Problem is, roadrunners don't just run.
(music)
Another young coyote takes a shot close to a water hazard.
A flock of ibis.
(music)
This lake may be the most lethal trap on the course.
(music)
(music)
His scorecard's not looking too good.
He may need some more lessons from mom.
A coyote pup that can't fend for itself
wants whatever mom brings home.
If that's not enough, forget golf.
(music)
(music)
The pup that scored the old deer skull draws attention.
(music)
Real flesh and bone is a prized possession in coyote land.
To keep something like a rabbit skin,
you gotta turn it into buried treasure.
(music)
But a pirate watches.
(music)
There's nothing worse than taking your eye off the ball.
(music)
(music)
The 19th hole is what golfers call the bar.
And there's one out here offering a top-shelf cocktail.
A single date palm tree can produce 300 pounds of dates.
The ripest treats litter the ground.
Their sweet smell is a siren song.
And fruit flies answer.
But there's a problem.
After a long journey through the desert,
they risk overdoing it.
Each date is almost 80% sugar.
Which ferments in the sun.
The results are intoxicating.
The fun fruit fly party gets out of hand.
And this is a bad place for a bender.
Below is a sobering sand trap.
(music)
It reminds everyone that Death Valley
includes the D word.
This alien-looking insect larva is called an antlion.
It digs its home with steep walls.
All he needs is a tipsy fruit fly to stagger close by.
(music)
One wrong step, and...
(music)
There's no escape.
The antlion's jaws grip like a vise.
And more, they are hollow, like syringes.
It injects powerful enzymes deep inside its prey.
They liquefy the fly's insides.
(music)
After the enzymes are done, the antlion reverses the flow,
sucking out every last bit of goo.
Soon, the fly is nothing more than an empty shell.
(music)
After ditching the evidence,
it readies itself for the next drunken victim.
(music)
The antlion will continue to trap its food
for years to come.
Eventually, it'll transform
into a large, harmless fly itself.
And buzz off to discover the harsh realities
of life beyond this oasis.
Death Valley is the lowest point in North America,
and the hottest.
The golf course sits in the middle of this sunbaked park.
Yet travel just 105 miles west
and you reach Mount Whitney,
the highest point in the Lower 48,
and still rising.
The path between these points is a journey of great extremes.
Some folks can't wait to check it out.
Once a year, madmen and women line up in Death Valley
to do the unthinkable.
100 athletes from 20 states and 19 different countries
compete in perhaps the world's most grueling foot race.
(cheering)
The Badwater Ultramarathon is 135 miles long.
(music)
It starts at Badwater Basin, 280 feet below sea level.
Only one way to go from here...
up.
The humans are doing it tough.
Not everyone out here is in such a hurry.
You might say this is no country for old men.
But for one old-timer out here, it's a different story.
(music)
After more than 40 years in California's Death Valley...
this old tortoise has learned a trick or two
about survival in the desert.
Like seize the shade while you have it.
(music)
He's just a bit bigger than a football.
And he grows less than an eighth of an inch each year.
(music)
He forages when it's cooler,
especially in spring and fall,
and feasts on grass, flowers and shrubs.
(music)
Even some cactus now and then.
(music)
If he's lucky, there's some moisture in the plants he eats,
but he can also go a full year without a drink.
(music)
He's not in any speed race.
Flat out, it takes him around five hours
to cover a single mile.
But he is built for off-road endurance.
Those limbs may look a bit clunky,
but they are powerful tools,
with strong claws for his most important duty.
He digs burrows to escape the heat.
Some go as deep as six feet.
This trip topside is more of an anomaly.
Desert tortoises spend
an incredible 95% of their lives underground.
Come winter, he may share a den with several others.
And maybe find a mate for the spring.
Nothing escapes the sun in Death Valley.
It defines life from the rocky outcrops
to the fine sand of the dunes.
When the sun peaks in the sky,
the ground can exceed 200 degrees Fahrenheit,
almost hot enough to boil blood.
That's why those marathon runners
began in the cool of the evening,
and now run into the dark.
It's the best way to beat the heat.
In winter, Death Valley night temperatures
can drop to below freezing.
But it's mid-July.
At 3:00 AM, it's still in the 70s.
Just off the road, other creatures of the night
also take advantage of the temperature dip.
(music)
The desert kangaroo rat is built to survive
in this unforgiving world.
She has special kidneys that dispose of waste
without sacrificing much water.
And unlike all other mammals, she doesn't sweat to keep cool.
Her ears, although small,
can detect almost any approaching predator.
Helpful when danger glides across the dunes.
(rattling)
They call him sidewinder,
one of the desert's deadliest gunslingers.
He packs two fangs capable of delivering a venomous bite.
(music)
The sand is still painfully hot,
but this rattler has adapted.
By moving side to side instead of slithering,
he only ever makes contact
with two points of his body at a time.
(music)
The kangaroo rat also gets a lot of airtime.
She can jump up to nine feet in one hop
as she bounces through the brush on her hunt for seeds.
(rattling)
When these two face off...
(rattling)
It all comes down to the quickest draw.
(rattling)
The sidewinder is one of the most dangerous creatures
in California's Death Valley.
The kangaroo rat,
within striking distance,
is in big trouble.
(music)
Close, but no strike.
The kangaroo rat manages to dodge death.
Almost all of these encounters
favor her lightning-fast reflexes.
The sidewinder looks for another meal.
And sure enough,
at dawn he finds a second duel.
But this roadrunner is no chicken.
Around here, she's the law.
(music)
It's fang versus beak.
(music)
The sidewinder may have deadly venom,
but the roadrunner is fearless.
(rattling)
(music)
This hero of the West barely blinks an eye.
(music)
And she keeps on running.
The sun rises after 5:00 AM
and so does the mercury.
Soon it's 98 degrees.
As the ultramarathon runners pass the 40-mile marker,
many slow to a walk.
No athlete can run 135 miles nonstop,
especially in the hottest place in America.
Runners can drink close to a gallon of fluid every hour.
They call out for hydration.
Behind them, the Mesquite Sand Dunes.
Here, and throughout Death Valley,
iconic mountains of sculpted sand hide among the landscape.
(music)
Some are more than 600 feet high
and constantly reforming.
(wind blowing)
They move with the wind.
Plants on the edges don't survive long
once a dune moves their way.
(wind whistling)
They are a sight to behold.
(music)
And in one case, also a sound.
The Eureka Dunes near the north end of the park
sing aloud with a booming voice.
This is what they sound like.
(low humming and whistling)
The sand grains of Eureka Dune are dryer
and more loosely packed than most.
And they're mixed with very little dust.
When they shift, the friction between them
creates an acoustic airwave...
(low humming)
...that sounds like a groan or a hum.
Sometimes a boom.
It's a Death Valley serenade.
Inside dunes like this,
one of the park's best-equipped creatures
prepares to meet the day.
He uses the rays of the sun to get his juices flowing.
And once the coast is clear...
(music)
(music)
This is the Mojave fringe-toed lizard,
a master of desert survival.
He's got the best camouflage in North America.
So, it's hard to distinguish this medium-sized lizard
from the sand surrounding him.
Flaps over his ears and nose along with overlapping eyelids
work like valves to block pesky sand.
But his best feature just might be his namesake.
Those fringed toes.
A special adaption that helps him stay above the sand.
Comb-like scales on the edge of his toes
turn this lizard's feet into snowshoes on sand.
So he runs without burning his feet.
He doesn't even sink below the surface,
thus giving the fringe-toed lizard one more advantage:
speed.
The fastest was clocked at 23 miles per hour.
At that speed, the lizard is almost completely on two feet.
Temps skyrocket.
The Mojave fringe-toed lizard must call it a day.
So, he heads to the coolest place he can find.
Where no one even knows he's there.
(music)
Few can handle the midday heat out in the open.
But the fringed-toed lizard has a cousin
who is a most extraordinary exception.
In California's Death Valley, the desert horned lizard
must hunt when his prey is active.
And he's picky.
He really only eats one thing: ants.
Ants for breakfast, ants for lunch,
and ants for dinner.
Harvester ants make up 90%
of the desert horned lizard's diet.
But these insects are pretty tough themselves.
And they have numbers on their side.
(music)
Each colony has around 10,000 individuals,
and each individual packs a painful bee-like sting.
Some ants will scurry more than 40 yards
to collect seeds for the nest.
(music)
So the lizard has the best luck on the outskirts of the colony
and plucks off a passerby.
(music)
But he can't afford to fall asleep on the job.
A couple spot him and fearlessly move in.
His scales are as tough as nails;
fingernails that is.
Each one is like a mini shield.
But a harvester ant can get under anyone's skin.
And then...
bite in.
It's an alarm clock with a piercing wake-up call.
(music)
The human runners out here are also suffering.
Most of the Badwater Ultramarathon runners
are still going.
But at 70 miles in,
the long, hot road to the base of Mount Whitney
takes its toll.
By the end of the race, one quarter will have dropped out.
The option plays on the mind.
They have more than 50 miles to go
when they exit the national park
with still plenty of desert to endure.
Not even realizing they're moving past a lake.
Owen's Lake.
At least this is what passes for a lake around here.
120 years ago, water filled this salty basin.
And towns and mines surrounded it.
But engineers built an aqueduct
to divert the flow to Los Angeles.
And arsenic from the ancient lakebed
turned it into a toxic dust bowl.
(music)
Too dangerous to inhale.
(music)
Now, to solve that problem,
engineers have turned the tap back on.
(music)
And life is returning with the water,
starting with brine flies.
(flies buzzing)
They hatch here in April and throughout the summer.
(flies buzzing)
And then birds come to eat them.
(squawking)
(music)
Gulls.
(music)
Ibis.
(music)
And a host of others on the wing.
The natives are welcome back.
But some visitors here are outsiders.
The miners who used to work this area
left behind more than waste and ruins.
They're most likely the ones
who introduced a most destructive new species.
These are feral burros.
These wild donkeys travel up to 40 miles a day
throughout California's Death Valley area
in search of anything green.
(music)
They use roads, the paths of least resistance,
to skip the rockiest terrain
and often head towards Mount Whitney.
They're wasteful eaters
and quickly destroy plants that take years to grow.
Worse still, the burros are prolific breeders.
Herds can double in size in four or five years.
Half a million burros now roam the countryside.
Their invasion is bad news
for some residents of the Death Valley area.
(music)
The largest native animal in these parts...
the desert bighorn sheep.
(music)
These sure-footed nomads comb the hillsides
for the most nutritious plants, shrubs and even cactus.
(music)
But their main goal is to find water.
(music)
They need to find a spring or a water hole every three days
to survive the summer heat.
But with that, they can climb ever higher
towards the cool mountain air.
The ultramarathon runners have the same idea.
(music)
They start at below sea level
at the lowest point in the United States.
(music)
Now they are at 4,000 feet altitude and still climbing.
The mountains ahead mark their finish line
at the base of Mount Whitney,
the highest peak in the Lower 48 states.
(music)
Along the road to Whitney,
a host of all-terrain animals that can handle the desert
and the heights.
Coyotes are tough enough to hunt up here.
This is likely a breeding pair,
and they work together to track down prey.
(music)
Not such good news for their favorite menu item.
Desert hares are also climbers.
Some black-tailed jackrabbits hang out
at elevations up to 12,000 feet.
(music)
But they are best known as desert dwellers.
(music)
And they have a body to suit.
Those ears act like an air conditioner.
It's where they release their excess body heat.
Those bunny ears are so good at what they do,
these hares don't need to pant or sweat, and that saves water.
(music)
The only thing more important to this guy than his big ears
are his big feet.
(music)
With those coyotes getting closer,
they're his best chance for escape.
The chase is on.
(howling)
Black-tailed jackrabbits are speed demons.
Not much moves faster through the desert
below California's Mount Whitney.
Especially when that black tail is being chased
by a couple of coyotes.
(music)
These rabbits can reach 40 miles an hour
and zig-zag through any terrain to throw off a rival.
If he has to, he can cover 20 feet in a single leap.
(howl)
Today, it's enough to throw off the coyotes.
For them, it's back to the grind.
Not all coyotes are lucky enough
to score a luxury resort.
(music)
More often out here, it's like this...
hot as hell,
chasing elusive jackrabbits.
You have to get water when you can,
wherever you can.
A leaky pipe couldn't be better.
(music)
(music)
It's also a single-drop shower.
(music)
And when the rabbits are too darn fast,
there's always the spoils from Highway 34.
Tourists drop all manner of food just for the coyotes.
It's a quick feed that does more harm than good.
She's lured close to the road.
The most dangerous place for a coyote in all of Death Valley.
If a coyote, or any animal, gets hit by a car,
they can expect to be mopped up by an unsavory clean-up crew.
Turkey vultures.
Already they seem to wonder
what roadkill coyote might taste like.
Most of them wait above the road to Mount Whitney
with little interest in the living.
They've chosen one of the only trees around for a roost.
The desert conditions are unbearable for most,
but these vultures have a trick up their sleeves,
or rather, down their legs.
They pee on themselves to keep from overheating.
A process called urohidrosis.
The urine is also a disinfectant
that kills germs on their feet.
Handy when you tuck your talons into dead things for a living.
Time for work.
Meet the vulture club.
Members climb on thermals of hot air
that rise around California's Mount Whitney.
The turkey vulture's six-foot wingspan makes it look easy.
They can soar as far as 200 miles, if the wind is right.
Each turkey vulture relies on its powerful sense of smell.
(music)
One homes in on a new scent.
(music)
A jackrabbit met an untimely end.
(music)
The vulture does its best to eat quickly.
Other dinner guests are never far behind.
Their stomach acid is at least 10 times stronger than our own.
Their biggest worry isn't fast food,
but a fast car.
(music)
Just up the road,
the snow-marked peaks of the High Sierras
are a welcome sight for the ultramarathon runners.
They've covered 122 grueling miles to get this far.
(music)
Just 13 more to go.
(music)
13 miles in another world.
(music)
It's steep as they head through the town of Lone Pine.
Some are down to a walk,
but that's better than a crawl.
(music)
With aching joints and pounding feet,
they cross the finish line.
(cheering)
They celebrate the end of a grueling journey
from the lowest and hottest place in America,
to the highest and one of the coldest peaks in the Lower 48.
The runners learn what the animals here have long known.
Life in this corridor is less about a race,
and more about survival.
Even the luxury golf course has more traps than meet the eye.
Most creatures have to fight for life.
Every day is a scramble,
where animals have to watch each step
and beat the heat as best they can.
The 146-mile path to Mount Whitney
offers some relief.
But more extremes await at the other end.
And a wrong turn can be your last.
But survive this world,
and you know you've done something incredible;
you've conquered the path of two great extremes.
They say everything is bigger in Texas.
(music)
And sure enough, a ranch out here
can be nearly as big as a state.
(cow moos)
Boots and spurs.
Cowboys, hooves and horses.
Legends of the West.
But look beyond the iconic images
and you'll discover what's really wild in the Wild West.
Now, saddle up for a ride
to reveal the secret lives of creatures hidden.
But right at home, on the range.
(music: America the Beautiful)
(music)
Texas is big country.
Land, lots of land.
And the starry sky above.
Sleeping under the stars out here
can give you a clear view of a spectacular light show.
No one knows this more than the hired hands
who work cattle on Mill Iron Ranch.
Time to saddle up.
Sunrise is too late for their alarm clocks.
They have a hundred head to round up.
Out here with them,
some other creatures
even the toughest cowboys would rather avoid.
The striped bark scorpion is probably
the most commonly encountered scorpion in America.
And it's had 400 million years here
to hone its nocturnal hunting skills.
Its neurotoxic venom sits in the bubble
at the top of its stinger.
And it packs enough punch
to take out most any creepy crawly it wants to eat.
The scorpion's camouflaged stripes and small size
make it a nuisance for workers.
It can hide in a boot
or just out of sight.
The trick to spotting it after dark...
Ultraviolet light.
Chemicals in its armor glow under blue light.
But no one knows why.
The scorpions themselves have several pairs of eyes.
Including two on their back.
But they still have poor vision under any light.
He knows the cowhand is nearby
because of hair-like sensors on his belly
that can feel vibrations through the ground.
Good time to crawl back under his rock.
The safest place for a ranch hand
is up high in a saddle.
When these cowhands mount up,
they continue a tradition
that goes back on this ranch more than 130 years.
90 million cattle are spread throughout the United States.
But there's a solid concentration
in the north of Texas.
Mill Iron Ranch is directly to the east of this,
a family-owned venture right on the border with Oklahoma.
It's a medium-sized spread of around 30,000 acres.
(music)
The cowhands head into the dawn.
And begin their search for cattle.
But they're not alone.
Others out here have been awake for hours,
working on their own roundup.
The great horned owl.
Sometimes called the tiger owl.
From his high perch, he casts a wide lasso.
His effective hunting radius is about a hundred yards.
Outside that circle, he doesn't give a hoot.
Inside...
victims and vittles.
The power of an owl's sight is legendary.
But on this moonless night,
he relies just as much on his ears.
He can hear faint sounds up to 900 feet away.
It's near pitch dark, but light-sensitive cameras
allow us to see what the owl hears.
A desert mouse.
He moves his head to triangulate the sound.
And homes in on the prey.
(music)
(music)
A phantom of the night.
(music)
A close call for the owl.
A prickly pear cactus could've brought down
the three-pound bird.
Try again.
But the mouse is on to him.
It's a Mexican stand-off.
(music)
The mouse freezes under the cover of a cactus.
The owl knows food is there and has no intention of giving up.
It's a high-stakes game.
You gotta know when to walk away, know when to run.
In pitch darkness,
the mouse reveals his hand and moves.
(music)
This time the owl pays closer attention to those Texas cacti.
(music)
And now...
(music)
Nabbed.
The mouse made the same play,
dove for the cover of cactus again.
But the wise owl adjusted.
(music)
There's no escape from 28 pounds of talon force.
(music)
The mouse got a raw deal;
the owl gets a raw meal.
Down the hatch...
headfirst.
(music)
One last and filling feast before calling it a night.
Sunrise makes it easier for a cowhand
to find a black or red Angus.
(moo)
But it's still a challenge.
Mill Iron Ranch only has a thousand head
spread across its 30,000 acres.
The owners keep it understocked
to balance their cattle business
with the needs of conservation and wildlife.
(music)
Of course, no matter what you do,
the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.
(music)
Where cattle can't graze,
these prairie dogs have set up shop.
(chirping)
(music)
(chirping)
300 of these black-tailed prairie dogs
will eat as much as a cow and her calf.
300 may sound like a lot of dogs.
But their communities can be much bigger.
The largest prairie dog town ever recorded in Texas
covered 25,000 square miles
and held around 400 million prairie dogs.
But that was a long time ago.
In the 20th century, 98% of prairie dogs were wiped out.
Now, there's a much smaller but stable population.
Hunted less by man,
and more by natural predators.
(music)
Coyotes, snakes,
and right now, a raptor.
(bird screeching)
(music)
The prairie dogs dig deep and keep watch.
(music)
The residents of this Texas prairie dog town
duck for cover.
(bird screeches)
A hawk swoops low.
(music)
(prairie dogs chirping)
But it's lost the element of surprise.
(chirping)
The raptor rides out of town on a breeze,
and the scouts let everyone know it's safe with a cheer.
(chirping)
And it's back to grazing.
(chirping)
The prairie dog burrows are a hazard
for the cowboys and their horses.
There's an old saying,
'A rider's grave is always open.'
And this is why.
A misstep in a prairie dog hole can be disastrous.
It's an occupational hazard that isn't going away.
(music)
And prairie dogs aren't the only ones out here
to know the beauty of a burrow.
Harvester ants.
The average colony is 10,000 strong.
Their nests can be 35 feet wide
and 15 feet deep.
They build a constant supply of seeds,
and scouts head out in search of them all summer.
When they find a stash,
the scouts leave a chemical trail that tells the others,
'Come and get it.'
(music)
These workers doing the heavy lifting are all female.
And they're very good at what they do.
90% of them will return with food.
(music)
The other 10% may run into trouble.
The ants are both harvesters...
...and harvested.
(music)
A Texas horned lizard moseys out of his burrow.
(music)
He's prone to a vitamin D deficiency
and needs the sunshine.
His spikey armor soaks up the rays.
He also needs some grub.
And about 70% of his diet is ants.
He's only a few inches long.
But to the harvester ants, these guys are giants.
Like any good, bite-sized snack,
one is never enough.
(music)
(music)
The ants have a painful sting,
but the lizard counteracts it with saliva.
Each ant gets a quick coat of mucus
as it goes down the hatch.
(music)
The soldiers try to fight back,
but they have no hope of slaying this dragon.
(music)
That's a job for another reptile.
A serpent slithers into town;
the fastest draw in the West.
Few snakes on the entire continent
can match the agility of the coachwhip snake.
(music)
(music)
(music)
The lizard won't win a race against this speed demon.
So he tries another tactic.
And makes himself a thorny problem.
(music)
(music)
The coachwhip has no venom and does not constrict.
He needs to be able to get the lizard by the head.
It's a reptile face-off.
The coachwhip snake grabs this Texas horned lizard
by the neck.
But this shootout is not done yet.
The spikes are too much of a mouthful.
(music)
And the horned lizard escapes with his life.
Now would be a good time to get out of Dodge.
But the commotion attracts the attention of another snake.
The western diamondback rattler.
A most-wanted outlaw.
(music)
(music)
He's not as fast as the lizard
and won't waste energy on a chase.
He's more of a fan of stealth.
He tastes the air with a flick of his tongue.
This fans a smelling organ in the roof of his mouth.
(music)
He recognizes a trail regularly used by rodents.
(music)
He settles in to a good spot.
The earth and logs here are a perfect match
for his camouflage.
His inch-long fangs are ready.
He could stick it out here for hours.
(music)
(music)
Pits under his eyes detect heat
to within a fraction of a degree.
He knows a lone drifter is getting close.
(music)
The strike takes less than one-tenth of a second.
All has gone according to plan.
The mouse does not get far.
Rattlesnake venom is a powerful potion of chemicals.
It's hemotoxic.
So it destroys the blood and tissue of its victims.
The snake follows the trail.
By the time he gets there, his dinner is ready.
(music)
(music)
This snack can satisfy him for two or three weeks.
(music)
Down the hatch.
Acids in his stomach will do the rest.
These ranch reptiles are well adapted
to life on this thirsty range.
They get most of the moisture they need from what they eat.
And their scaly skin helps seal out dehydration.
(music)
For cattle, it's a different story.
The ranch hands know cows congregate around water.
(music)
Windmills pump up groundwater from deep below the surface.
They are eco-friendly engines of cattle commerce.
With them, every giant paddock has a water source.
(music)
And livestock follow well-worn trails to find a drink.
(mooing)
Finally, the cowhands have their eye on the prize.
It's roundup time.
(hollering)
(mooing)
(hollering)
(mooing)
(hollering)
(hollering)
(hollering)
They turn the herd back toward the corral,
picking up more along the way.
(moo)
(hollering)
(mooing)
(music)
(mooing)
(hollering)
The sun is up high now, quickly heating the range.
This affects everything that moves on the ground...
...and above it.
Turkey vultures fly like hang gliders.
They use their six-foot wingspan
to catch the warm air as it rises.
They can soar on updrafts like this for hours.
But it ain't all for fun.
They sample the air for the odor of the doomed.
(music)
Check out those nostrils.
Many believe that birds have a poor sense of smell.
But turkey vultures are supreme sniffers.
(music)
They soar slowly, so they can pinpoint a whiff of a carcass
from a mile away.
Fresh kills are fine fare.
But these birds also descend on the overly ripe.
Word travels fast on the range.
(music)
More and more vultures join the feast.
Their long-dead dinners develop new life of their own:
botulism, anthrax, cholera, salmonella.
All potentially fatal.
But the vultures have an immune system that can take it all.
One thing that is harder for them to tolerate...
an intruder.
The sight of the giant birds descending
is a beacon for the hungry.
A newcomer moves in on the feast.
This is trouble on four legs.
Coyotes prefer fresh meat.
But survival on a Texas ranch
means consuming large amounts of carrion, too.
For this kill, the youngster just needs to clear out
the rest of the dinner guests.
(music)
The vultures appear reluctant
to hand over a meal to a stranger,
especially this small fry.
They make the coyote work for it.
(music)
But ultimately, all the vultures can do is watch.
And wait for their turn at the scraps.
(music)
Not all the birds here prefer the sky life.
(music)
Home on the range is where the deer and the antelope play,
or so it goes.
But head into the woods a little,
and you'll find another iconic critter hiding out.
Each dusk and dawn, wild turkeys hit the range.
Mostly they're vegetarian,
with a side dish of insects.
That flap of skin on the beak is called a snood.
It fills with blood
when the boys are ready
to put on a show.
The males mosey on in for a chat.
They stretch their feathers
and size each other up.
They strut their stuff like heel-clicking cowboys.
It's all a show for the girls.
The biggest tom weighs more than 18 pounds,
but there's always a newbie male
who's looking for a showdown.
Once again, the big tom is quicker on the draw.
(music)
Maybe next year.
(gobbles)
(music)
Even the cowboys on the roundup have a young hand in training.
Nine years old is old enough to join the crew out here
and learn the ropes.
(mooing)
(hollering, mooing)
(hollering)
It can be four miles to the yards.
They maintain a walking pace.
Go too fast, and they might overheat.
(music)
They finally reach the corral.
And this is where they need all hands on deck.
(mooing)
Cattle are natural-born claustrophobics.
(music)
No one born on the range likes the idea
of being crammed into a few small yards.
Even the most docile of cows can turn aggressive.
Some of them push back.
This is where horses can panic,
rear up and fall on riders.
(neigh)
(music)
(music)
(mooing)
A closed gate signals the end of the roundup...
but just the beginning of stage two.
And they're doing it old-school.
Most ranchers in Texas round up their cattle twice a year.
In the fall, to select some for market.
(moo)
And now, in the spring,
when the new calves get to say 'howdy' to humanity.
It's the kind of hello
that makes you yearn for a quick goodbye.
Cowboy and horse become one
to expertly separate the calves from their mothers.
(moo)
It's called cutting, or drafting.
In some arenas it's a competitive sport.
Here, it's all business.
Next, each calf needs to be singled out.
(music)
(mooing)
(music)
This is where an age-old cowboy tool comes into play.
Greenhorns call it a lasso.
To these cowboys, it's just a rope.
(music)
Throwing it around the neck here is less common.
(mooing)
A leg rope is more effective.
That's followed by a minute or two of hell.
The cowboys have lots of practice.
They work together like a well-oiled machine.
(mooing)
(music)
It's a stressful time for the calves
and dangerous work for the cowboys.
Agriculture is one of the most hazardous of all occupations
in the United States.
And here getting kicked or stepped on is inevitable.
But a couple of shots of paste in the mouth
will help rid the young of worms
and immunize them against some diseases.
(moo)
A colored ear tag will forever let ranchers know,
from a distance, where these calves were born.
Then the mark of the ranch.
(mooing)
Branding just as it was done
when the Spanish first brought cattle to the New World
500 years ago.
(music)
Only the finest males are allowed to breed.
(mooing)
(music)
Castration for the rest is quick.
(mooing)
And followed by an antibiotic spray.
(mooing)
In just over an hour, all 30 calves are done
and ready to get back out on the range.
(music)
They were introduced from Scotland in 1873
for the quality of their meat.
(music)
Now in Texas, more than 20,000 of these no-bother bovines
live out on the range.
(mooing)
There are dangers out here,
but not all the perils on the ranch are outdoors.
Some are close to home;
too close.
(music)
(music)
(horse neighs)
Nature kindly tags some of her most dangerous creatures
with a warning color.
And these red flags don't come much brighter
than the back of the dreaded black widow spider.
(music)
And there's nothing her own size that this lady fears.
Sure, she's only an inch in length,
but her venom is 15 times more toxic
than that of a rattlesnake.
(music)
When you're queen of your own domain,
you don't have to give a damn about keeping a tidy house.
Her web is not organized,
not neat or well-structured.
It is the erratic artwork of a serial killer.
But what it lacks in style, it makes up in strength.
Her sticky silk thread is stronger
than any other spider's on the planet.
It doesn't have to be beautiful to achieve its objective.
This insect is oblivious
to the danger that lurks just a breath away.
The black widow may not even realize
that a potential victim is so close!
Her eyesight is poor.
But a disturbance in the web alerts her to the catch.
The grasshopper doesn't realize it,
but he's swiped a single strand.
When he fidgets, he tugs on the strand.
It's like ringing a dinner bell.
When it vibrates enough, the black widow makes her move.
(music)
Her venom paralyzes her victim.
The insect is still alive,
but unable to move.
In a matter of seconds,
she turns him into one grasshopper wrap to go.
(music)
She can't eat a critter this big whole.
But her venom is already turning his insides to mush.
She'll dine on this sucker's liquefied internal organs
while it's still alive.
The black widow is North America's
most venomous spider.
And just one reason why it can seem like
everything on this range is out to get ya.
The iridescent scorpions.
The spikey lizards.
And of course, the snakes.
Prairie dog holes can down a galloping horse,
and circling vultures know the scent of death
is never far away.
Even the predators have to watch out
for needle-sharp plants.
But that's just how the cowboys out here like it.
Life with an edge.
Being a ranch hand is not for everyone;
it's one of the more dangerous jobs in America.
But with that risk comes a special kind of reward.
No computers, no desks.
Barely a word.
Just a big sky
and the smell of a horse.
(moo)
When the cows are back on their way,
and the trailers are headed for home,
there's a down-home sense
that a job worth doing was well done.
And it will remain a wild kind of life
for generations to come.
A powerful river...
(music)
has carved a keyhole...
...into a mountain.
(bear growls)
Now, unlock its secrets.
Life here is full of twists and turns.
Crafty creatures must navigate incredible extremes.
They run.
They hide.
They even scream.
(whistling)
Whatever it takes to survive a Texas summer...
in Big Bend.
(music: America the Beautiful)
(music)
Texas is famous for big stuff.
But few things are bigger than Big Bend.
It's one of the largest protected areas of its type
in the Lower 48.
A national park and an international border.
(music)
It can be beautiful and blistering.
(music)
Summer has just begun.
The desert temperature soars to more than 100 degrees.
(music)
So, the last thing you expect to find...
is a fur coat.
(music)
Yet here, aside the Chisos Mountains,
there are three of them.
Big Bend bears are year-rounders.
It never gets cold enough in winter
for them to truly hibernate.
And now, as summer kicks in,
this black bear mama takes her twins higher
into the cooler mountain air for a little relief.
(music)
(music)
Just as well.
She smells something below.
Trouble.
(music)
A male moves into the area.
And males have been known to attack cubs
that aren't their own.
(music)
Everyone's on high alert.
(music)
(music)
But his heart is set on a vegetarian breakfast.
The sweet green leaves of an acacia will do just fine.
(music)
The shade of a tree is another way to beat the summer heat.
(music)
And he'll happily dine in this Big Bend restaurant all day.
(music)
(music)
There's enough real estate to have lots of options.
(music)
The Big Bend, in the west of Texas,
gets its name from a giant 100-mile curve
of the Rio Grande.
(music)
On both sides of the border here,
more than 2 million acres of parks and protected lands.
The centerpiece on the U.S. side is Big Bend National Park.
Stunning creatures and landscapes
are easy to see by day.
(music)
But for its most beautiful feature,
the sun must set.
(music)
(music)
That's when spectacular landscapes make way.
(music)
For North America's famous starscapes.
(music)
Big Bend is one of the darkest regions in the United States,
and it has the least amount of light pollution
of any national park in the Lower 48.
(music)
In an urban area,
you might only see a few hundred stars at night.
In Big Bend, under the same conditions,
you can see a few thousand.
No telescope required.
Night takes the edge off the summer heat.
(music)
This is when the savvy creatures get to work.
(music)
The grasshopper mouse.
Think he's cute?
Don't be fooled.
He is here for toil and trouble.
Like a villain in a Shakespeare play,
he plots a murder most foul.
(music)
He earned his den by killing its former owner,
a kangaroo rat.
Now he's out for more blood.
Greens and grains only amount to one percent of his diet.
He prefers meat.
He's smaller than a pet hamster,
but ready to feast on prey five times his size.
He'll even eat other mice, but insects are his favorite.
(music)
(music)
A dish fit for the gods.
(music)
He's immune to venom,
so he'll even attack millipedes and scorpions.
(music)
But not all scorpions defend themselves with a sharp tail.
This is a whiptail scorpion.
The mouse sees no dagger before him here.
So he charges in.
(music)
But not so fast.
A near-invisible spray covers him in a foul smell.
(music)
The whiptail scorpion is also known as a vinegaroon,
named after the vinegar-like acid
it discharges when attacked.
(music)
The mouse gives up on that meal
and does his best to get rid of the odor.
(music)
(music)
He's a solitary predator
and highly protective of his large territory.
His kingdom is a whopping five acres.
It's not marked out by borders.
But this Macbeth of a mouse must warn challengers
to stay away from his throne.
So, he does something most extraordinary.
A Midsummer Night's Scream.
(whistling)
Here in Big Bend, Texas,
they also call grasshopper mice werewolf mice.
(squeak)
It's easy to hear why.
(squeak)
The howling lets other male mice
know who's boss around here.
(squeak)
Other manly mice better stay back.
(music)
The ladies?
Well, that's another story.
(squeak)
(music)
(squeak)
This Romeo's howl is also an invitation for a Juliet.
(squeak)
(music)
(squeak)
They romance in the cool of the night.
(music)
And rest with the rising sun.
(music)
(music)
The summer sun again kicks into high gear.
In this desert landscape,
it sheds light on a glint of color.
(music)
These little dots are not much bigger than pinheads.
But what they lack in size they make up for in number.
There can be as many as 500 on a single leaf.
And inside each one,
a little miracle prepares for its desert debut.
(music)
It's a lot of work.
And now this is one very hungry caterpillar.
(music)
Its life from here follows the path of a familiar memoir,
'Eat, Pray, Love.'
Stage one: eat.
(music)
In just the first few weeks of life alone,
a caterpillar can consume its body weight in food.
(music)
A special middle gut section
helps it absorb nutrients at a rapid rate.
So it never has to stop eating.
(music)
Across the plains of Big Bend,
spikey marauders tackle their favorite green plants.
(music)
Leaf and stem.
It's a week-long munch fest.
(music)
After eat,
life-stage two:
pray.
It's now one thousand times its original size.
About as big as a baby carrot.
This one attaches itself to a blackfoot daisy plant
and adopts a meditative pose.
On the outside it seems almost frozen.
But on the inside, transformation.
Its outer layer becomes old baggage.
No longer needed.
(music)
Its new outer layer grows hard.
This is its chrysalis shell.
And after ten days or so,
it's time for the revival.
(music)
And then...
finally...
hallelujah.
(music)
At last, Big Bend, Texas, gets a splash of color.
(music)
A butterfly.
(music)
It's called a painted lady, and she lives up to her name.
(music)
Now, finally,
life stage three: love.
Her spectacular wings are wet and crumpled.
It'll take roughly 12 hours of drying
before they can carry her to other plants.
That's where she'll use her curled proboscis like a straw
to suck up nectar and stay strong.
(music)
Then, somewhere in Big Bend, she'll find a mate,
a male that looks just like her,
and she'll lay their eggs.
From here, she and her buddies on nearby plants,
only have two weeks of life to get it all done.
Time to fly.
(music)
(music)
There's another lightweight flyer here
who must contend with summer's heat.
This is the black-chinned hummingbird.
She weighs just one-tenth of an ounce.
Much of her mass comes from her well-developed chest muscles,
and that's no surprise.
She needs them to achieve a feat
that seems to defy logic.
She beats her wings at least 50 times every second.
It's that rapid rate that creates the humming sound
that gives these birds their name.
(humming)
She's one of 14 species of hummingbird in Big Bend.
The magnificent hummingbird is one of them.
So, too, is the largest species in North America,
the blue-throated hummingbird.
He's twice the weight and beats his wings at half the rate.
(music)
But for us to best see
how they all operate and interact with each other,
we have to slow them down to a more human speed.
(music)
Now, with the help of high-speed cameras,
one wing-beat a second instead of 50 or more.
The rapid rate allows them to buzz the desert,
and each other.
The males have the splashes of color.
The females tend to be larger.
By hovering and diving, they can flirt...
...or fight.
Even poop.
Their hearts race five times faster than our own.
And they must breathe 250 times a minute;
even more when flying.
It's an aerial dance for much of the day
and into the cool of the night.
Sometimes cool and wet.
All day the sun's heat has radiated off the desert floor.
Now, near dusk, summer winds bring in moist eastern air.
The reaction is intense.
A combination promises a thunderstorm.
(thunder)
In a big, open desert, you can see the weather coming.
(thunder)
The rains here are monsoonal.
(music)
In just a few hours, a tenth of an inch of summer rainfall.
A thirst-quenching downpour.
May through September is the rainy season here.
Flash floods are common.
(music)
In high rocky areas, pools of water become an invitation
for a drink.
A neighborhood block party.
A cast of desert characters RSVP: yes.
(music)
(music)
(sniffing)
(music)
The party continues both day...
and night.
(music)
For as long as the refreshments remain.
(music)
These topside soirees are only part of the story.
(music)
Another miracle of nature is afoot.
A creature that crashes parties from below the water line.
And it has to be seen to be believed.
In the heart of Big Bend, Texas,
these Couch's spadefoot toads have hibernated underground
for the majority of their lives,
sealed in a moist bubble of homemade slime.
The sound of summer rain rings like an alarm clock,
and at night they hit the pool
for a frenzy of froggy friendin'.
(croak)
(music)
It's speed dating only.
They've gotta hook up fast.
This water may not last long.
(music)
The females lay around 3,000 eggs.
(music)
Which will hatch into tadpoles within 36 hours.
That's faster than any tailless amphibian in North America.
(music)
(music)
In as little as nine days later,
they'll transform into mini spadefoots.
(music)
(music)
These seasonal puddles are for the little guys.
(music)
There's much bigger fish to fry
within the year-round waters of the Rio Grande.
(music)
It's a monster...
that has few natural predators.
He can live to be 20 or more summers old.
And in all that time, he'll never stop growing.
(music)
(music)
It's a blue catfish,
one of the largest species of catfish in North America.
His feelers aren't made of hair, like cat whiskers,
but skin filled with smell and taste sensors.
(music)
They help him find food in the murk.
Shellfish, plants, frogs,
even other fish.
With a steady diet,
these whoppers can get to five feet in length
and can weigh up to 100 pounds.
(music)
(music)
But not everyone in this desert needs water.
(music)
And some creatures like it hot.
After a cold winter's night,
they relish the first bursts of summer sunshine.
This bird has adapted to make the most of it.
He has dark patches of skin on his back
that act like solar panels and warm his little body.
You may not recognize him up here in a branch.
But on the ground, there's no mistake.
(music)
This is a roadrunner.
He can fly.
But he prefers to beep-beep at ground level.
This is where he's a most effective hunter.
Roadrunners can hit speeds close to 20 miles an hour.
Add to that a sharp beak,
and he becomes a road warrior.
And why does he cross the road?
Finally, there's a good answer to the age-old question.
In Big Bend, Texas, a roadrunner crosses the road
for one good reason...
(music)
A picnic.
(music)
In summer, the Big Bend campground
produces all sorts of tasty morsels.
Campers leave scraps, which attract insects and grubs.
(music)
The goodies lure in another predator.
Much bigger.
(music)
Wily coyotes really are the roadrunner's enemy number one.
(music)
If he's caught, he's through.
(music)
(music)
So, this roadrunner zips back to the desert.
He's more at home in Big Bend's dry areas anyway.
He can live out here without drinking water.
Glands in front of his eyes
excrete excess salt from his blood.
This way he gets the most
from every drop of moisture in his body.
(music)
The coyote is not scaring everyone away.
Some big, hog-like hombres
also like the smell of those campground cookers.
(music)
These are javelina.
Also called collared peccaries.
(music)
But don't be fooled by their looks;
they're not part of the pig family.
Javelina have fewer toes than pigs,
straight canine teeth,
and no gallbladder.
They eat, sleep and care for their young
in groups of around 14.
Unlike most herd animals, it's gals and guys year-round.
To bond as a group, they rub and nuzzle each other
around their scent glands;
another feature they have that pigs lack.
Their stomachs are far more complex than a pig's
and tough enough to digest cactus.
The lead male follows his snout to find food and predators.
(music)
Coast is clear.
Safe to bring in the family.
(music)
It's a single-file search for any spoils.
(music)
The biggest male is always king of the clan.
But other males can stay
as long as they acknowledge his rule.
And they do so in the most extraordinary way.
In Big Bend, Texas,
male peccaries can stay with their group
as long as they show some respect
for the leader of the realm.
So, like a servant in the court of a medieval king,
sometimes they eat on bended knee.
This shows his majesty
they know their place in the peccary pecking order.
(music)
Summer brings another regular visitor.
(buzzing)
Flies.
One of the largest out here is the Mexican cactus fly.
They're the helicopters of the insect world.
(buzzing)
The swarms would be much worse but for one thing.
Where there are flies, there are also fly catchers.
(music)
The vermillion flycatcher also catches the eye.
(music)
He likes the arid scrubland and its yummy insects.
(music)
The females are here, too.
But less flashy.
While the male spends about 90% of his day on a perch,
waiting for passing prey, this female gets to work on a nest.
(music)
He will be there for her when she needs him.
(music)
He'll bring her food about every 90 minutes
for a full two weeks
while she incubates their eggs.
(music)
(music)
It's been a good summer season for new life in Big Bend.
(music)
The bear cubs have grown
and made it through their first summer.
That's a boon for Big Bend.
Black bears were all but wiped out
by hunting and habitat loss in the 1930s.
But with protection, they're coming back.
(music)
These little cubs boost the population to around 40 bears.
(music)
With summer winding down,
they can come down from the mountains without overheating.
(music)
But getting down can be harder than getting up.
(music)
Soon the youngins will have to work out
such puzzles by themselves.
No choice.
The end of their first summer means no more milk from mom.
They'll stick with her for another six months or so
and enjoy her warmth.
But if they're not gone by around 16 months of age,
mom will chase them away.
Into the wide open spaces of Big Bend.
(music)
There are no free passes here.
Every creature must find its own way.
And learn how to escape the heat.
Perhaps in the river.
On the mountaintops.
Or maybe...
(thunder)
...under the summer rains.
Life is here...
(whistling)
...if you know where to look.
(croak)
(music)
And thrives...
in a land called Big Bend.
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