Original subtitles

Africa's only penguin

A doting parent, fighting the odds to raise a family.

Threatened on all sides,

these charismatic birds have found a refuge

at the southern tip of the continent.

Taken to the brink of extinction by humans,

and now being brought back.

Battered by the surf.

Hunted by sharks and seals.

This male penguin has been at sea for months.

He's exhausted, unsteady on his feet.

Now he's returning to one special place.

A safe haven in a protected bay.

Far away from the threats that have seen African penguin numbers

plunge from millions to just 25,000 breeding pairs.

Somewhere on this barren rock,

his mate is waiting for him at their nesting site.

Now, as summer ushers in a new breeding season,

the couple face a monumental task:

raising a family.

If they are to get a healthy chick into the ocean,

raising it from the egg until its first swim,

they'll have to be totally dedicated, and physically tough.

But in the safety of Algoa Bay,

the odds are being slowly shifted in their favor.

The southern coast of the African continent rises slowly eastwards

in a series of broad sheltering bays.

In Algoa Bay, vast dune fields trace a majestic shoreline.

This is part of the Addo Elephant National Park,

world-famous for sheltering Africa's giants.

It's a huge area,

almost 700 square miles.

But out in the bay,

two tiny islands are offering a vital refuge for the penguins.

From the air they don't look like much.

St Croix, just 700 yards long,

is a rocky outcrop almost devoid of vegetation.

On the eastern edge of the bay,

Bird Island is more generously covered in scrub.

But it's a low, exposed place,

at its highest point just 20 feet above sea level.

Its low profile and dangerous submerged rocks

wrecked many ships before an iconic lighthouse was built in 1852.

And yet for the African penguin,

these inhospitable islands are a lifeline.

Half of the planet's remaining African penguins live in this bay.

Their dwindling numbers seem insignificant

next to the vast colony of gannets with which they share their home.

Penguins and gannets are uneasy neighbors,

but the island's geography keeps them apart:

gannets nest on open ground

while penguins need the shelter of the low scrub.

When they do cross each other's path, tempers flare.

But the biggest fight here is not personal.

It's the fight for survival.

And here in Algoa Bay, the African penguin is making its stand.

Penguins may seem out of place in the heat and dryness of Africa.

But these sea birds have adapted to this continent for two major reasons:

these waters are cold, and full of deep-water fish.

Anchovies are their staple,

comprising over 90% of their diet.

To top-up, they also feast on sardines, horse mackerel and fish larvae.

But food and cold water

are only part of the reason they've settled in Algoa Bay.

Most seabirds nest on the ground,

which leaves them vulnerable to land-based predators.

To solve this problem,

they generally nest on islands free of dangerous mammals.

The two islands in Algoa Bay provide a perfect haven.

But they couldn't save the penguins from one unique land-based hunter:

humans.

More than a century ago,

this island was not a sanctuary

but rather a killing field.

In the 19th century,

Merchants scoured the islands of Southern Africa

for a valuable new commodity,

guano - sea bird excrement.

Huge numbers of penguins were displaced and slaughtered.

Today, traces of this occupation are everywhere.

Now, in the shadow of these structures,

the penguins go about their daily routine.

As couples reunite to breed,

that routine is the business of building a nest and starting a family.

The breeding season has begun in earnest on the colony.

Around the rocky shore of Bird Island,

penguins are going in search of their long-term partners

after months apart.

They know where their mate is waiting.

They don't have to rush.

Their rendezvous is the place they built their nest last year.

Many believe that penguins mate for life,

but new theories suggest that they're faithful to their nesting site

rather than a specific partner.

This is an experienced pair.

They've come together at this site for a few seasons,

and they know what to do.

They waste no time starting work on a new family.

Romance takes a back seat.

It's a clumsy affair.

But not everyone has a mate.

For singletons, it's time to enter the noisy world of penguin dating.

It's believed that males win over females with their raucous braying squawk -

a sound that earned the bird its original name of Jackass Penguin.

Penguins seem to choose mates that are roughly the same size as them.

Once they've found a potential partner,

they get more tactile,

touching beaks together and enjoying more physical contact.

If the courting goes well, they'll pair up,

ready to build a nest and start a family.

Making a home on this rocky ground is not easy.

The African Penguin prefers to nest in burrows

that it creates by digging with its beak and scraping with its feet.

Once, Bird Island was carpeted in a deep layer of ancient guano,

and penguins could tunnel into its spongy surface with ease.

But when the guano was stripped away, their burrows went with it.

Now, they make their nests on the rocky surface

out of whatever materials they can gather.

On Bird Island that's mostly grass and twigs.

They're dedicated builders, but it can be awkward work.

Their bodies are designed for swimming, not construction.

Some of them also seem to have trouble figuring out the basics of nest-building.

Assembling a home at sea seems overly ambitious.

And for some new nesters,

remembering where you left your mate can be tricky.

It's a long process for beginners,

sometimes taking several weeks.

For one, a large tussock is a great find.

As soon as it's delivered, it's added into the nest.

A difficult job is made easier when you do it together:

building the nest strengthens the bond between new couples.

Once their nest is completed,

they'll spend their time mating and taking turns to fish.

It will take time for their clumsy efforts to be rewarded with a clutch of two eggs.

Low tide reveals an important site on the island: the old slipway.

Once, launches and dinghies were dragged up and down this concrete ramp.

Today it serves more feathery traffic,

providing the penguins with easy access to the ocean in any weather.

For those returning from long, exhausting expeditions in rough seas,

it's a welcoming gateway to the island -

a smooth, gentle slope

rather than the sharp rocks on the other sections of the shore.

For those about to depart,

it's a place to wash off the dust of the nest and to preen.

This cleaning ritual is not just cosmetic.

Penguins need to have waterproof coats to survive the cold ocean.

To ensure that their diving suits are in good shape for an extended fishing trip,

they pause here to spread oil from a special preen gland near the base of their tails

all over their bodies.

Preening and bathing can take up to an hour -

all the while watched by curious eyes.

Young penguins loiter here, watching the comings and goings,

waiting for their molt to finish so that they too can go fishing.

It's been suggested that these youngsters are doing what other young seabirds do:

gathering important information.

They watch to see which adults are in the best condition.

The fatter and glossier the adult, the better it is feeding.

But inexperienced youngsters can overstep the mark with adults.

For juveniles that get in the way of tired hunters or preening rituals,

a flipper slap puts them in their place.

The slipway is a penguins-only club:

a gannet makes the mistake of venturing onto their turf and is attacked.

The penguins are hostile, but careful.

An adult gannet's beak is vicious and can do a lot of damage.

This male is back from the hunt.

He's exhausted, but eager to get back to his family as fast as he can.

His family is pleased to see him.

Each reunion is serenaded with a greeting.

A call that is as unique to that couple as a fingerprint.

This recognition ritual is a form of greeting

and a way of strengthening the bond between parents.

But when it goes wrong,

there are tough consequences.

One returning male fails to perform it properly.

She's having none of it.

Their single chick is hungry,

but she's not allowing him to feed it.

She puts her beak between him and the chick.

He attempts another tactic:

when she looks away, he tries to sneak his chick a meal,

but she stops it at once.

Her message is clear:

either you say hello properly, or you're sleeping somewhere else tonight.

All across the colony, chicks put on a desperate show of begging,

but they won't go without.

The returning parent has brought back plenty of undigested fish in its stomach,

and it regurgitates this food until the chicks are satisfied.

Almost no food is lost during feeding.

The beaks of the parent and the chicks fit together closely, preventing spillage

and giving the growing chicks every morsel of food the parent has brought home.

These two chicks are lucky:

their size and health reveal that their parents are excellent hunters.

It's a scene playing out around the island.

And now, as the penguin's breeding season reaches top gear,

it's not only they that are raising families.

The middle of Bird Island is a vast metropolis of gannets,

the largest gathering of this species in the world.

Their breeding season is coming to an end.

Thousands of pairs have successfully raised chicks,

and many of these juveniles are still here,

gingerly testing out their new wings as they learn to fly.

They'll need to learn well.

Soon they'll head far out to sea to hunt,

dive-bombing their prey in a spectacular display of aerobatic skill.

For gannets, laying only one egg is an all-or-nothing venture.

Failure means a wasted breeding season.

For penguins, laying two eggs increases their odds of success.

If there's plenty of food and two strong, healthy parents,

it's possible that both chicks will survive to fledge.

But in this harsh world,

two eggs are as much about insurance as they are about abundance.

The chicks will hatch a few days apart,

and the bigger and stronger of the two will be favored at feeding time

since it's able to beg more vigorously.

The smaller sibling pleads for food,

but no one is listening.

Born to be a spare,

it is unlikely to survive.

The parents may be affectionate with each other.

the chicks may look well-fed and satisfied.

The domestic routine may look calm and orderly.

But underlying this all,

is the harsh reality that every single hunt

may be the difference between life and death for the chicks.

The demand for food is never-ending.

and it's only going to get more urgent.

As chicks grow, their need for food increases.

Unable to hunt for themselves until after they molt into their juvenile plumage,

they rely on their parents to catch ever-larger meals for them.

Eventually both their parents have to go out to sea,

leaving the hungry chicks to huddle together.

These makeshift nurseries are a safe space for the chicks.

The parents are heading down the slipway and turning due east

where the good hauls of anchovies usually are.

Their chances are good.

Once, they had to compete with human fishing fleets.

But now a 12-mile exclusion zone around the islands

means that the penguins have a shorter swim to larger shoals of fish.

Still, it's a nine-mile trek to their feeding grounds,

and fishing trips can last anything between 2 hours and 2 or 3 days.

Agile swimmers, they can reach a top speed of around 12 miles an hour.

As clumsy as she is on land, she's now in her element.

She dives, pumping her flippers against the darkening water,

speeding down to over 200 feet in a few seconds.

She's looking for where the fish are gathered,

maneuvering herself to be under her prey.

And once she's in position, she attacks.

She gorges herself, also eating for her chicks.

Once she's eaten what she needs to sustain her until the next hunt,

she slows her digestive system down

so that anything she eats will stay mostly undigested

and regurgitated almost fresh when she gets back.

Outside of breeding season,

they can spend weeks or even months away from land

During this time they avoid making landfall,

preferring to sleep at sea.

Now though, there are families to feed and partners to be reunited with.

Usually these couples would greet each other and then swap places.

But today's catch has been good,

and tonight the family can remain together for longer than usual,

bonding and sharing some quality time.

It's a rare moment of togetherness.

The demands of survival

can wait a few hours tonight.

The calm is short-lived.

The next afternoon, high tide pounds the island.

At the slipway, the surf is a major challenge.

Those heading out to fish have to time their dive.

Once they're in the water, they still have to climb the mountainous breakers.

For those returning from the ocean, a trickier problem.

They've been swimming for many hours, using their feet and legs only as rudders.

Now, trying to stay standing on those wobbly feet and legs is a struggle.

Some play to their strengths:

too tired to fight the surf,

this penguin turns back into it and lets it carry him ashore.

The surf is also causing a problem for one young gannet.

Thousands of chicks are hatching and learning to fly.

Not yet adept at getting airborne,

this juvenile has spent too long being drenched by the waves.

s feathers are soaked and heavy,

making flight even more difficult than before.

Exhausted and disorientated by the battering waves,

its chances of survival are slim.

On land, without a breath of wind, he heat is becoming intolerable.

Penguins can drink seawater,

thanks to a special gland that expels the salt out through their nostrils.

They aren't thirsty, but they are overheating,

stuck as they are on their nests.

Covered in fat and feathers evolved to keep them warm in cold water,

their only strategy against the heat is to turn their backs to the sun

and to pant in an effort to cool down.

Some parents try to shield their chicks from the sun.

Other chicks have nowhere to hide and pant alongside their parents.

For some new parents, sitting in the heat is unbearable.

An abandoned nest, evidence of the brutal conditions in summer.

It's an unforgiving landscape as the sun beats down on it,

but it wasn't always this way.

Once, the penguins of Algoa Bay

dug deep burrows in the guano that covered Bird Island.

These shelters were cool in summer,

warm in winter, and free from flooding -

a perfect home in which to raise chicks.

But in the mid-19th century, everything changed.

An industrializing world discovered that guano was not only a superb fertilizer

but also a good source of saltpeter, a key ingredient in gunpowder,

and suddenly the race was on to harvest as much guano as possible.

The major powers scoured the planet for deposits of the white gold.

The U.S. Congress even passed an act in 1856,

allowing American citizens to take possession of any land anywhere if it contained guano,

as long as it wasn't owned by another country.

Soon, the Rush reached southern Africa,

and on islands right around the coast,

deposits of guano dozens of feet thick,

built up over thousands of years,

were hacked off and shipped away, leaving only bare rock.

It was a blow to the penguins of Africa,

but worse was to come.

As more people moved into the new colonies, they needed food and fuel -

and so they used penguins as both.

Huge numbers of eggs were collected to eat,

and thousands of adult birds were incinerated as fuel,

their fat-laden bodies and oily feathers making them easier to burn

than damp coastal wood.

The Guano Rush collapsed as quickly as it had started,

And the buildings on these islands were abandoned to the penguins - and the brutal climate.

As temperatures soar and hungry chicks endlessly beg for food,

the breeding colony becomes a place of short tempers and snapping beaks.

Suddenly, a commotion.

An intruder.

A young gannet has managed to get airborne in the windless sky,

but it has crash-landed in the worst possible place:

in the middle of the penguin colony.

It's bewildered, unsure of where to go -

and unaware that it's in mortal danger.

On all sides, angry penguins snap at the outsider.

These parents are unwilling to leave their nests.

The gannet can stay out of reach of their beaks.

But its luck has run out.

In a cruel twist of timing, the hunters have returned from the bay.

They see the intruder, dangerously close to their nests, and attack.

Stunned, bleeding, and overwhelmed by the vicious onslaught of the penguins,

the juvenile doesn't try to flee or defend itself.

The penguins will not relent.

This gannet's first flight will also be its last.

A family waits anxiously.

At last, a familiar figure makes its way towards the nest.

But something is wrong.

This parent has survived an attack by a shark.

Neither makes a recognition call.

The sitting parent looks away.

With one parent wounded, they will not be able to feed their chicks.

For this family, breeding season is over.

Heat, hunger, and the dangers of the deep have all taken their toll.

But now another threat is looming over the Indian Ocean:

bad weather is rolling in.

The temperature plunges.

A few hours ago, the islands were baking in the heat.

As soon as the storm hits, they become chilling expanses of mud.

The cold and the wet are lethal for the chicks.

Water soaks the youngsters that have not yet grown their waterproof coats.

Older chicks are too big for their parents to shelter them from the weather.

Soaked to the skin and exposed to the cold,

chicks begin to succumb to hypothermia.

A small, weaker chick hasn't survived the cold snap.

More cold fronts and more baking hot days will follow

as the breeding season extends through summer and into autumn.

Chicks will continue to die in the extreme conditions.

But where they can, conservationists are hand- rearing starving or abandoned chicks.

As numbers continue to decline in other penguin colonies on the African coast,

the penguin population of Algoa Bay is keeping steady.

Chicks, however, are not the main prize.

More valuable than chicks are breeding pairs of adults.

A dead chick is a setback,

but a breeding pair can produce many more in the years to come

if they are protected.

To help them, conservationists have begun installing artificial nests on Bird Island.

These cement half-pipes don't flood,

and allow air to circulate on hot days.

Chicks are protected from the rain,

and eggs remain hidden from predatory gulls.

The strategy is working.

The couples that nest in these concrete homes have doubled their breeding success.

The fishing exclusion zone is also paying dividends for the colony.

Evidence suggests that when fishing fleets are kept further away, there's more food.

And the more food there is, the less stress there is on families.

This means that more chicks reach fledging age.

In fact, when food is plentiful,

scientists have observed penguins having two breeding attempts,

sometimes producing four chicks in the year -

a priceless asset to a colony that desperately needs to grow.

The next generation of penguins is on its way.

When they put out to sea,

the colony as a whole will have taken another small step away from extinction.

They will learn to fish and, hopefully, become skilled hunters.

When they mature, they will return here to find a mate and,

with luck, start a family of their own.

The African penguin is one of the continent's most charismatic birds.

Its survival hangs in the balance.

But here in Algoa Bay,

its island stronghold is slowly tipping the odds in its favor.

In time, the success n stabilizing their numbers here

might be replicated in other breeding colonies along the African coast.

African penguins are extraordinary characters of a wild ocean.

Devoted parents, raising their families in a harsh, often hostile, environment.

But here, in the protected expanse of Algoa Bay,

there is hope.

A refuge.

A stronghold.

A future for Africa's penguin.

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