All language subtitles for National Parks USA.S01E04

Olympic National Park, the gem

of the Pacific
Northwest.

Along its 73 miles of
protected shorelines,

nutrient-rich waters
provide food and shelter

for a diverse
range of wildlife,

including a vital pit
stop for its largest

visitor, the gray whale.

On one of the longest
migrations on Earth,

from Alaska to
Mexico, gray whales

appear along the park's
coast twice a year.

Sheltered from
offshore predators,

a calf learns to feed
by watching her mother.

Suctioning up sediment
from the ocean floor,

she eats the critters
within, using a

comb-like structure
inside her mouth to

filter out the sand.

This subsequent churn
nourishes creatures

throughout these waters
and the forest above.

Contributing to
the constant

regeneration that fuels
a rich biodiversity

throughout Olympic
National Park.

From the coast, over
1 million acres of

temperate rainforest
sprawls inland.

Inside this lush,
secluded habitat,

an elusive creature
makes a rare appearance

for something
very Olympic.

Typically a night hunter,
today this bobcat

dares to break her cover,
gambling to strike gold.

Her keen ears pick
up every sound.

Like many felines,
she's not exactly

interested in a swim.

Instead, she patiently
stalks her prey,

awaiting the perfect
moment to strike.

To strike.

Avoiding a dip in the
river, she quickly

returns under the
forest cover,

stashing her prize.

But for the park's
most iconic titans,

getting their feet
wet is of no concern.

The Roosevelt elk,
the largest elk

in North America,
were the catalyst

for the creation of
Olympic National Park.

Sporting some of the
biggest antlers on Earth,

these impressive
behemoths can weigh

over 1,000 pounds.

Feeding on aquatic and
terrestrial plants,

they thrive on the
wealth of the forest.

Their constant grazing
gives the park

its manicured,
magical look.

As social creatures,
the females stick

together as a harem.

This bull's
high-pitched bugling

advertises his fitness
to the females.

Today, his prowess
discourages

any challengers.

As the largest
unmanaged herd in the

Pacific Northwest,
around 5,000 Roosevelt

elk roam here freely.

But it wasn't
always this way.

With their population
in dramatic decline,

in 1897,
biologist C.

Hart Merriam
named the species

Roosevelt elk after
his friend, Teddy

Roosevelt. And soon, that
friend gained the power

to save the species.

In 1909, after being
elected president,

Roosevelt established
Mount Olympus

National Monument,
forever safeguarding

the lands of his
namesake elk.

From this surprising
start, Olympic

National Park now
protects over

90 mammal and 300
bird species.

For more than a century,
the protected species

have been protected
by the Arctic,

the protected area
expanded to include

the coastline,
ancient forests,

and the ice-capped
Olympic Mountains.

With nearly 200
high-altitude glaciers,

part of the most
glaciated region

in the lower 48, it's
always winter here.

It starts atop the
towering Mount Olympus.

At nearly 8,000 feet,
up to 70 feet of snow

falls here each year.

Over time, the
snow compacts,

creating glaciers.

Here, since the Ice Age,
the up to 900-foot-thick

blue glacier
moves downhill

three feet per day.

As winter melts away,
glacial waters carry

finely ground
silt and clay.

Cumulatively, the
Olympic glaciers

can generate 35
million cubic meters

of water in a year.

Rushing downward,
these meltwaters

collect in hollows carved
by ancient glaciers,

creating the exquisite
Seven Lakes Basin.

Here, early risers
are on the hunt.

Emerging from six
long months of

winter inactivity,
this male black bear

is very, very hungry.

Despite the season's
slim pickings,

this ravenous omnivore
can eat whatever

pops up first, even
freshly sprouted

pine needles.

As he wanders across
the park, his feces

disperse undigested
seeds, assisting

an Olympic's perpetual
regeneration.

But to properly fatten
up for the year,

he has a lot more
eating to do.

As the thaw reaches
lower elevations,

visitors can enjoy
the spectacle as it

pours over Soul
Duck Falls, meaning

sparkling waters.

In the Quileute language,
the Soul Duck River

is Olympic's lifeline.

Over a mile beneath
glacier-capped peaks,

vegetation flourishes.

And the river raids,
constantly churning

Olympic's nutrient-rich
environment.

Here at the famous
Salmon Cascades,

a pantheon of the
park's Olympians

converge and enter
a grand arena.

In these wild waters,
every champion has

their specialty.

Some dive right
into action.

Others take a more
unexpected approach.

This American dipper
braves the Cascades,

because the river is
how she makes a living.

Dipping to hunt for
aquatic insects,

her transparent eyelids
let her see underwater.

And a movable flap
seals her nostrils,

earning these birds
their name, the

American dipper.

The trophy isn't
hers alone.

Despite the perilous
perch, her insulated nest

keeps the chicks warm
and safe from predators.

With four mouths to feed,
the job of raising kids

is never-ending,
which is why their

father sticks
around to help.

Despite being fish
out of water, the

steelhead trout are
in their element.

Springtime calls them
for a yearly ritual.

Able to survive both
salt and fresh water,

the steelhead swim
against the current

for one reason--
to spawn.

With 19,000 making
this run, this

remarkable event
attracts a lot

of attention.

But this river
otter isn't here

as a spectator.

She's here to compete.

Holding her breath for
eight long minutes.

Gets her the gold.

Olympics pristine
waters nourish the

park's diverse habitat.

A world this green and
lush exists here only

because of a
perfect confluence.

The secret of this
forest's abundance

lies just beyond
the trees.

Here, the humid
ocean air tempers

the freezing
northern climate.

Olympics coastal arm
along Washington

state's coastline
creates weather patterns

that characterize
this region.

Constantly rising
marine moisture

hits the rugged coastline
and moves inland,

encircling the
mountains and forests

of the park's interior
in dense waves of fog.

Up to 160 inches of
annual precipitation

makes Olympic America's
wettest national park.

This cocoon of moisture
fosters the only

temperate rainforest
in the lower 48.

Water absorbed by
this evergreen forest

is exhaled as vapor
with the sunrise,

constantly breathing
new life into the park.

At higher elevations,
spring is a

relative concept.

Frost-resistant
wildflowers burst

through the snow,
surviving by hugging

the ground and hanging
onto their moisture.

Some flowers don't
bloom until July.

With spring lasting
just a few weeks,

the business of
sprouting, budding,

blooming, and dying
has to be quick.

As do the creatures
that depend on them.

During spring, flowering
plants yield high

amounts of protein.

The abundance even
welcomes this

mother and her cubs
on their first

adventure in the open.

Atop Hurricane Ridge,
winds can reach

75 miles an hour.

One creature hacking
this elevated life,

the city grouse.

One of the largest
grouses in the country.

And she's not alone.

In a mere 13 weeks,
her chicks will

reach adulthood.

If they're lucky.

The American kestrel
often hunts in

groups from perches
that offer a

wide vantage.

Like a kite in the
air, she hovers.

Strike from a
stationary position.

Spotting the
danger above,

this mother

alerts the brood,
prompting them

to take cover.

The grouse catch a break.

Some chicks will stay
with their mother

into adulthood.

Others will strike
out on their own,

conquering short
flutters of success

in one of the
park's highest

altitude ecosystems.

At elevations of
4,000 to 6,000 feet,

life is an uphill battle.

Especially for one
unique creature.

Found nowhere else on
Earth, the Olympic marmot

carves out a narrow
niche up here.

Their piercing
shrieks signal the

arrival of spring.

After eight months
of hibernation

beneath the ice,
they take full

advantage of the thaw.

Spring means a
good house clean.

And a veritable buffet
at their doorstep.

They only have a few
months to fatten up,

doubling their
body weight to a

hefty 15 pounds.

Though a warming
climate threatens

these varied food
sources, for now,

these well-fed marmots
signal a thriving

ecosystem, which
they share.

But only when
they have to.

This marmot tries
to assert himself.

But the deer is unfazed.

To protect their
turf, someone

always stands guard to
alert the colony of

threats and invasions.

Deer are one thing,
but strangers

from other colonies
are another.

This means war.

At stake, the hills
coveted food.

But with higher
ground, this local

takes no prisoners.

Though ceding no
territory, the

marmot colony
must remain

eternally vigilant.

Abundant high
alpine meadows are

worth defending.

And at Olympic
shorelines, the wealth

of marine nutrients
hosts their own

noisy locals.

Harbor Seals, one
of the park's few

year-round coastal
residents, awaiting

the arrival of
Olympics annual feast,

they haul out without
much elegance.

Following a path
perfected by

their ancestors,
hundreds of thousands

of Pacific salmon
flood the park's

freshwater rivers.

With the gills that
regulate their salt

and water levels,
the salmon withstand

this dramatic sea change
from salt to freshwater.

Every year, they
travel up to 70 miles

upriver on a mad
dash to reach their

spawning grounds.

They face a gauntlet.

As the salmon
journey upriver,

the ravenous seals
hunt them from below.

Surveilling from up
high, bald eagles.

And picking over what's
left, the seagulls.

As one of the last
remaining salmon

runs in the lower 48,
this spectacle is

the lifeblood of
the park's rivers.

By bringing the ocean's
nutrients inland,

the salmon enrich
the whole of Olympic

National Park.

For over 14,000
years, this cycle

has supported the
humans here, too.

Native Americans
thrive off of these

very salmon runs,
including eight tribes

who maintain ties to
their ancestral homes

within the park today
and continue to

fight to protect
these sacred lands.

In the early 1900s,
two dams were erected

along the Elwha
River, decimating

the cycles of
life it nurtured

and depriving the
lower Elwha Klallam

tribe of their food.

To restore the
natural wealth of

their ancestral home,
they fought for 100

years, eventually
taking their case

to court and Congress.

They won.

In 2011, the Elwha
Dam came down,

the largest dam
removal of its time.

Three years later,
the Glines Canyon

Dam also fell.

Today, work to restore
native vegetation

to the recovering
area continues,

reviving the Elwha's
cycle of life.

The lower Elwha
Klallam tribe didn't

forget their ancestral
home here, and neither

did the salmon.

Returning to the
park's rivers in

historic numbers.

Those who survived
the journey upriver

will find their own
ancestral home.

Finally reaching her
birthplace, this

exhausted mother
readies a nest for

the next generation.

With teeth that emerged
just for mating rights,

the males fight
ferociously.

With her consent, the
victor approaches.

As she spawns thousands
of eggs, he fertilizes

them in unison.

For the adult
salmon, their life's

journey ends here.

As fuel for Olympic,
even the trees

absorb the fishes'
remains, fostering

the park's
regenerative ecology.

Here, life begins on
the forest floor.

Olympic sogginess
nurtures hundreds

of species of moss
that cover the

forest floor like a
carpet, storing water

and providing shelter
for organisms

to live and die.

With over
1,400 varieties,

the mushrooms

of Olympic National
Park administer

the cycles of
life and death.

Breaking down fallen
trees, they deliver

sustenance to the soil.

As nature's recyclers,
this rebirth

helps sustain more
animals than anywhere

else in the forest.

The eight-inch banana
slug also consumes

dead organic matter.

Its slime catches food,
and nutrient-rich waste

feeds the forest floor.

From these tiny
foundations, life

regenerates, giving
rise to this

complex ecosystem.

Olympics' rich
biodiversity also

yields a unique sonic
landscape, easily missed

in today's modern world.

But some locals
are listening.

Acoustic ecologist
Gordon Hempton

is on the hunt for
one of Olympics'

rarest phenomenons.

If you close your
eyes now and listen

to the world,
what do you hear?

Refrigerators,
air conditioners,

planes, noises
that disrupt

nature's acoustics.

Quiet places, free
of man-made sounds,

connect us to the land,
to our evolutionary past,

and to ourselves.

There is a place within
Olympic National Park

where silence takes over.

For 20 miles in
every direction,

you can hear natural
sounds, an incredible

auditory horizon
deep within the

whole rainforest.

I come here to
listen to the Earth.

Everything has a voice.

My hope is that by
encouraging others to

find natural quiet,
it will help us

become true listeners
and recognize one of

the most important and
endangered resources

on the planet--
silence.

Some voices here ring
louder than others.

Back at the colony,
summer means

feisty marmot pups.

Getting in each other's
face tells them

who's part of the colony.

Keeping the pups safe
requires never-ending

work on watch.

But Olympics'
ever-changing weather

makes this difficult.

For this juvenile
hawk, fog forms

the perfect cover.

With eyesight
eight times sharper

than us humans,

hawks can spot
their prey from 100

feet in the air.

But the colony
is on to him.

Mercifully, the
coast is clear--

for now.

For the young
animals downstream,

life has rather
immobile beginnings.

The eyed eggs of
these salmon embryos

spend their first three
months trapped in a

translucent bubble.

For weeks, any movement
is left up to the

whims of the current.

But eventually,
a breakthrough.

As a newly emerged alvin,
it's easy to get stuck

between a rock
and a hard place.

Their only means
of transportation

is a fierce wiggle.

Slowly, they absorb
nutrients from

their yolk sac.

Until-- their
mouths open

and their digestive
systems come online.

Finally free, these
young salmon begin their

journey out to sea.

But with just a 1%
chance of making

it to adulthood,
this journey is

a numbers game.

As they transition from
fresh to saltwater,

their very
biology changes.

But the salmon don't
forget their birthplace.

They will eventually
return upstream to

these exact same
rivers, carrying on

their life cycle.

As the salmon travel,
another secret

world reveals itself.

In Olympic's intertidal
waters, strange

creatures come
alive in spurts.

At low tide, they freeze.

These sea stars
halt, surviving in

the air for hours
with spiny skin

that holds water in.

High tide is go time.

The world comes
alive once more.

This constant
environmental churn

leaves many casualties
and opportunities.

Hundreds of hardy
species withstand the

daily ebb and
flow of Olympic's

intertidal zone.

Despite a rocky life,
lush kelp forests

and rugged sea stacks
provide food and

shelter for marine
wildlife year round,

including the return of
a giant for its second

annual appearance.

For as long as
these waters remain

rich and pristine,
the gray whale will

return, feeding
into Olympic's

perpetually regenerative
cycles of life.