Original subtitles

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The rains are late.

It's the most brutal time of year.

Babies born into drought, face starvation.

The weak and the injured are weeded out.

Everything is desperate for rain.

(Thunder rumbles)

When it finally arrives, it's a downpour

on an enormous scale.

Alien creatures emerge into a different world.

The wet season begins.

(♪♪♪)

It's the beginning of November in the Luangwa Valley.

Six and a half rainless months have parched the land,

sucking all moisture from the grass.

For a young elephant, the dry season

is the toughest time of year.

The herd must trek for up to 80 kilometers each day

to find enough food.

The experienced matriarch must ensure

her family's survival.

However far they travel, she always leads them back

to the river.

(Elephant groans)

It's the last source of water in the valley.

The only place to drink.

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)

They used their two-metre trunks to siphon water,

10 litres at a time before squirting it

into their mouths.

In this heat, it's welcome relief.

Relief from above seems imminent too.

Clouds begin to build and the skies get heavy

with the promise of rain.

(wind blowing)

(♪♪♪)

But the sun burns them off

and they vanish as quickly as they appear.

(Elephant groans)

(♪♪♪)

For the youngster, the rains can't come soon enough.

(♪♪♪)

He's still suckling and at this time of year,

it's much harder for his mother to produce the rich milk

he needs to keep up his strength.

Rain is desperately needed to bring a fresh burst of life

to the valley.

The Luangwa Valley is in the heart of Africa

cutting through Zambia's eastern wilderness.

Each year, it floods and dries in a natural cycle,

but this year is harsher than most.

El Nino has affected the weather worldwide

and in Zambia, it's turned the dry season

into drought.

Rains here usually come in late October.

They're two weeks late.

The Luangwa River is at its lowest in two decades.

There's been no rain here since April,

and if it doesn't come soon, the river could stop flowing

completely.

When resources are scarce, buffalos unite into mega herds

and descend on a diminishing river to drink.

The resident hippos are forced so close to each other

that up and down the river, tempers flare

and fights erupt.

(Hippos growling)

The consequences can be devastating.

(Hippo groans)

One fight has left this old bull with a broken leg.

His instinct is to keep eating.

He's unable to move far to graze.

He's losing weight fast.

Oxpeckers feast on his cuts.

They'll help clean his wounds, but the pain is too much

for him to bare.

Forced out of his lagoon home when it dried up,

and banished from the river, he's managed to find

a last tiny pool of stagnant water.

(♪♪♪)

He's reached the end of his journey,

but at least he has cool mud

to ease his last few hours.

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)

The midday sun beats down

pushing temperatures to 48 degrees.

The earth baked solid.

Leadwood trees bleach white in the glare.

Once grassy plains turned to dust.

There's no respite from the brutal sun.

But carmine bee-eaters seem to thrive in it.

Every year, tens of thousands of bee-eaters

come to the soft sand banks of the Luangwa River to breed.

Holding their beaks open, exposes their tongues

and helps them keep cool.

But they seem to go out of their way to sunbathe.

(♪♪♪)

These beach bums aren't just lounging around.

They're actually keeping clean.

One downside of living in a colony

is that parasites spread fast.

To keep them under control, carmines bask.

The heat of the sun keeps lice and mites active

and moving around the feathers.

Dust bathing helps dislodge them.

Letting grains of sand trickle between their feathers

and reach the skin is the bird's answer

to scrubbing their backs with a luffa.

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)

Bee-eaters spend 10 percent of their day doing pest control.

(♪♪♪)

In the stagnant pool, quelea quench their thirst.

But the hippo has breathed his last.

Scavengers soon find the carcass.

At this time of year, predators don't always need

to waste energy on a hunt.

These lions had the hard work done for him

by the drought.

The hippo weighs well over a ton even in his emaciated state.

But with the buoyancy of the water,

the lion has enough brute strength

to move his prize.

This lion is in his prime.

A six-year-old male

over 200 kilos of muscle.

The hippo's hide is five centimetres thick

but the lion's K9s are 10 centimetres long,

and make short work of opening the carcass.

His tongue is barbed, helping him scrape meat

from the bone.

The lion isn't alone.

These two are brothers.

A coalition that together control a group

of females and young known as the En Safu pride.

They're a team.

Their strengths and power more than doubled

by their alliance.

But they're not equals.

The dominant brother has the right to feed first

even though his sibling found the meal.

News of the carcass travels fast on the bush telegraph.

(Vulture squeals)

A hooded vulture is first on the scene.

It's one of the smallest African vultures,

easily able to maneuver into prime position

to pick up scraps.

The rest of the clean-up crew is quick to arrive.

White-backed vultures are larger

and much more numerous.

The lion can eat a quarter of his own weight

in one seating,

but he's had his fill and there's no need to gorge.

Dead animals are plentiful during the drought.

It's the moment the birds have been waiting for.

The white-backed vultures' strong-curved beaks

are well adapted to tearing flesh.

And just like lions, vultures have rough tongues.

This cerations help them scrape meat

from all the carcass's nooks and crannies.

But the vultures turn at the trough is interrupted

when the rest of the lions come to feed.

Over the coming days, the whole En Safu pride

gets a good meal.

Between lions and vultures, every available scrap

is devoured till there is nothing

but bones left to pick.

But not everyone is prepared to share.

One lion trumps 80 vultures.

The vultures crops are crammed with carrion.

These muscular pouches in their throats

can hold up to 20 percent of their body weight.

They'll need time to digest

before they can get airborne again.

The hippo is a casualty of the valley's savage drought,

but his demise has fed many mouths,

helping other animals survive.

Two weeks on and there's still no rain.

Relief must surely come soon.

(Elephant growls)

The elephants keep on moving.

It's hard for the little one to keep up,

but the herd is a close family.

His mother and aunts would never leave him behind.

It's been months since these elephants

have had a mud bath.

The closest thing they've got now is dust.

Like the bee-eaters, the sandy shower

helps remove parasites.

And also, gives them a bit of protection from the sun.

As they move on, the matriarch seems to sense

something.

Elephants can detect sounds at much lower frequencies

than humans.

(Thunder rumbling)

She's heard distant thunder.

The secret behind their super sense

lies in her feet.

Elephants effectively walk on their tiptoes

and have spongy pads of fat in their heels

which cushion their weight as they walk.

Natural shock absorbers.

They also pick up vibrations moving through the earth,

so the herd can detect distant sounds.

Elephants sort of do have their ears to the ground,

and they can hear thunder over a 160 kilometers away.

(Elephant trumpets)

Another family eagerly awaits the rains.

Vervet monkeys live in troupes of up to 70 animals

led by an alpha male.

They have one of the most varied diets

of any primate.

Eating anything they can find from fruits and seeds

to birds' eggs and lizards.

Even so, the dry season offer thin pickings.

They time their breeding, so females give birth

at the start of the rains when there's plenty of food

about.

But this year, they've been caught out.

On top of the punishing drought,

the rains are well overdue.

Food is hard to come by.

Newborn vervets are totally dependent

on their mothers.

They spend the first week of their lives

clinging to mom, and won't venture

further than two meters away until they're three months old.

But without rain to revive their larder,

these new moms are struggling to nurse

their babies.

This one is a first time mother.

Her inexperience means her little one

is at even greater risk of starvation.

(♪♪♪)

The drought has the Luangwa Valley

locked in a cruel embrace.

(♪♪♪)

Every tributary has run dry.

Empty galleys crisscross the parched land.

Their winding paths are a hollow reminder

of the water they once held.

An experienced old leopard known as Kamuti

uses the waterless ditches to sneak close to prey.

The dry season often works to predator's advantage.

The ground is now iron hard.

Every lagoon morphed into an expansive fired earth.

In the wet season, these water holes

are home to crocodiles.

As the land dries, they get stranded

sometimes several kilometres from water.

The only option is to head for what's left

of the river.

The Luangwa River has more crocodiles

than any other in Africa.

They bask on every bend.

The largest crocs are dominant but they tolerate each other

safe in a knowledge that they will all get a meal

sooner or later.

All kinds of prey come to drink at the shrunken river.

These tiny birds are quelea.

Like most animals here, they're drown to the last source

of water in the valley.

As the dry season progresses,

they coalesce into massive flocks.

(Brids chirping loudly)

By November, they gather in staggering numbers.

These super colonies can hold several million birds.

Each one weighs less than 30 grams,

but together a giant flock

can tip a scales at over 50 tons.

A mouthful of that is worth having.

Crocs ambush the drinking throng from the shallows.

But the birds' reactions are lightning fast.

(Water splashes)

In a split second, each responds

to its neighbors' movements and the whole mega flock

swerves as one.

(Water splashes)

(Thunder rumbles)

At long last, the clouds are ready to do more

than tantalize.

Thunder heads swell and blot out the sun.

(Thunder rumbles)

The rain is finally here.

(Lightening strikes)

(Water splashes)

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)

It's an enormous storm.

(Thunder rumbles)

Hour after hour, the rain just keeps on coming.

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)

After 20 hours of rainfall,

the skies finally begin to clear.

In the damp earth, something stirs.

Giant velvet mites make few visits to the surface.

They emerge for only a few hours each year

after the first rains.

Their scarlet coats of tiny fine hairs

warn predators to stay away.

They secrete foul tasting anti-fungal oils

that keep them clean underground.

At 12 millimetres long,

these are the largest mites in the world.

They're arachnids.

And like their spider cousins, have eight legs

and a pair of wicked fangs.

With no antennae, they use their front legs

to feel their way around this brave new world.

This is the only chance they have to feed and mate

before disappearing to their subterranean lairs

to wait out another year.

The rain has revitalized the valley.

Ponds appear in ever hollow in the ground.

(♪♪♪)

Water holes are everywhere.

(♪♪♪)

A terrapin takes his first look at the world in six months.

He's been estivating.

Sitting out the drought in a state of torpor.

A cold shower has woken him up.

Now, he needs a good long dip in a pool.

(♪♪♪)

Water at last.

He will search the shallows for mollusks and worms.

After such a long sleep, he needs a big breakfast.

(♪♪♪)

The rains may have dampened the ground,

but for some, they've ignited a spark

of passion.

(Wings flapping)

Winged termites take to the skies.

Thousands dance in the moonlight.

The air is thick with pheromones.

They're looking for mates.

Swarming is the only chance the termites get to meet

and mix with members of different colonies.

It shakes up the gene pool.

A few young males and virgin queens will pair up

and start new colonies.

But for most of the termites, this heady night of ecstasy

is their last.

(♪♪♪)

By morning, the new water holes are clogged with drowned lovers.

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)

For the vervets, the termite glut

is a feast.

The insects are packed with protein.

(♪♪♪)

The young mom can't get enough of them.

It's the best meal she's had for months.

Now, she and the other nursing mothers

will have plenty of reserves to keep producing milk

for their babies.

Everyone gets in on the act.

In the parched mopane forest, a transformation begins.

On every twig, new leaves sprout.

The trees dormancy is over.

The woodland yawns and stretches,

ready for a new season.

There are new shoots everywhere.

Seeds hidden in every crack and crevice have been poised

for this moment.

One massive rainstorm is all they needed.

In a matter of days, the desiccated land is reborn.

A flash of green sweeps across the valley,

and with new grass, come new grazers.

Ninety percent of impala moms give birth within two weeks

of each other just when the rains begin.

The new shoots contain lots of protein,

just what they need to suckle their young.

This little one is only about half an hour old.

His mom chose a secluded spot deep in the bush to give birth.

But she didn't bank on visitors so soon.

The faun's instinct is to stay hidden in the shadows.

But the boisterous baboons give him a fright.

It's as good a reason as any to take your first steps.

But stay close to mom.

His gangly legs take some getting used to.

He must build up his muscles.

One day these legs will be able to power

three-metre leaps that will help him escape

from predators.

New babies pop up everywhere.

This little giant was born yesterday

and is already two metres tall.

Within a couple of weeks, the valley is a different world.

The mopane wood is thick with foliage.

The plains are being replenished.

There's new grass everywhere.

And the river is no longer the only source of water.

Just one day of rain has rehydrated the valley.

But it's not good news for the En Safu pride.

(♪♪♪)

Buffalo can now spread out to forage and drink.

(♪♪♪)

The mega herd breakup and buffalo disperse

over hundreds of kilometres making it much harder

for the lions to hunt.

For the old leopard, Kamuti, times are tough.

The gulley she once used so ruthlessly to stalk her prey

is now full of water.

She has nowhere to hide.

Puku and impala can see her from far away.

(♪♪♪)

For Kamuti, the rains herald lean times.

(♪♪♪)

The tributaries are flowing again,

swollen streams rush to the river.

The Luangwa has been given a new lease on life.

It's beginning to refill.

For the hippos, the pressure is off.

With plenty of space, pods can spread out

and the stresses of the drought are forgotten.

The mood in the river relaxes.

But for the carmine bee-eaters, the race is on.

Now, the valley's rainy season has begun,

there'll be more storms coming.

They have about a month before the river

rises high enough to flood their burrows.

They must make sure their chicks fledge

before they lose their homes.

To catch enough prey, they venture further afield

to hunt.

They are quick to exploit the valley's new water pools.

They're not fishing but diving for aquatic insects.

Carmine bee-eaters share a few skills

with their kingfisher cousins.

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)

At long last, the elephants get their bath.

After one of the worst droughts in living memory,

the cool mud is a soothing balm.

Mud is one of an elephant's favorite things,

part sunscreen, part moisturizer.

All pleasure.

Not a scrap of their bodies is missed.

Trunks, toenails, tusks and tails.

Everything gets a coating of blissfully therapeutic mud.

(Water splashes)

The hamerkop takes advantage of insects

dugged up in the ploughed earth.

(Elephant trumpets)

(♪♪♪)

The matriarch's wisdom has brought her family safely

through another year.

For the young one, it's been the toughest year

of his life.

And he's made it.

He'll have plenty more dry seasons to face,

but by next year, he'll be a bit bigger

and a bit stronger.

He's ready to tackle what lies ahead

in the extraordinary Luangwa Valley.

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)