All language subtitles for Earths.Great.Rivers.II.S01E03.Yukon.2022.1080p.BluRay.FLAC.x264-HANDJOB_track3_[eng]-eng

NARRATOR:
Earth's great rivers...

..make extraordinary journeys.

Carving through continents.

Feeding and connecting life.

Nurturing culture.

Providing a place for adventure.

From the frozen wilderness
of the Yukon...

..to the tropical heat
of the Zambezi...

..and the magical,
hidden worlds of the Danube.

Great rivers are the lifeblood
of planet Earth.

At the top of North America
is a legendary river...

..flowing through some
of the wildest country on Earth.

Relentless.

Immense.

For the First Nation people,
it's seen as the Great River.

The Giver Of Life.

Its natural riches
have long sustained all those

that live along its banks.

It gathers its waters...

..from vast ice fields...

..and great lakes...

..from mountain streams...

..and tundra plains...

..and brings life
wherever it touches.

It seems all-powerful,
but another force is at work here.

The cold of the Arctic winter.

When it strikes,
this river is transformed.

It becomes a river of ice.

A frozen highway,
upon which many will depend,

during the long, dark winter.

From icebound lifeline...

..to free-flowing giant.

This is the Yukon.

North America's great frozen river.

For 3,200 kilometres,
the Yukon flows in a great arc

through northwest Canada
and central Alaska to the Pacific Ocean.

Along the way, it gathers water
from 800 square kilometres of wilderness,

an area four times larger
than Great Britain.

But its story begins
deep in the coastal mountain ranges

of British Columbia.

The Juneau Icefield,

3,800 square kilometres
and over a kilometre deep.

The flood of summer meltwater
from these glaciers

fuels the Yukon on its journey
to the sea.

But this far north,
the seasons change quickly.

As autumn temperatures
plummet below zero,

the Yukon's tap turns off.

Soon, the entire river
is hidden beneath a shield of ice.

Despite the October chill,

one of the Yukon's remote
tributaries remains ice-free.

In Fishing Branch River,

thermal springs percolate
from deep underground,

warming the stream just enough
to keep it flowing.

It creates an opportunity for some
of the Yukon's toughest characters.

For weeks,

chum salmon have been battling
their way upstream from the Pacific.

Racing the freeze,
they have swum over 2,400 kilometres,

following a long-remembered scent
to reach their spawning beds.

On arrival, the females
excavate shallow scrapes,

or redds, in the gravel.

Around them, the hook-jawed males
tussle for prime position.

They need to be close
to fertilise the thousands of eggs

the females release
into their nests.

But spending so much time
in the shallows leaves them vulnerable.

Up to 40 grizzly bears
visit the creek

during the brief spawning season.

With air temperatures at 30 below,

wet fur quickly freezes,
coating the bears in frost.

These are the Yukon's ice bears.

Unique, because the late salmon run
means they can still hunt

when other grizzlies
are already hibernating.

These cubs may lack
the pioneering spirit.

Their mother certainly does not.

She keeps the first catch of the day
for herself.

Her cubs are hungry

and determined
not to miss out on breakfast.

They just need to find a way
across the river.

Too slow.

Mum's straight back in the stream...

..chasing a second breakfast.

When her direct attack doesn't work,
she gently paws the water,

encouraging the salmon
into the shallows

where they can be picked off.

If the fishing is good,
she will eat 30 kilos every day...

..feasting on the juiciest,
energy-rich parts,

like eggs and skin.

But as the salmon run dwindles,

even old fish heads
start to look appetising.

The bears need to put on
enough weight

to see them through the long winter.

After a hard day's fishing,
a good scratch helps them defrost.

Once the fish are gone,

even these tough ice bears
will retire to their dens

to bed down for hibernation.

As the northern hemisphere
faces away from the sun,

an intense cold
now settles along the Yukon.

Across northern Canada and Alaska,

the Yukon is locked away
beneath several metres of ice.

It will stay frozen
for six months or more.

Temperatures tumble to -50.

As winter blizzards
sweep along the Yukon Valley...

..the hard river ice
is blanketed by snow.

In a land with few roads,

the frozen river becomes a highway
through the forest.

DOGS BARK AND HOWL

And the skills needed
to run these ice roads

still flourish along the Yukon.

KYLA BOIVIN: I've been travelling
on the river my whole life.

NARRATOR:
Kyla Boivin is a dog-sled racer

and the frozen Yukon
is her racetrack.

KYLA BOIVIN: I like how it all changes
from mile to mile.

The land is so big.

It's the highway of the north, right?

NARRATOR: She's putting her top team
through their paces

along a section
of the Yukon Quest challenge...

..a sled race billed
"The Toughest on Earth".

It's a 1,600 kilometre test
of endurance and teamwork,

run between Whitehorse in Canada
and Fairbanks in Alaska.

Kyla has tackled this marathon
seven times...

..the first when
she was 18-years-old.

But now she rides
just for the thrill of it.

The race harks back to a time
when the frozen Yukon

was the only link between isolated
settlements and the outside world.

KYLA BOIVIN:
Temperatures can be 50 below.

You can have a blizzard
where it drops eight inches of snow

and the trail is gone.

There are spots
that are just windswept

and it's barren and it's like
the moon down there.

NARRATOR: Kyla is following
the same call of the wild

that drew the early pioneers
to the Yukon.

KYLA BOIVIN: You're only going to have
six hours of daylight in the winter, right?

In the deepest winter.

And when it's dark
you only see your head lamp beam.

That's not very far to spot trouble.

You are completely relying on
the dogs

and they are completely
relying on you.

And they're such
wonderful creatures.

They're my favourite creatures
on this planet, the sled dogs.

Definitely.

NARRATOR: Even today, life for a musher
and dog team out on the ice

is much the same
as in those pioneering days.

DOG BARKS

Some straw for the dogs
and a fire to melt snow for coffee

can make life
a little more comfortable.

It's bitter, 25 below.

Ooph.

They're good dogs.

Once they see the straw, usually,
these guys have camped a lot,

so they know straw means
we're staying awhile.

NARRATOR:
Despite the cold,

the frozen river is a lifeline
through these northern forests.

Even in deep midwinter,
lynx are on the prowl.

Using the windswept ice river

means they can avoid deep,
energy-sapping drifts.

Their huge furry paws
act as snowshoes...

..helping them move effortlessly
across soft snow.

Lynx are top predators...

..but a half-ton moose
is way out of their league.

They have something much smaller
in their sights.

Snowshoe hares can make up to 90%
of their winter diet.

But being a specialist hunter
brings its own problems.

Hare numbers rise
and fall dramatically

in regular 10-year cycles.

In years with few hares,
many lynx starve.

Even in good years,

pursuing such elusive prey
means covering many kilometres every day.

As they wander
these well-travelled highways,

lynx mark out their territories...

..with a squirt here...

..and a squirt there...

..leaving scent to help stake their
claim to a stretch of frozen river

and to advertise for a mate.

These chemical signposts
are the only way these loners

can keep in touch
in such remote country.

And this really is
North America's wild frontier.

Along the Yukon, there are
no big cities and few roads.

Only four bridges
span its 3,200-kilometre course.

Just 125,000 people
live in the entire Yukon Basin.

Close to the Alaska-Canada border,
650 kilometres east of Anchorage,

is one of the few riverside towns -
Dawson City...

..where the Yukon is joined
by its most famous tributary...

..the Klondike River.

Dawson sprang up almost overnight

after gold was discovered here
in 1896.

By the following year,

gold fever had lured
30,000 fortune hunters

to this remote river bank.

A lucky few struck it rich.

Most left empty-handed,

defeated by the Yukon's
crushing hardships.

In just a few years,
the gold petered out

and the rush was over
almost as quickly as it started.

But Dawson lived on,

a beacon of light
in a sea of wilderness.

One of the strangest reminders
of those wild times

can be found
in the Downtown Hotel saloon,

where the preserved frostbitten toe
of a Yukon prospector

has become the key ingredient
in a unique cocktail.

Taking the Sourtoe challenge
has become a rite of passage

for anyone who visits Dawson today.

And if you dare,
we can serve the toe.

Are you ready?

I guess so.

MAN:
You'd better be, cos here we go.

You can drink it fast,
you can drink it slow,

but your lips must touch
this gnarly toe.

Just your lips.

No teeth, no tongue, no tonsils.

Slainte.

Should I just do it?
— Oh.

MAN:
You got it.

WOMEN GROAN

MAN:
That was well done.

That was well done.

Perfect.

THEY LAUGH

NARRATOR:
Just when it seems the cold

will never release its grip
on the Yukon...

..there's a sign in the heavens
that change is coming.

The Aurora Borealis.

The Northern Lights.

These atmospheric light shows
often reach their peak

just as the Earth's orbit

swings the northern hemisphere
back towards the sun.

It marks a moment of transformation,

as new energy pulses
along the Yukon.

Rising temperatures and the stirrings
of long-dormant currents

open the first breaches
in the frozen river's defences...

..just in time to greet thousands
of noisy migrants to the Yukon.

Trumpeter swans have flown over
1,600 kilometres from southern Canada,

en route to their breeding grounds
further north.

Marsh Lake gives these huge birds
a chance to rest and refuel,

but only if their timing is spot on.

If they arrive before the thaw,

ice stops them feeding on the sedges
that grow on the lakebed.

Arrive too late,

and spring floods
put these plants beyond reach.

They've got it just about right,

although the cold April nights
still glaze over the open water,

so the early risers
must help break the ice.

Even for these long-necked birds,

it's a stretch to gather
the vegetation a metre down.

Unable to reach the plants
for themselves,

smaller migrants like wigeon
stick close to the swans,

scooping up any leftovers.

After a short stay,
it's time to move on,

chasing the spring thaw
as it moves north.

The Yukon gathers its waters
from across a vast backcountry...

..and it may take many more weeks

before the thaw reaches
its Arctic tributaries.

Even in May,
these are still frozen solid.

Rivers like the Porcupine.

800 kilometres long, its course takes
it north across the Arctic Circle,

then back south to join the Yukon.

At its most northern point

is the First Nation Vuntut Gwitchin
village of Old Crow.

Here, life revolves around
subsistence fishing and hunting.

PAUL JOSIE: Winter in Old Crow can be harsh,
it can be cold.

Being above the Arctic Circle,

we experience earlier winters
and later springs.

The Porcupine River is the last,

one of the last large rivers
to break up

and that's where we're at right now.

NARRATOR: Every day, Paul Josie climbs
the bluffs above the village

to scan the frozen river,
watching and waiting.

PAUL JOSIE: As I stand and witness
the changes in front of me from the river

and you hear the geese in the sky,

and the water
trickling down the mountain

and you can feel
the warm air on your face,

it gives me a sense that
spring will be upon us.

NARRATOR: There's one sign above all
that means spring is close.

The arrival of
the Porcupine caribou herd.

Over 200,000 animals on the move.

A 2,500-kilometre migration,

the longest by any land mammal
on the planet...

..taking them to their calving
grounds on Alaska's Arctic coast.

Early arrivals
at the still-frozen Porcupine River,

mainly pregnant cows,
walk across the ice.

But temperatures are rising rapidly.

Melting ice eases away
from the banks

and starts to break up.

As more caribou arrive...

..they face a dangerous,
shifting patchwork of unstable ice

and open water.

There's no way through.

They are forced to wait
as a growing mass of ice

surges downstream towards Old Crow.

Slabs of ice jam against
one another, blocking the river.

Some caribou get caught out,

marooned as the ice
breaks up around them.

The lucky ones
are carried back to shore,

kilometres further downstream.

Ice continues to build
around Old Crow

until the pressure
can no longer be contained.

Kilometres of river ice stream past,

heading for the Yukon.

PAUL JOSIE: Ever since I was young,
the break-up of the river

has always been
an exciting time for my community.

Watching the break-up is literally
watching winter wash away.

NARRATOR: The remaining caribou
now take their chances with the ice.

PAUL JOSIE: Watching the Porcupine caribou
swim across the river,

navigating through ice chunks...

..you get a sense of worry
for this animal,

as you want them to succeed,
you want them to cross

and you want them to be safe.

As the ice moves off downstream,

the stragglers make their way
across the river...

..playing catch-up
with the rest of the herd.

Winter is finally letting go.

Now that the river has broken up, um...

it's actually just waiting
for more ice to clear,

waiting for it to be
a little safer to travel.

And then I can put my boat in

and start travelling
on our highway again.

NARRATOR:
After months of isolation,

the inhabitants of Old Crow
can now reconnect with the Yukon.

As the great frozen river
turns its back on the Arctic,

it starts to come alive.

Now bathed in near-continuous
summer daylight,

temperatures continue to rise.

The snow and ice that brought
the Yukon to a winter standstill

Now re-energises the river.

With every stream and tributary
adding its own pulse of meltwater,

the Yukon's power steadily grows.

With the flood comes something
just as important as the water.

An ever-growing cargo of rock dust
from distant glaciers...

..and mud from eroded valleys.

This meltwater flood

turns the Yukon into a formidable
and relentless mud-filled giant.

Over the short summer,

the river will shift more than
70 million tonnes of sediment.

Most of it carried
all the way to the ocean.

This unique mineral signature

now helps guide waves of salmon
back to the Yukon.

Runs of chum, coho,
pink and king salmon

battle their way
thousands of kilometres upstream

to spawn in the river's headwaters.

For thousands of years,

the indigenous First Nation peoples
harvested the fish.

A summer bounty that fed them
through the winter.

It's still a tradition for families

to head to remote riverside fish
camps to catch and prepare salmon.

Sisters Faith Peters
and Kathleen Peters-Zuray

from the Athabaskan First Nation

are heading to their camp
at Rampart Rapids.

FAITH PETERS:
I'm middle of the river clan

and we've been surviving
on king salmon all our life.

We've been coming to fish camp here
for, like, 35 years.

NARRATOR:
Over those years,

the sisters have witnessed
dramatic changes along the river.

Recently, the Yukon's many salmon
runs have gone into steep decline...

..victims of a shifting climate
and over-fishing in the Pacific.

Strict limits
are now placed on catches

and if numbers of returning salmon
are very low,

no fishing is allowed.

The family wait for
this summer's decision,

relayed via the local
Mukluk radio station.

RADIO: The pre-season projection
does not meet the threshold

of 300,000 fish needed
to allow subsistence fishing.

Therefore, subsistence
salmon fishing will be closed

to begin the fall season.

Subsistence fishermen should
prepare for continued closures.

NARRATOR: Despite this bad news,
the sisters are determined

to keep up the traditional knife
skills they learnt as children.

KATHLEEN PETERS-ZURAY: It's hard for us
to not to come to fish camp and to cut fish,

cos this is what we've been doing
all our life.

NARRATOR:
With no fresh fish to cut,

Kathleen retrieves
what's left of last year's catch

from the camp freezer.

Ooh, there you go.

We're ready.

This is one of salmon that was
in the freezer from last year,

so it's a little soft,
but it's still beautiful.

FAITH PETERS: It's not even a job for us
to do this. It's a happy vacation.

NARRATOR: The strips are hung
in the breeze to dry.

It's amazing that
we're using frozen fish...

..and it's turning out pretty good.

It's going to taste like gold.

After a day in the sun,

the oil-rich strips are moved
into the smokehouse.

The smoke helps preserve the fish

by creating a coating
that slows decomposition.

In past years,

this smokehouse would be
full to the rafters with salmon.

These few strips are a sad reminder
of how bad things have become.

KATHLEEN PETERS-ZURAY: So there was
no summer chum, no king and no fall chum.

That is...

..unprecedented.

We've never seen that.

It makes me sad.
It really makes me sad, cos...

..for us to have a dinner
without king salmon,

it's almost like starving.

KATHLEEN PETERS-ZURAY:
It hasn't really hit me, really,

but we're losing
a part of our culture.

It's...

It's devastating.

NARRATOR:
The sisters can only hope

next summer brings more salmon
back to the Yukon,

so they can fill the smokehouse
once again.

By September, autumn is
colouring the Yukon's banks.

Bull moose are putting the finishing
touches to something remarkable.

Every year,
they grow a new set of antlers.

In older bulls, these can be two
metres across and weigh 25 kilos.

Bulls need top-quality grazing
to grow these huge racks

and lots of it.

Over 15 kilos every day.

Up to half their summer diet
consists of water plants,

rich in protein
and vital bone-growing minerals.

At their peak, the antlers are
growing at two centimetres a day,

making them the fastest-growing
organ in the animal kingdom.

All this effort is for just
one thing - to get noticed.

And this bull's eye-catching
headgear has already done its job.

All he needs to do now is dig a pit
and soak the soil with his scent,

releasing pheromones that add
to his already impressive allure.

He's irresistible.

Now over a kilometre wide
and still over 1,000 kilometres from the sea,

the mud-filled Yukon
swings southwards...

..into some of the wildest country
in Alaska.

With no roads or rail links,

the few isolated villages here
rely on the Yukon

to stay connected
to the wider world.

Bush pilots
can make some deliveries...

..while anything bulky
must be carried by barge.

CAPTAIN LESTER HAKEY:
This is the last run of the season.

We do about between 13,
maybe even 14,000 miles,

river miles,
transporting cargo for customers.

NARRATOR: Captain Lester Hakey
has worked the Yukon for 26 years

and knows this autumn voyage
is risky.

Most of the challenges
are the river depth.

That's the biggest challenge.

It's only September,
but the headwater streams

that feed the Yukon
are already starting to freeze,

slowing the flow of water
into the main channel

and river levels are dropping.

LESTER:
You got big river, you got wide river.

But you still have channels

where the river will go from 35 feet
to six, seven, eight feet, you know,

and then you can get yourself
stuck down there.

NARRATOR: The currents are
incredibly powerful...

..making navigation tricky

through constantly shifting bars
and mud banks.

And the barge doesn't stop
just because the sun goes down.

They are on a tight schedule.

Lester shares the piloting
with Sean Wright.

It's six hours on, six off,
around the clock, seven days a week.

There's really nothing
that we won't move.

If it's got wheels or if it can be
picked up by heavy machinery,

we will haul just about anything
that you can bring us.

We've got excavators, loaders,

we've got 70-foot long
conveyor-belts on trailers.

LESTER ON RADIO:
Yeah. Keep on rolling, Sean. Looking good.

NARRATOR:
And with no docks or piers in the village,

deliveries are unloaded
down make-shift ramps.

SEAN WRIGHT:
We've got people's personal vehicles.

Thanks a lot. All right, dude.

Alll dois get it
from point A to point B, man.

Oh, yeah.
- Yeah. Here you go.

BOAT HORN TOOTS

People's food, groceries, soda cans.

Building materials.

Yeah, just about anything
you can think of.

NARRATOR:
If anything has been forgotten,

it's eight months before the spring
thaw allows deliveries again.

The barge's most precious
autumn cargo

is 700,000 litres of fuel.

It's what villagers rely on
to warm their homes

and run their vehicles
once winter comes.

LESTER:
I love the challenge.

I love the challenge
of the whole thing. It's just...

It's awesome because when you get done,
and you're, you know,

you think you've been beat,

and then all of a sudden you get
it done, and everybody's happy

and you got the freight off
to the people and they're happy...

..you feel a sense of
accomplishment, you know? Yeah.

That's part of the reason
why I love this, you know. I mean,

you can't beat this office
to work in, can you?

I mean, really.

NARRATOR: After the last delivery,
it's an eight-day battle back upstream

to their winter quarters
before the river freezes.

Meanwhile, the Yukon,
now at its widest, and most remote,

forges westward
into a very different world.

With the mountains far behind,

there's now almost no gradient left
to drive the river forwards.

Across this flat, exposed landscape,
the Yukon slows and spreads,

splitting into a tortuous network
of meandering channels.

Breaking up this maze of waterways
is an endless boggy tundra...

..pockmarked with
thousands of ponds.

This is the Yukon Delta...

..covering over 130,000 square kilometres,
larger than England,

and one of the largest deltas on the planet.

At the very end of its journey,
the Yukon has one final surprise.

Rising out of the waters surrounding
the southern delta is Nelson Island.

Here, at the very edge
of the continent,

live some remarkable creatures.

Musk ox.

With their fine woolly coats,
these relics of the last Ice Age

can shrug off the very worst
delta weather.

Days are spent gathered
in small family groups.

A tight-knit sisterhood of cows
with their calves

and one very large bull.

He's trying his best
to corral the wandering females...

..constantly checking
if any are ready to mate.

It's the rutting season

and his harem has
caught the eye of a young bull,

who fancies his chances.

As the herd drifts over the hills...

..the hopeful youngster follows,
slowly getting closer.

Finally, his presence forces
the resident bull to react.

This is all about intimidation...

..as rivals assess each other's
size and strength.

A few tentative shoves

and this youngster quickly realises
he's more than met his match.

During the rut,

contests like this are kicking off
all over the tundra.

If rivals are evenly matched,

things can escalate
into full-blooded confrontation.

Thick skulls and ten-centimetre
horn bosses act like helmets

protecting them
from these earth-shaking collisions.

Intruder seen off.

The victor has won the chance
to father next year's calves.

But now, across this wilderness,

all musk ox turn to face
the greatest challenge of the year.

After the freedom gained
during the intense summer...

..the Yukon must once more yield
to the power of an Arctic winter.

The first snows
already blanket the high country.

Cold is silently creeping back
along the valleys.

This year's salmon runs
may have been poor...

..but some fish have made it back
to their spawning streams.

As life along the Yukon
turns full circle...

..this is where their journey
will ultimately end.

Their deaths will help others
to survive the winter.

And this is not the end
of their story.

Nurtured by the Yukon's waters,
salmon eggs pulse with life.

For the salmon...

..and all those living
in this wild country,

the river holds the key
to the future.

The Yukon will always be
the natural and spiritual heart

of this great wilderness.

North America's
legendary frozen river.

For the Earth's Great Rivers team,

the challenge of filming
in the Yukon

was in finding ways to access one
of the most remote regions on Earth.

A mission that took them
on many intrepid adventures.

But it all started
with an old school bus.

Once an ordinary school bus,

now it's on the ultimate field trip
for the BBC.

LOUISA GILBERT: So our small crew
is completely self-sufficient

when we're out in this bus.

As well as making
all the power from the solar,

we are kitted out with
VHF radio, satellite phones.

We also have a cell booster,

which will help amplify any cell
service that might be in the area.

I think if I just park in here.

NARRATOR: Travelling with
everything they need,

the crew head into the river's
far-flung headwaters region.

They have set themselves
the challenge of capturing

a series of dynamic shots
of creeks throughout the year,

with the camera moving fast,

just a few centimetres
above the water's surface.

Camera operator Ollie is adapting
a First Person View Drone,

or FPV, for the task.

OLLIE:
These are the FPV drones.

These allow us to see

from the perspective of the drone

as we're flying, which allows us

to get much tighter shots,

go through smaller gaps,

which we just wouldn't be able to do
safely with these bigger drones.

Not only does the drone
need to be waterproof,

but we need to be able to retrieve
it and it not sink if it does crash,

so we've got these
quite high-tech pool floats

with ping-pong balls in them.

So I'm just going to test them out.

Success. It floats.

NARRATOR: Having survived the bathtub test,
it's time to try it for real.

LOUISA:
Let's give this a go.

NARRATOR: Using a headset, Ollie can see
from the perspective of the drone.

NARRATOR:
It's a process of trial and error,

which the crew will perfect
through their time filming.

And different creeks
present different challenges,

both for flying
and for retrieving the drone.

OLLIE: Fingers crossed.
What could go wrong?

OLLIE:

NARRATOR:
As winter draws in,

the task
becomes increasingly difficult

and drone recovery becomes
even more nerve-racking.

OLLIE:

NARRATOR: Despite the mishaps,
Ollie's drone has worked,

delivering
a completely new perspective.

Dramatic low-level shots
along some of the wildest

and most inaccessible parts
of the Yukon.

To capture the final chapter
of the Yukon's story,

the crew have to leave
the bus behind

and embark on their most
challenging journey of all...

to film musk ox herds
that roam a remote island

where the Yukon empties
into the Bering Sea.

Standing in their way
is the Yukon's vast roadless delta.

The only way across is by plane.

Waiting for them
in the remote village of Toksook Bay

is local Yupik guide
Jackie Cleveland,

who has organised
some unusual accommodation

in this rarely-visited community.

JACKIE: It's very remote here.
There are no hotels.

So this is the Nelson Island School,
where we will be sleeping.

NARRATOR: Jackie introduces the class
to the crew.

JACKIE SPEAKS OWN LANGUAGE

THEY CHATTER

JACKIE:
So here is the library,

which we've turned into
a sleeping space slash office.

This is one bedroom. Cosy.

And then another bedroom
is down here.

Neat.

NARRATOR:
With their base camp set up,

the team set off on the next leg
of their wild journey...

..this time taking
to all-terrain vehicles.

The best way to navigate the island
is to follow the coastline.

The flat beaches
make for faster going

than the dense tundra that cloaks
the interior of the island.

But this route
has its own challenges.

LOUISA: We're in a bit of a race
against the tides.

We have an hour to get there
and if we don't make it back,

we're stuck there.

So time's on. Pressure's on.

With the tide coming up, the crew's
travel corridor is shrinking.

And they still haven't seen
any musk ox.

With the way ahead
disappearing fast,

they have no option
but to head inland.

Up here, it can take an hour
to cover just a couple of kilometres.

After hours of bumpy travel,

the team reach areas
where even the ATVs struggle.

The only option
is to send a drone up

to help scope out
the endless rolling hills.

They spot a herd, sheltering in
one of the island's hidden valleys.

Thanks to the drone,
the crew can at last start filming.

Spending time
with these magnificent animals

makes a fitting end to a journey
that has taken the crew

to the wildest parts of one
of the wildest rivers on Earth.