Original subtitles

West of Africa,

where Namibia meets the Atlantic Ocean,

lies the Namib,

a desert the size of Portugal.

In this remote and arid realm,

temperatures can approach 50 degrees.

In places, annual rainfall is just five millimetres.

Seemingly untouched by humans in 55 million years or more,

this timeless desert possibly the oldest on Earth,

has given rise to more life than any other.

Strange and marvellous specialists,

share this wondrous Eden with giants.

From its skeleton coast...

through the sea of sand...

lo the haze of distant mountains,

this apparently forbidding desert

hides secret water sources.

And, if you know where to look, enough moisture can be found to survive.

Even thrive.

There are still places on Earth that remain pristine,

where wildlife flourishes.

These are the last regions that could be called

Eden.

This land appears to be so dry,

that it's almost inconceivable,

that it could be an Eden.

And, yet, itis.

This is the only desert that supports a population of lions.

Closely monitored by scientists,

this five year old female,

has been living alone these past months.

She hasn't eaten for a week.

Her solitary prowling may take her upto 80 kilometres a day in search of prey.

And, finally, she's caught up with a herd of the only antelope

that can survive the intense heat of the dunes,

South African oryx.

As many as a hundred thousand live here.

A system of blood vessels under their black and white faces

allows them to keep cool heads when others can't.

Standing more than a metre tall at the shoulder,

they outweigh her by 45 kilograms.

Almost-metre-long rapier horns have been known to impale a lion.

Without cover to hide an approach,

the odds are stacked against her.

Over distance,

she can't outpace an oryx.

In a sprint, she has the edge.

But only if she can close the gap to 15 metres or less.

Once oryx get into their stride at 65 kilometres per hour,

further pursuit is futile.

In the fine balance between predator and prey,

the scales have tipped in favour of the antelope.

For now.

By midday, temperatures exceed 43 degrees.

If she launched an attack now, she'd face heat exhaustion.

But she's survived this long by listening to the rhythms of the desert.

In the early afternoon, the sands begin to whisper.

As air is heated by the sun,

it rises and cool air rushes in to replace it.

The Namib's wind-whipped sand skews the odds

to her advantage.

And she knows it.

With oryx sheltering nearby,

once again she must close the distance.

Now,

the drifting veil blurs her outline.

The incessant hiss, muffles her foot falls.

This will supply the food and, crucially,

the moisture a lion needs for a week.

Uniquely, this desert can even provide for a big cat

that's mastered its mysterious ways to triumph in an age-old conflict.

Rolling plains make up around half of the Namib.

They may look bone dry and barren,

but water still finds a way to trigger new life in this Eden.

This is a paradise to the giant of the bird world.

Standing two and a half metres tall,

the ostrich.

They may seem conspicuous out here

but mounted on that periscope neck

are the largest eyeballs of any land animal,

bigger than their brains.

They can spot a predator one and a half kilometres away.

And since the Namib provides scant cover for would-be hunters,

Ostriches abound here in the tens of thousands.

Those featherless drumsticks help radiate heat,

allowing these birds to tolerate temperatures

of 48 degrees Celsius.

With little or no competition,

they have the pick of the Juiciest insects and roots.

Supplying them with all the water they need.

But for this 4-year-old male, Just coming of age,

it's females, not food, that preoccupy him.

It takes succulent shoots to sustain a brood of chicks,

and new vegetation only arrives after rainfall.

Until then, despite explicit advances,

he's got little hope of breeding.

Yet his luck could be about to change.

Storm clouds are gathering.

A little more than half a centimetre of rainfall.

And it could be all they get this year.

Still, it's enough.

The ostrich females are now in a mood for romance.

Just what a lusty youngster was hoping for.

But that's not what she has in mind.

He doesn't know it yet,

but he's already lost the mating game.

A booming, amplified call announces the arrival of an alpha male.

That's how to make a big hit with the hens.

All eyes are on him.

Impeccable poise.

An elegantly executed waft to the wind.

And a neck dip to die for.

It's a shimmying show-stopper of a performance.

He scores a perfect 10.

Won over by his masterful moves,

a female lowers her wings in acceptance.

He'd better start rehearsing his song and dance routine.

He'll be ready the next time the rains come.

In a year.

Maybe more.

Every desert yearns for the promise of rain,

but in the Namib it's the cue for a magical display,

as seeds that have lain dormant for up to 15 years

turn desert into wildflower meadows.

Far downstream, another amazing transformation takes place.

Sleeping riverbeds awaken.

And are flushed by rain

that may have fallen two days ago, 250 kilometres away.

A long-awaited respite, from dust and drought.

For a female ostrich,

it's a baptism for her new brood.

Now, even the largest animals to walk the Earth can quench a giant thirst.

Desert elephants.

Around a 150 have chosen to live in the Namib.

Seeping away within days, the runaway waters

are a fugitive memory.

But in this desert they continue to make life possible.

It's said that an elephant never forgets.

And to find their daily food,

this herd relies on the 34-year-old matriarch

and her powers of recall.

None more so than her calf.

In the driest years, all calves may perish.

As she leads the herd down a sun-baked riverbed,

things don't look promising.

But under their feet lies another of the Namib's secret water sources.

A hidden oasis.

An aquifer locks surface rainwater in the rock itself.

Throughout Namibia, these underground reservoirs,

some of the largest in the world,

sequester around a third as much water as flows in its rivers.

It may be more than 30 meters down, but one type of tree,

the ana,

has roots long enough to tap into this precious groundwater.

And the matriarch knows that their branches are festooned

with succulent protein rich pods.

The problem is, someone got here first.

A solitary bull.

At over four meters tall,

plus that trunk,

he's plucked pretty much all the pods within his six-metre reach.

Just a few more up there.

But the patient matriarch knows she can make the most of his impatience.

Pretty soon he'll get frustrated enough to shake things up a little.

At up to twice her weight,

he has the bulldozer power to dislodge all the pods he needs.

And more.

This welcome shower of pods does more than whet their appetites.

It refuels the herd for their commute to the next food stop

the matriarch has in mind.

Unlike other deserts,

Namib's life-sustaining ground waters,

have made possible the seemingly miraculous survival of elephant families

that pass down their wisdom from generation to generation.

Beyond the dry river beds with their hidden aquifers,

the Namib's western realm rolls away to the horizon.

This scorched land may never see a drop of rain.

Braving the 48-lepdegree furnace heat

a yearling black-backed jackal.

Leaving family behind, at her age she has to forge a new life.

Food here is scarce.

But she knows the far horizon

offers an unexpected promise of plenty.

After 16 kilometres,

a breath of welcome sea breeze.

The Atlantic Ocean.

The desert stretches for 1600 kilometres along Namibia's west coast.

Treacherous seas led early mariners to name this place

the Skeleton Coast.

But these storm-turned waters are fertile and teem with fish,

making this desolate coastline a paradise

for up to a million Cape fur seals...

In some of the largest colonies on the planet...

drawing in hundreds of jackals from far and wide.

The pupping season offers her the chance to found her independence

on the biggest feeding opportunity of the year.

So, surely a jackal can Just help itself.

But some of the pups already outweigh her.

They have teeth at one end.

And you can't risk tangling with a 100 kilograms of angry mother.

Youngsters are just not experienced enough to hunt on their own.

Could she join a pack?

This family is not about to share their kill.

She needs a different strategy.

Jackals are the ultimate scavengers,

a service that can help limit the spread of disease.

Since as many in one in five seal pups die of natural causes,

it's a trade-off between species.

Yearlings are feeding on carcasses.

And they're too hungry to care about hierarchy.

Now, she can eat.

And slake her thirst.

The jackals are not at the top of the food chain.

This brown hyena comes equipped with a jaw that can crack bones.

He takes any kill he wants.

And she can't afford to be reckless.

She may have lost her meal

but she's found her place in the social order here

and has proven she can make it on her own,

thanks to this annual offering from ocean to desert.

But, by remarkable alchemy, the chill waters of the Atlantic

have a far more profound effect on life in this desert Eden.

Here, vital freshwater is offered up to creatures far inland.

Rolling away from the sea for as much as 60 kilometres

and cresting 240 meters high,

the tallest dunes on the planet.

By the withering heat of day,

without a scrap of shade,

they're seemingly uninhabitable.

Yet, as night falls, the Namib's temperatures drop

to a comfortable 10 degrees Celsius.

They come alive

to become the richest dune habitat on Earth.

The size of a ping pong ball,

the desert rain frog.

To avoid frying to a crisp

by day

this amphibian hides deep in the sand.

But when the conditions are just right, he emerges to feed.

Trudging up to 45 metres,

he calmly noses around for insects,

while a Namaqua dwarf adder

primes itself for ambush.

But this tiny snake can only strike prey closer than 10 centimetres.

A Parabuthus scorpion

uses hair-like feelers to detect the tiniest movement.

And frogs are also on his menu.

The frog mustn't stir

or he'll trigger a deadly attack from her stinging tail.

But waiting's what he's good at.

At last, a colony of termites

busily harvesting dune grass.

They're packed with protein and fat.

He'll force down up to a hundred in a sitting.

But lingering can be dangerous.

It's just a harmless golden mole

snaffling his share of the termites.

Before he can go back into hiding,

the frog must hold his nerve

and wait until dawn draws near.

Only then will the desert give up its most precious gift.

Coastal fog

creeps up to 65 kilometres inland

over the dunes.

As it condenses on grass stems,

dew droplets wet the ground below.

Pressing his belly onto the damp sand,

this amphibian absorbs all the moisture he needs through his skin.

Before retreating into the safety of his burrow

orice more.

For a few hours at dawn,

before the sun burns higher and hotter,

the dunes are bathed in the cool sea mist

dousing this thirsty land with twice as much water as rain

for 100 or so days a year.

At least 48 different creatures rely entirely on the fog,

many found nowhere else on Earth.

A headstand beetle hikes to the highest and wettest point of the dune,

the equivalent of you or me climbing Mount Everest. Twice.

It tips hard won dew drops down its back

and provides the mouth-watering meal

a Namaqua chameleon needs to survive here.

The Namib fog supplies Just enough moisture

for the hardiest of plants to take root.

Dune grass can be almost two metres tall.

And each stalk is a smallholding,

farmed by one of the desert's most abundant and hardworking inhabitants,

Dune ants.

Hidden among the stems are their livestock,

tiny sap-sucking scale insects.

The centimetre-long ants protect the scale insects

from potential predators

and milk their micro herd

for a reward of sugary honeydew.

It's a harmonious existence.

Each tussock is a tiny utopia.

Incredibly, the Namib's fog

also offers life

to giants.

Towering almost six metres, the tallest animal on the planet,

even the giraffe can get all the moisture it needs

from fog-drenched leaves.

With the help of this most ethereal of the Namib's water sources,

around 360 giraffes prosper

in one of Africa's most hostile regions.

In the past, their numbers were managed

by lions.

A solitary female and her family specialised in hunting

these one and a half ton herbivores.

Old habits die hard.

But, without backup, she has no chance of taking one down.

Over the years, human persecution

not only took the lives of her pride

but brought Namib's lions to the very brink of extinction.

Now, with careful protection, the population is stable

at around a hundred and fifty.

But, today, there's an even greater threat.

The latest data suggest the temperature here has increased

by almost one and a half degrees Celsius.

The precious and unexpected water supplies

that sustain this place could dwindle and disappear.

From this ancient landscape has sprung one of the most marvellous

collections of desert creatures on Earth.

With our help,

the ageless rhythm of life

could prevail

in this magical mirage of an Eden.