Original subtitles

Spanning Chile and Argentina,

lies a remote and frozen domain.

It's known as Patagonia.

Seventeen million years ago, the clash of tectonic plates

creased and buckled the landscape.

Vast glaciers shaped it into an Eden like no other.

Isolated by sheer distance,

and preserved in time,

adaptable and resilient creatures

evolved unique survival strategies...

to flourish across its remarkable habitats.

From precipitous mountain citadels,

and icy desert plateaus,

windswept steppe uplands

through remote primal forests,

to a mosaic of glacial valleys,

to thrive here is to be as extreme as the land itself.

There are still places on Earth

that remain pristine,

where wildlife flourishes.

These are the last regions that could be called Eden.

Our journey begins high in the Andean mountains.

Eight thousand kilometres of jagged peaks

extend the length of Patagonia

where their influence, shapes life itself

in this remote and mysterious land.

North of Patagonia, in the shadow of the Andes,

lies one of the driest most inhospitable deserts on Earth,

Atacama.

Over 100,000 square kilometres,

there are places here with no recorded rainfall in 500 years.

Forty-eight hundred metres up,

the ultraviolet radiation is so intense,

it can burn human skin in minutes.

Yet, for some, this is paradise.

Every spring, from as far away as Southern Patagonia

three thousand kilometres away,

thousands of flamingos gather.

Descending on shallow lagoons,

they feed on vast algal blooms,

and the prolific brine shrimp that flourish here,

from which the birds inherit their fiery colouring.

Every little helps when you need to attract a mate

in a crowd of look-alikes.

Twenty-two weeks later,

the lake is a nursery for thousands of chicks.

For safety, they stick together in creches.

Culpeo foxes patrol the shore,

so it pays to keep up.

Watchful guardians are on hand,

shepherding the hungry youngsters

to the richest feeding grounds.

They have just three months

to fatten up on shrimp,

and build the strength to fly,

before the onset of winter.

By April,

nightly temperatures fall to minus 12 degrees Celsius.

At dawn,

the surface of the lake is frozen solid,

cutting off the food supply,

and imprisoning the fledglings.

Only adults have the strength to break their bonds,

and make good their escape.

Even as the lake begins to thaw,

shackles of salt and ice

continue to weigh the chicks down.

And with every day deeper into winter,

cold and lack of food take a toll.

But a breath of seasonal wind offers hope.

Gaining strength, it provides just enough lift,

for a last chance at liberty.

Trading their rich nursery feeding grounds

for the southern lowlands,

they'll find refuge from the grip of winter.

As the Andes run south into Patagonia,

its tallest peaks tower 4,000 metres or more.

Despite the extreme conditions,

some creatures find sanctuary

in this remote mountain refuge year round.

Emerging from its burrow to catch the first rays,

the viscacha.

These members of the chinchilla family

are hardy mountain specialists.

Way up here,

sun bathing is more lifesaver than luxury,

raising their body temperatures after the chill of night.

But snoozing in the sun can be a perilous pastime.

On the prowl,

an Andean cat.

These intimate images are the first ever filmed

of South America's rarest feline species,

numbering a thousand or less.

Twice the size of his domestic cousins,

he's protected from bitter cold

by dense fur

almost five centimetres long.

But a cat still needs fresh meat for fuel.

Even when dozing, those six centimetre ears

are tuned in to signs of trouble.

He knows he'll get another chance,

in almost 80 square kilometres of territory.

But as global temperatures rise with climate change,

his cold mountain habitat is shrinking.

And this unique cat, so perfectly adapted,

would overheat in warmer conditions.

But for now, the Andean cat continues to enjoy

its top of the world life.

Each dawn, another of Patagonia's residents

awakens in its mountain eyrie.

The world's heaviest soaring bird,

the Andean condor.

At almost 17 kilograms,

this six-month-old juvenile

has already reached his weight limit.

Launching at first light could mean risking a crash landing

over 1,000 metres below.

So his flight plan

is to follow the more experience adults.

Waiting patiently for thermals,

that rise with strengthening sun.

A plucked feather lets them know when it's safe to fly.

If it floats up,

they're clear for take-off.

And now, a youngster can have confidence in his leap of faith.

On three-metre wings, the condor soar.

Effortlessly gliding over 400 kilometres a day in search of food

across the high plateau to the east of the Andes

known as the steppe.

In the rain shadow of the mountains,

precipitation is largely blocked by the high peaks.

So, in this wintry desert,

only grass and shrub can take root.

And yet it's more than enough

for the largest wild herbivore on the Patagonian steppe,

the guanaco.

A relative of the camel

they contain all the moisture they need from grazing.

Kitted out in coats of double-layered insulation,

they withstand polar winds

that howl across the open steppe.

For safety, they gather in large herds.

These grasslands are prowled

by the puma.

At 7140 kilograms,

an adult guanaco is three times her size.

A kick could leave her badly wounded.

With so many eyes keeping watch

and such little cover,

pumas must use the shape of the land to their advantage.

Approaching downwind,

to close the distance to 10 metres.

A change in wind direction...

and her cover is blown.

But this is a resilient hunter,

stalking prey for up to five hours.

Possibly longer than any of the solitary cats.

Finally within range,

she makes her move.

This kill will feed her for four days.

Across the steppe, any remains are quickly targeted

by the eye in the sky,

the condor.

First on the scene,

the young male claims his prize.

Ignoring a smaller 60-centimetre cousin,

a black vulture,

he tucks in, knowing they won't have long.

From a height of 4,500 metres,

other condors can locate a carcass

from over six kilometres away.

Next to arrive, an adult male.

Standing over a metre tall,

adorned with his very own crown.

Condors adhere to a strict feeding hierarchy.

And the youngster is at the bottom of the pecking order.

Only when he reaches maturity Just another five or so years

will he join the grandees of the top table.

Until then,

he must wait for them to retire for a clean-up...

before making do with leftovers.

On the plateaus below the condor eyries,

every spring, glacial melt water pools in depressions.

Crystal lakes temporarily transform the barren steppe

into a paradise for one of Patagonia's most precious inhabitants.

Driven almost to extinction

by invasive mink,

the hooded grebe.

This is their time to shine.

As the world population of just over 700 gather,

coinciding with a yearly mass emergence

of mayfly.

The main attraction here

Is the chance

to dance.

For a young male,

it's the very first opportunity to find a mate.

If he's going to be taken seriously,

he needs to channel

some of the Latin flair and flamboyance

on show here.

It helps to look good too.

The next move could be make or break.

Mate or wait another year.

These moves are certainly turning heads.

This female likes what she sees.

They take centre stage together.

She'll score him on technique,

creativity,

and performance.

Top marks are awarded

with a frond of waterweed

called milfoil,

which he dutifully returns.

In Patagonia,

even a blustery lake

can set the scene

for a glorious romance

that gives their species hope.

While the eastern plateau of the Patagonian Andes

Is defined by the dry steppe,

Patagonia's western slopes

could not offer greater contrast.

Millennia of flowing glaciers

and raging meltwater torrents

have sculpted a landscape,

of vertiginous ravines

and isolated valleys

so remote that forests of living fossils

evoke the days of the dinosaur.

The last tracts of monkey puzzle trees on Earth.

Canyons carved as far as the coastline

form one of the most extensive fjord lands

in the world.

Bathed in moisture swept in from the Pacific Ocean,

rich, untouched temperate rainforests

shelter prolific

primordial life

found nowhere else.

Just over 30 centimetres,

the pudu,

the world's smallest deer.

Darwin stag beetles,

armed with monster jaws

to wrestle opponents.

And the world's most southerly hummingbird,

the green-backed firecrown,

can prosper despite the cold,

powered by sugary quintral nectar.

Before nightfall,

it must find shelter

from plummeting temperatures.

Yet one animal curiosity braves the cold

after dark.

A prehensile tail

and arboreal acrobatics

earned it the name

the little mountain monkey.

The Monito del monte,

an ancient marsupial.

Weighing less than two-pound coins

allows him to survive on the slim autumn pickings.

But being small

also makes him vulnerable to cold.

As night temperatures drop to below freezing,

he needs shelter fast.

Tree holes offer refuge,

but an empty nest, mmm-mmm,

is no good for him.

This could work, hmm?

No one there.

Just what he's looking for.

Company.

A group of five snoozing mountain monkeys

that form a lifesaving cocoon,

of communal body heat.

EL monito has one last trick.

By lowering his heart rate

to just three beats a minute,

he enters into torpor,

a hibernation that conserves energy.

His extreme adaptation

transforms a chilly wood

into the lap of luxury.

As Patagonia's temperate rainforest descends to sea level

daytime temperatures rise to over 20 degrees Celsius.

And if your body's around 50 percent fat,

it pays to take to the shade.

The southern elephant seal.

At over four tons,

the largest seal on Earth.

Hauling-out in this glacial bay

gives them a chance to spruce up their fur

with a restorative moult.

In the past, this left them vulnerable.

Hunters prized their blubber for meat.

Today, thanks to strict protection,

this is a healthy colony of 70.

But seniority is still being disputed,

as in any group of young males.

If menacing bellows aren't enough,

blows aimed at toughened neck hide,

establish who's the boss of whom.

But this adult alpha,

with his outstanding nose,

pays little heed to whippersnappers half his size.

By early evening, they've worked up an appetite.

So they head out into the fertile waters

that provide these giants with all the food they need.

These coastal fjords

owe their productivity

to Patagonia's vast ice fields.

Outside Antarctica,

they're the largest in the Southern Hemisphere.

Since forming in the last ice age,

they have incrementally advanced,

carried forward by 5,000 gigatons of weight

from mountain to coast.

San Rafael glacier extends over 30 kilometres up the valley.

The height of summer

is when it's most active.

It's 30-metre face fractures

into icebergs the size of small houses.

They gradually melt away,

unlocking the store of volcanic nutrients

carried from the mountain tops.

But now, due to climate change,

this is one of the fastest disappearing glaciers

on the planet.

Half its previous height,

it carves more than 20 metres every day

releasing a potential overdose of fertilizer into the fjord

that threatens the delicate balance

of this ecosystem.

Glacial meltwater,

mingled with the rich and Arctic currents,

allow Patagonia's extensive coastline

to sustain some of the greatest concentrations

of marine life on Earth.

After a day's hunting in waters abounding in fish and squid,

around two million Magellanic penguins

return to feed their young.

Some trudge nearly two kilometres inland,

heading for their colony.

In Monte Leone, 87,000 penguins

crowd into just four kilometres of coastline.

Myriad burrows almost two-metres deep

have been dug by generations of penguins.

Each bunker

is fiercely contested.

The stakes are high.

Darkness brings danger

to those with nowhere to hide.

Captured using heat-sensitive technology,

a female puma is on the hunt.

Equipped with keen night vision...

she passes through the colony

virtually undetected by the penguins,

whose low-light sight

is comparatively poor.

On the beach, they're easy pickings.

Panic spreading through the colony

does nothing to deter her.

She'll catch eight or more.

Too many for her too eat,

but she's a mother.

She needs to provide for her cubs.

At 12-weeks old, they're too young to hunt for themselves.

In behaviour only recently observed,

penguins now provide a rich food source for pumas.

At dawn, the family heads eight or more kilometres inland,

returning to their home

in the low-lying steppe.

Over the last 100 years, as much as 90 percent of the habitat

has been overgrazed by sheep,

forcing natural prey to move away

and leading farmers into conflict with the puma.

But there is hope.

Some are returning farmland

to the natural state,

allowing areas of steppe to rewild.

In this world of extremes,

adaptability

Is the key to success.

As long as we protect such a unique and varied habitat,

for Patagonia, life at the very ends of the Earth,

could be an everlasting Eden.