All language subtitles for C4C88275380A6BA0BA505472E6B22054_eng

One hundred and fifty million years ago,
as dinosaurs approached their golden age,

one group evolved along new and
revolutionary lines.

Although they retained
many of their reptilian

characteristics, they acquired
extraordinary new ones.

Feathers.

Feathers helped with insolation and
display.

But they offered something far more
valuable.

Power of flight.

And for birds, that changed everything.

Birds have the freedom of the skies to
travel further and faster than any other

group of animals and to seize
opportunities in all corners of the planet.

But this freedom brings
many survival challenges which

birds must tackle at pivotal
moments in their lives.

Flying demands enormous skill and effort.

And nowhere is that more evident than here
in the foothills of the Peruvian Andes.

This female hummingbird hovers with
precision in her quest for nectar.

A wing and tail design allow her to fly in
any direction.

But the male has a real problem flying.

And this is why.

He's weighed down with two super-long tail
feathers.

And he's got a little bit of a problem
with flying.

He's got a lot of hair up his shoulders,
tipped with cumbersome discs.

This is the marvellous spatule-tail
hummingbird.

And these are his flags with which to
seduce a mate.

Waving them back and forth takes a lot of
effort.

Even from the comfort of his perch.

But to win her heart, he's got to go up a
gear.

He must show her how well he can fly.

But it's exhausting work.

It's so demanding, he
can only stay airborne

for a matter of seconds
before he needs a rest.

He's struggling to impress her,
so one last try.

The extreme effort and
energy needed to hover means

hummingbirds can only
fly in short, sharp bursts.

But most birds need to stay
airborne for considerably longer

and must find far more
energy-efficient ways to get around.

Here, in the Simian Mountains of Ethiopia,
at a breathtaking altitude of 15,000 feet,

lives a supreme aerial maestro.

This youngster glides on air currents
rising from the mountain slopes below.

His nine-foot wingspan can carry him
hundreds of miles a day in search of

animal carcasses with precious little
effort.

He watches out for other airborne
scavengers, like these griffon vultures.

They lead him to some commotion on the
cliffs and maybe the chance to feed.

But this youngster is not the only lamb of
God.

He's also the first lamb of God to spot
the opportunity.

So too has this adult.

The vultures quickly strip the carcass
clean.

It seems he's too late, but in fact,
he's timed his arrival perfectly.

There's no meat left.

And that's exactly the moment that the
lamb of God has been waiting for.

It's bones he's after.

The young lamb of God, too, homes in on
the carcass.

Bones contain rich marrow fat.

But extracting it is not
easy, especially when the

bone is a solid four kilos
and too big to swallow.

But lamb of God have an extraordinary
solution, thanks to their flying skills.

It's the bone of God.

Soaring up on thermal air currents and
positioning the bone parallel to his body

to minimise drag, he soon reaches the
perfect height.

From here, he glides to a place he knows
where he can deal with the bone,

where there are giant rock slabs on the
lip of an escarpment.

The bone is smashed.

The juices in his stomach are more
corrosive than battery acid.

They dissolve the bone so that he can now
digest the marrow.

Others come looking for leftovers.

But their timing isn't ideal, because now
the young lamb of God has his turn.

They'd better mind their heads.

Proficient bone smashing takes energy,
but it takes endless practice to find just

the right height, speed and moment of
release.

Lamb of God have long,
broad wings, ideal for

gliding great distances
with maximum efficiency.

But on the island of Little
Tobago in the Caribbean lives

a bird for whom aerial agility
is of paramount importance.

LITTLE TOBAGO It's a wild-billed,
tropic bird.

Short, pointed wings give it great
manoeuvrability and speed.

During the breeding season, these flying
skills are tested to the limit.

While one parent looks after the chick,
the other must journey far offshore to

gather small fish and squid from the
surface waters.

But the hardest part is
getting food back to the

island, because they share
this airspace with thieves.

Magnificent frigate birds, known as man o'
war birds, patrol high above.

These pirates are
not trying to kill the

tropic bird, but force
it to give up its catch.

It's an aerial dogfight.

Tropic birds are quicker on the turn.

Frigates have exceptionally
lightweight bodies, and

their extremely long wings
give them great power.

Success.

I'VE BEEN PEDDLING.

A FAVOURITE ATTACK IS
FROM BEHIND... AND AT HEIGHT.

This tropic bird, Chick,
still awaits the return of its

parent, who has yet to run
the gauntlet of the pirates.

Keeping close to the waves is his best
chance.

Frigate birds have so little oil in their
feathers, they can't risk ditching.

If he can just reach the cliffs,
he'll be safe.

He's made it, with his crop still full of
fish.

Red-billed tropic birds
rely on extreme aerial

agility to overcome the
many challenges of their life.

For others, survival demands endurance.

Every spring, red knots fly 10,000 miles
from their wintering grounds in Argentina

to their nesting sites in Canada.

The only way they complete this marathon
journey is by making a crucial fuel stop

here in Delaware Bay, on the east coast of
America.

What is most extraordinary is that,
as well as having to find their way to

this one location, they must also time
their arrival and return to their home.

They

have a rendezvous with prehistoric
creatures emerging from the deep,

which have hardly changed in 250 million
years.

They come ashore in greatest numbers on
the highest spring tides.

Horseshoe crabs.

The crabs are here to lay their eggs.

That's a little bit of a surprise.

That's what the knots are after.

Most eggs are buried out of reach, but some
are accidentally dug up by other crabs.

Most of the West Atlantic red knot
population join this feeding frenzy.

In a matter of weeks,
the knots need to rebuild

their fat reserves
and double in weight.

To achieve this, each knot must eat as
many as 400,000 eggs, a tall order given

the skill and effort needed to swallow
just one.

Head down, feeding non-stop means it's
hard to be alert to predators.

A peregrine falcon.

With egg-laying complete,
the horseshoe crabs now leave

these shores, while the
knots are still in the air.

The knots gather every last egg they can
find.

It's time for the birds to move on.

The knots still have a
further 2,000-mile non-stop

flight to reach their
breeding grounds in Canada.

Flight gives birds many
advantages, but there's a period

in their lives when they're
forced back down to Earth.

The nesting season.

This is the time when
they are at most risk,

so they must find the
safest possible location.

Few go to greater extremes than lesser
flamingos.

They nest in the remotest corners of
Africa's caustic soda lakes.

Like their reptilian ancestors,
birds lay waterproof eggs.

Despite this, flamingos
still protect theirs on special

mud-stacked nests as
the lake is prone to flooding.

It's also just a little cooler up here.

Temperatures at ground level can reach a
blistering 50 degrees centigrade.

Once a chick hatches, it spends the first
six days in the nest.

This is when it's at its most vulnerable,
totally reliant on its parents.

The caustic mud deters predators.

But the adult flamingos can cope in this
quagmire because of their long, scaly legs.

Any chick that slips
from the nest, however,

is treading on very
dangerous ground.

This parent encourages her chick to climb
back to safety.

Raising chicks requires huge parental
investment in both time and labour,

wherever you are.

Few places are tougher than the Antarctic.

Chinstrap penguins.

Every day, they travel up to 50 miles out
at sea, hunting for krill.

But the hard part is getting this food
back to the colony.

Because it sits on
the ice-free rim at the

top of this giant volcano,
Deception Island.

For the returning fishing party,
the first challenge is getting ashore.

The beach is steep with a powerful
undertone.

This female lands safely, but she now
begins a long journey on foot.

For a flightless bird, getting to the top
of the volcano means a gruelling climb.

Especially when glaciers covered with
muddy volcanic ash stand in your way.

It's like a game of snakes and ladders.

A combination of beak, wingtip and feet.

And she wins through.

Now she joins Penguin Rush Hour.

Almost home.

She's reached the crater rim, but her
trials are still not over.

She must now try and find her family among
more than 150,000 birds.

Her hearing is so acute,
she can identify the

individual cry of her
own chick in the dim.

She's made it, and the family welcomes her
return.

The result of all this parental effort,
a mouthful of krill.

Now it's her partner's turn.

Her chicks' demands are endless.

Sometimes they can push parents to
desperate lengths.

But birds are masters of improvisation.

Dassen Island is a beautiful place to be.

The island off the coast
of South Africa is home

to a nesting colony
of great white pelicans.

There are chicks of all ages, all with a
hefty appetite.

The parents have a formidable task.

These pelicans are
among the heaviest flying

birds in the world,
weighing up to 10 kilos.

A V formation is the most energy-efficient
means of flying.

It significantly reduces drag for the bird
behind.

Pelicans normally fish along
the coast, but a shortage

of food supplies has forced
them to look elsewhere.

Cape gannets plunge deep, hunting fish
beyond the reach of the pelicans.

But the pelicans aren't after fish.

Their sights are set on a bigger catch.

Malgas Island is the nesting ground for
some 60,000 cape gannets.

Normally, one gannet
parent goes off fishing

while the other
looks after the chick.

But declining fish stocks means
both parents are often away

hunting at the same time,
leaving their chicks unguarded.

Something which hasn't gone unnoticed by
the pelicans.

Only chicks with parents at their side,
or those too large to swallow,

have a chance.

Back at the pelican colony,
the parents regurgitate

partially digested gannet
chicks for their brood.

Although most seabird colonies on the
African Cape are in decline, the

population of white pelicans nesting on
Dassin is growing.

When birds come together to breed,
and before they commit to one another,

they will often perform the most
remarkable displays.

One of the most enchanting happens here on
the lakes of Oregon.

CLARKS OF OREGON Six grebes mate for life.

But the female must test her partner's
continuing commitment, and she does this

by inviting him to join her in a
ritualized dance.

To strengthen their bond, he offers her a
gift.

Now,

with eyes only for one another,
the faithful pair reach the climax.

A dance of their dance.

Other birds don't form pairs.

Instead, a male tries to mate with as many
females as he can.

Male sage-grouse gather in the grasslands
of Wyoming to advertise their virility

with a finery of feathers and proud
posturing.

Females are much drabber-looking,
but extremely choosy.

Females are much drabber-looking,
but extremely choosy.

They will only mate with the
most impressive male, and

they judge a male's worthiness
by the sounds he makes.

Birds of the welcome den are an excellent
way to be a couple.

Birds go to great lengths to impress their
partners.

Birds of paradise.

In the forests of New
Guinea, they famously use

colorful feathers and
song to maximum effect.

Birds of paradise.

Birds of paradise.

Birds of paradise.

On the other side of the island,
these flamboyant birds share the forests

with a rather unassuming-looking
character, the Vogelkop bowerbird.

He might lack the plumage, but he's got an
extraordinary repertoire of song.

And he's a wonderful mimic.

Those are pigeon wingbeats.

That's a modest tiger parrot.

And that, a sulphur-crested cockatoo.

Even more surprising,
he's an avid collector,

with a very appreciative
eye for colour.

This male favours red and orange flowers.

And he's very fond of fungus.

And

he's very fond of flowers.

Not everything he collects stays where it
should.

He puts these treasures
on display within and around

a construction that has
taken him years to build.

A giant bower, woven around a central
sapling, carpeted with moss.

This grand design is no nest.

It's the ultimate seduction parlour.

But he's not alone on this hillside.

He's got six rivals within earshot.

This one prefers darker colours,
decorating his bower with deer dung...

and charcoal.

Visual effect is of crucial importance.

Clearly, he hadn't planned on all this
sprouting fungus.

He and his nearest rival live a stone's
throw apart.

Competition is intense.

It's the dung-ball bower that is the first
to catch the female's attention.

He withdraws while she inspects his
workmanship.

She's back again and seems impressed.

But on closer inspection, she's less
convinced.

Perhaps it was that sprouting fungus.

Back at the flower bower, the male
performs a dress rehearsal.

He senses she's watching.

This is the moment he's been working
towards.

His bower channels his song in her
direction.

A final check.

All

is to her liking.

Few birds devote
such craft, effort and

ingenuity to achieve
this life-defining moment.

But here, on Kenya's Lake Bogoria,
these massive pink slicks signal the start

of perhaps the grandest courtship event in
nature.

In certain years, when the
lake is at its richest, more

than a million lesser
flamingos congregate to feed.

It's now, when they're in their prime, that
they must find their preferred partner.

To do that, they perform a remarkable
promenade.

With heads held high and neck feathers
ruffled, making them look as pink as

possible, more and more birds join in the
courtship march.

And pairs begin to bond.

Small groups merge
with larger ones until

almost a thousand
flamingos are on the move.

From the equator to the
poles, birds have found the most

ingenious ways of overcoming
the many challenges of life.

And everything revolves around their
unique attribute...

feathers.

For the past three years,
the life team has filmed

birds in every part of
the world imaginable.

Nowhere was the filming trickier than in
the jungles of West Papua.

Here is found, for me, one
of the greatest wonders of the

bird world, the display arena
of the Vogelkop Powerbird.

Thirteen years ago, I was lucky enough to
witness these spectacular builders.

But filming the timid female and courtship
behaviour was a different matter.

And this was what the life team set out to
film.

Barry Britton was the principal cameraman
for this programme.

With over 20 years in the business,
not only is he an accomplished

photographer, but he
has developed a deep

understanding of and
empathy for his subjects.

Although each one posed its own unique
challenges, Barry did seem to spend an

inordinate amount of time cooped up in his
trusty old hide.

I think I may have
misjudged the hide position,

because the sea is coming
in the bottom of the hide.

That was 11 hours in my little box.

Barry saved his most ambitious trip of the
series until last.

It took a team of 40
people three days of tough,

uphill trekking to get
to the filming camp.

I could complain about leeches,
biting insects, the tough going,

but I really don't want to.

This is great.

I seem to have lost everyone else.

I hope I'm going the right way.

Ah, made it.

Completely shattered.

The hard work had only just begun.

Tomorrow, with the help
of their guides, the crew

would go looking for
the best flowers to film.

But not before a cautionary tale from the
local chief.

So when he first was shown the bower by
his father, there were flowers there,

and as a 12-year-old child, he wanted to
grab them.

But his father immediately
stopped him and said that he

could not touch anything or
take anything away from him.

I'm going to take this
from the bower, because

otherwise it would
start raining very heavily.

It's ten to five, Barry.

With the chief's warning
fresh in their minds, Barry

and the team make an early
start and head for the hide.

Well, we've reached
the hide just at sunrise, so

we're just going to get set
up as quickly as we can.

With knowledgeable guides, finding the
bowers wasn't the problem.

And who could miss such obvious
structures?

It was now a waiting game for Barry,
heavily concealed in his camouflaged hide.

OK, it's 6.30, so I'm just waiting for the
bird to come, hoping that it doesn't

suspect anything is here and that we can
get some natural behaviour.

I've just heard the bower bird call just
to the right of the hide.

I can hear the bird outside.

It's plucking on the fabric of the hide.

I've just noticed that the bird
has pulled a sneaker's wrapper

out of the bottom of the hide
and has added it to its display.

It was a very strange decoration, which
I had to remove at the end of the day.

Had Barry tempted fate by removing the
wrapper and ignoring the chief's warning?

Or was this just rain forest living up to
its name?

When it pours like this, filming becomes
virtually impossible.

Soon the weather improved and Barry
returned once more to the hide.

This time his lunchbox was firmly sealed.

The bird is very keen on these little tiny
metallic ladybirds and they're a bit put

out, being put there in this bower,
so they start crawling off.

They're very slowly making
their way over the moss

and they just about get
to the edge of the display.

And then the bowerbird notices it goes and
collects them and puts them back again.

So they're kind of in this endless cycle
of trying to escape from the bower.

They just, they can never quite get away.

However, for the male bowerbird and Barry,
the female was still proving a problem.

The female did come down, but
she was quite nervous near the

entrance to the bower, so
we didn't get very much of that.

This was a real concern, because the
courtship behaviour was key to our story.

He's just done a ten-hour stint.

It's been a really nice day, so we're just
hoping it's gone well.

Another day is filming over and still
little to show for it.

Ten hours to fly.

Unfortunately, filming is over for the
day.

We're just going to go and collect Barry
again.

Did you see a mating?

No, no, no mating.

Everything else is going well,
but we haven't got the mating.

The fact I was getting
such good footage of the

male meant he'd obviously
got used to the hide.

But the visiting females were still wary
of it.

The females did seem a bit nervous,
so I took the decision to push the hide

back, just to get more distance from the
birds.

The other thing I've done is recess the
lens.

We've put this vegetation
all around it, so I'm

hoping that's going to
provide more female behaviour.

There were few filming days left.

It was crucial Barry's adjustments paid
off.

The male has just run into
the bower and started calling,

so I think that means there
might be a female coming.

WHISTLE BLOWS WHISTLE BLOWS WHISTLE BLOWS
WHISTLE BLOWS WHISTLE BLOWS It struck me.

Here we both were, waiting in the
darkness.

The male trying to
attract the female, and I

was just hoping that
I'd got it right this time.

And it was more than just a fleeting
visit.

Working in a hide involves
hours of prolonged inactivity,

punctuated by the most
intense moments of action.

This was the crucial moment the whole team
had worked towards.

Everything was falling into place for
Barry.

The behaviour unfolding.

Right, that's good.

I think we're in action.

21 days in a hide.

Astonishing patience and perseverance.

This has never been filmed before.

Such effort and endeavour
for a crucial piece

of behaviour that's over
in a matter of seconds.

I shit my hand, Steven.

What does that mean?

We've got the mating.

You've got the mating?

Yeah, we've got the mating.

Oh, wow!

Yeah, it's a really good day.

Brilliant day.

Yeah, but just amazing.

I must have...

Wow, what is it?

So many weeks I've spent sitting in this
hide.

And I just didn't think we'd ever get it.

Because we're running out of days.

Only a few left now.

So to get that this week is just
incredible.

And it was really, really good behaviour.

So I'm delighted.

Success.

This was Barry's last filming trip for the
birds episode.

And what a befitting end.

Right.

See you all at the next one.

See you later.

Bye.

Bye.

Bye bye.