All language subtitles for Swarm Natures Incredible Invasions Infestation BBC 720p HDTV_Subtitles01.ENG

Animals can sometimes reach such
numbers they defy our understanding.

They seem to rise up
and invade our lives.

They become Superswarms -

so immense,
they are impossible to ignore.

From the outside, they can be
the stuff of nightmares.

From the inside, they are a
thing of extraordinary beauty.

Among the apparent chaos,
something remarkable is going on.

A weird kind of intelligence
controls the swarm.

Right now, 8:30 sharp.

It's like swarms right now,

you see, they look like black
clouds going across the sky.

At Congress Bridge in Austin, Texas,

100,000 tourists visit each year

to watch an incredible
natural spectacle -

1.5 million free-tailed bats
leaving their roost for the night.

It's an awe-inspiring sight,
that to our eyes looks chaotic.

Inside the swarm,
it's a very different picture.

The bats fly in perfect unison,
always aware of their nearest

neighbour, chatting together
as they stream from the roost.

The tourists sometimes spot
a bird diving among the bats,

trying to grab a meal -

this gives even more of
a clue as to what is going on.

Slow down the action and
what's happening becomes clearer.

For the peregrine to succeed,
she must single out a bat from

the masses - an almost impossible
task amongst all the confusion.

A red-tailed hawk tries his luck,
but faces the same problem.

BATS SQUEAK

The bats' alarm calls warn
of danger - they work together.

They drop like stones from the sky

- the sudden change of direction
wrong-footing their attackers.

Bats on their own
are easier to pick out.

And there is no-one
to watch their backs.

By sharing information,

the bats effectively
increase their intelligence.

LOUD SQUEAKING

Just 60 miles away, at Bracken Cave,
a mothers' meeting is taking place.

Here, female bats
gather to give birth.

40 million bats in all - the
largest swarm of mammals on earth.

The bats migrate to these
maternity caves

from South and Central America.

It's like a giant creche and
the mothers don't stop talking.

But this isn't idle gossip -
they are exchanging information.

At dusk, the females and young
take to the air with a purpose.

It may seem disorganised, but
this is flight school for bats.

The young learn from their
mother how to catch insects.

Among the millions, she can
recognise her own young's call

and they stay together as they fly.

At normal speed, you get a sense
of how difficult this must be.

But this Superswarm doesn't exist
in any time world we know.

They react many times
faster than we can.

The older, more experienced
females act like scouts,

leaving the cave first
to check that all is clear.

The novices follow, swirling
together to form a bat tornado.

This vortex grows rapidly, always
spinning in the same direction.

It acts as a beacon, signalling
to others that it's time to leave.

The bats also use the vortex
to exchange information.

They collectively make informed
decisions on where they should go,

based on their experiences
from the previous night.

In this gathering, a kind of swarm
intelligence is being created

and spread among the individuals.

Other swarms use this behaviour too.

The vortexes created by fish
can be so spectacular

they appear almost
like an alien organism.

They move like one too -

a creature that
shape-shifts before our eyes.

Fish have a lateral line system,
sensitive to pressure waves,

that runs like a series
of hidden ears along the body.

This picks up the tiny movements
of neighbouring fish so they can

mirror each other's actions
in perfect synchrony.

The lateral line
also detects predators.

Sailfish are built to deal with
this super-organism.

They are the
fastest fish in the ocean.

But, like birds, they find that
dealing with the swarm isn't easy.

If any member of the shoal
detects danger,

they use pheromones
to warn the others.

With so many individuals on the
lookout, their senses are amplified.

It's difficult for predators
to take them by surprise.

The Sailfish's gameplan is to divide
and rule. Smaller shoals are easier.

They slice through the mass,
breaking them into smaller targets.

But chasing even these
mini-swarms is difficult.

Only the weak or diseased
usually get taken.

The fragmented shoal seeks
safety with the master swarm.

In this fish whirlpool,
they communicate by resonating

their swim bladders
or grinding their teeth.

Together, they become more
than the sum of their parts.

It's as if each fish adds its
intelligence to the other,

to create a single mind.

The root of such complex behaviour
lies with far simpler animals.

This is Mono Lake in California,

a hauntingly beautiful location
made famous by it's pumice towers.

Appearances are deceptive -
below its calm surface

is a caustic chemical brew
in which almost no life survives.

Except, that is, for flies.
Brine Flies.

There are billions of them.

Often so deep
they blacken the ground.

Their young live in the
lake and when they emerge,

they eat nothing but algae.

Visitors can't help but notice

the flies' extraordinary
swarming behaviour.

They ripple away
from whoever approaches.

It's a game of chasing shadows.

Gulls chasing the flies
create the same reaction.

The flies react in a wave,

sensing their neighbour's
movements and reacting instantly.

Against such organisation,

the gull's response
is about as basic as it gets.

They open their mouths,
run, and hope for the best.

It's frustrating work -

for most of the time the flies
keep tantalisingly out of reach.

These apparently simple animals
have complex behaviour

and are capable of learning.

Working as a swarm,
the flies increase their
awareness of the world,

making it difficult
for predators to catch them.

Fortunately, the flies
are so high in protein

the gulls don't actually
need to catch that many.

Just 20 flies a day gives them
all the calories they need.

The flies are so nutritious,

65,000 Californian gulls come
here to breed each year.

In Rome, yellow-legged
gulls also adapt their

behaviour to feed on a swarm.

As 10 million starlings stream
into the city to roost,

they outnumber the
human residents four to one.

Each year, these common garden
birds of northern Europe

take a winter break in
the warmer south.

Most are young, inexperienced birds.

By flocking together, they benefit
from each other's knowledge.

For the gulls, it's like
chasing fish shoals in the sky.

They act like fish shoals too -

forever changing
shape and re-forming.

The gull attacks, trying to split
the flock. The flock regroups.

The starlings' manoeuvres are
too quick for a single predator.

The gulls try to turn the odds in
their favour by working as a team.

Together, they corral the starlings
and try to split the flock.

But the flock grows
more powerful by the minute.

As more birds join,
they gain strength in numbers.

A peregrine falcon is a
greater challenge -

it reaches 220mph in a dive.

The starlings snap
together in close formation.

They become a blockade of birds.

The peregrine risks serious
injury if it attacks now.

The flock is like quicksilver,

forever splitting and reforming
to confuse their attackers.

It's impossible to
target a single bird.

Like other swarms, birds create
this distracting display

by watching their companions.

Amazingly, each starling
tracks the movements

of seven of its
neighbours at a time.

By monitoring these seven birds and
keeping in formation with them, each

individual helps keep
the swarm as a cohesive force.

All this happens ten times
faster than a human can think.

We are only just discovering how
much information is exchanged

when birds gather in huge numbers.

It's May in Delaware Bay
on the east coast of America.

These waders have flown
all the way from South America

to coincide with a
very special swarming event.

As the birds roost,
the invasion begins, cued by
the cycle of the moon.

Human visitors
usually see them first.

Well, I tell you, this is creepy...

not creepy, but just freaky!

I don't know what they're doing -

are they battling or something
over a female? Holy mackerel!

Here's a guy swimming along.

And I just... I love them,
they're just so, so, so...

oh, my God, it's cold! ...So cool.

You know, you're cool and
all, but I really don't
want you that close to me.

I think I could stay out here longer
now my feet have gone numb - Ahhhh!

Dawn reveals the true
scale of the spectacle.

It's an event that
has been happening for the
last 250 million years.

The horseshoe crab
is truly prehistoric.

They are more closely
related to spiders than crabs.

They chew with their legs
and their digestive tract

passes through their brain.

Sometimes known as King crabs, they,
appropriately, have blue blood.

Their timing is precise.

They always appear in early May,
on the highest tides of the month.

They use an internal body clock.

This is set by watching
the cycles of the moon.

Their eyes are a thousand times
more sensitive than ours.

They have ten in all and a couple
on their tail for good measure.

Good time-keeping ensures that a
half a million crabs synchronise

their egg-laying
with the high spring tides.

The smaller males cluster around the
larger females, fertilising the eggs

that she buries deep in the sand.

Laid high up the beach, the eggs
are out of the reach of fish

predators for most of the month.

But these prehistoric creatures
hadn't reckoned on the birds.

Horseshoe crabs once walked
alongside dinosaurs, long

before birds appeared on Earth.

Evolution never
prepared them for this.

The birds snatch any eggs they can.

Fortunately, as each crab
lays 100,000 eggs,

there are plenty to spare.

The crabs prefer to sneak ashore
under the cover of darkness, but

if the weather is bad, they have
to take their chance in the day.

One million shore birds
use the eggs as fuel to

power their journey onwards to their
Arctic breeding ground. Some travel

ten thousand miles to get here.

Sand-pipers rely on the surf to
reveal the nutritious crab caviar.

Although the horseshoe
crabs' emergence is remarkable,

the birds' appearance here is
even more extraordinary.

Their journeys are governed by
a knowledge held by all the birds

- a swarm intelligence based on
the collective experience of all.

It is this kind of
shared intelligence that drives

one of the most famous
migrations on the planet.

Wildebeest may seem familiar,

but look at them from
a different perspective

and it's clear
that they act as a swarm.

As they cross the plains
of East Africa,

following the seasonal rains,
they do everything together.

Like starlings,
they are hyper-sensitive

to their immediate neighbours and
their interactions connect
the herd together like a web.

From the air, it's possible
to gain a sense of how
far the network spreads.

Dotted among the wildebeest are
smaller groups of zebra.

They exist as small family groups,
even within bigger herds.

Each member reacts intelligently to
events. As they join the wildebeest

migration, it's possible to
see their different
strategies in action.

In common with other swarms,
migrating wildebeest are
gripped by a collective urge -

nothing stands in their way.

Driven by the will of the herd,
they make decisions

that, on the face of it,
seem quite stupid.

The river stops them in their tracks

- it's as if the whole herd
has to decide together

when it's safe to take the plunge.

Gradually, pressure builds from the
ones behind until the front-runners

are left with no option.

Someone has to go first -

but it's the herd
that makes the decision.

This is the moment the
crocodiles have been waiting for -

with thousands of floundering prey,
they should have a field day.

But the crocs soon
discover it's not that easy.

Among the mass of bodies
and flailing hooves,

the crocs
can't single out a target.

Faced by overwhelming numbers,
they beat a retreat.

Jumping in feet first has
actually worked for the swarm.

The zebras arrive.

Unlike the wildebeest,
they prefer to make a plan.

They carefully consider all
options before they join the throng.

They deliberately avoid the
apparently mindless masses.

Meanwhile, the wildebeest have
led themselves up a blind alley.

They are pinned against a wall
that is impossible to climb.

The zebra appear to
have chosen more wisely,

but independence
has its own dangers.

Their well-considered plan
didn't account for the crocodiles.

On their own, the zebra
are an easy target.

The wildebeest may be floundering,
but the mass of bodies pushing

from behind has helped some
to start scaling the wall -

probing it for escape routes.

The remaining zebra make it
to the other side,

but their problems continue.

The bank is too high to get out.

The wildebeest spread along
the bank, testing each section
for a possible way out.

Their vast numbers increase
the chance of one of them

finding an escape route.

Eventually, some
of them are successful.

The masses follow their lead.

Swarm intelligence finally pays off.

The zebra are still paying the price
for their independence of mind.

The whole wildebeest herd
funnels up the escape route.

As they break down the
bank, they make it easier
for those that follow.

This fact hasn't been
lost on the zebra -

they now have
to join the wildebeest.

Despite their apparently
mindless approach,

all the wildebeest survived.

The zebra weren't so lucky.

Here it's not brain versus brawn -

it is individual brains versus
the intelligence of the swarm.

Although each zebra has a higher
intellect, by working together,

the wildebeest herd
gains greater wisdom.

It's surely no coincidence that
wildebeest outnumber zebra

by nearly ten to one.

This swarm is joined by another
- red-billed quelea -

the most numerous
bird on the planet.

When they flock together,
they also act with one mind.

Although they feed in small flocks,
they join up to become a mega-flock

as they make their way
to roost sites or waterholes.

The flocks are mixed ages.
Most are this year's young -

fledgling birds,
just a few weeks old.

LOUD CHIRPING

They are still very inexperienced -
their naivety makes them vulnerable.

Their biggest enemy is
the lanner falcon.

It soon learns where
their watering holes are.

The lanner reaches 150 miles
per hour in a stoop.

Taken by surprise, the youngster
didn't stand a chance.

The survivors may have had
their feathers ruffled,

but they've learned an
important lesson.

They are in a quandary.

It's dangerous to drink,

but they won't survive
the night without water.

This is where their collective
intelligence starts to work.

The flock start to share roles.

The more adventurous resume
drinking, but this time,

the more nervous birds
act as lookouts.

They watch the braver
ones' backs as they drink.

The falcon tries again.

FRANTIC CHIRPING

Quickly spotted, a wave
of panic alerts the flock.

Such group tactics work well
because every bird has a
slightly different personality.

Some are wary and hold back,

others throw caution to the wind,
risking all for a drink.

Once the daredevils have finished,
they take over lookout duties.

By rotating roles, the flock
increases its overall awareness.

Together, they outsmart
the lanner falcon.

Safely refreshed,
the flock returns to its roost.

But this is not simply a dormitory,

it's a meeting room where almost a
million birds exchange information.

In a way not yet understood,
the quelea learn from each other.

News travels fast.

Prime feeding spots that yesterday

were only known by a select few,
become today's star attractions.

They leave the roost with a clear
mission on their collective mind.

A deluge of birds now descends
on the ripe grass seeds.

The leading edge of the flock
lands and begins to feed.

Birds at the back leapfrog
to the front of the queue.

This creates a wave
of continuous motion -

a rolling flock that devours
every seed in its path.

Both wildebeest and quelea show
the wisdom of the crowd in action.

But swarm intelligence actually
reaches perfection in insects.

Even the most basic insects can
show surprising social organisation.

Every month, Lake Victoria
in East Africa spawns the largest
eruption of flies on earth.

They emerge from the lake at
night after the rains,

triggered by
the onset of the new moon.

BUZZING

During an emergence, lakeside
islands become blanketed with flies.

Their sole purpose is to reproduce.

It's how they go about it that
makes them so extraordinary.

The male use their large feathery
antennae like the antlers of
rutting deer, to fight with rivals.

Like deer, those with the most
impressive headgear have the

greatest chance of
attracting a mate.

Once airborne, the power of
the swarm really takes off.

They are about to undertake
the world's largest mating ritual.

At first, the clouds of males
look totally random,

but gradually,
order emerges from the chaos.

The flies decide on
a landmark on the ground

and organise themselves above it.

They create columns that dance
like will-o-the-wisps,

never shifting
from their chosen position.

The dance of the males is designed
to entice the females. The columns

lure them in from a great distance.
Once inside, they mate.

When the dancing is at its
height, it looks almost as

though the forest is on fire.

Out on the lake, this mating ritual
happens on a spectacular scale.

Trillions of flies are involved

and the column may rise
200m into the air.

Their desire to perform over
a fixed point draws them to land.

Billions of flies create this
ephemeral structure.

It behaves like a single entity,
even flying against the wind -

a seemingly impossible feat,
given the flies' tiny size.

If lake flies can
become so organised,

it is hardly surprising
that some insects have taken

social decision-making to
spectacular heights.

But we are only just discovering
how clever they really are.

A fact some of us may
have suspected all along.

Ew...This is gross.

OK, go and move the pillow.

Ah, this is disgusting!
Mum, look at...

how many do you think there are?

About a thousand.

What do you think
these guys are thinking?

We have reason to be in awe of ants.

Slowed down forty times,

these African driver ants
are moving house.

The 20 million individuals
that make up the colony

have collectively
made the decision to move.

They carry their eggs, larvae
and pupae with them,

dividing up their tasks
according to size.

The workers carry the larvae,
while the soldiers hold

the much larger pupae that will
ultimately become new soldiers.

It's a huge undertaking,
but many claws make light work,

and the entire colony of
20 million individuals relocates

over the course of 48 hours.

The heavily fortified trail can
stretch a hundred metres from the

old nest - the equivalent of
11 miles in the human world.

As we all know,
moving house is never easy

and the ants' journey
is fraught with problems.

A twig blocking their path is
like a tree blocking a main road.

Their first job is to
identify the problem.

Those first at the scene call for
back-up, releasing a pheromone.

The heavy mob arrive
and immediately set to work -

they can lift
50 times their own weight.

As well as brute strength,
this needs supreme organisation.

They somehow have to all lift and
push at the same time -

a challenge that
even we find difficult.

Obstruction removed, the traffic
soon starts flowing again.

In defence of the trail,
the ants take no prisoners,

but even an innocuous-looking insect
can be surprisingly dangerous.

The soil millipede is killed
quickly, but the soldier's highly-

sensitive antennae immediately
reveal that it's poisonous.

The message soon reaches nearby
ants. They know exactly what to do.

They gather lumps of mud
and bury the problem.

With the millipede out of harm's
way, the trail can safely

continue its journey.

But more dangers
await the trailblazers.

A praying mantis plucks
unsuspecting ants from the column.

He seems to have the upper hand,

but the ants he kills
send out a dying message.

Reacting to this pheromone,
reinforcements arrive.

The mantis is a deadly predator,

but the ants know exactly what
they're dealing with.

One soldier grabs the mantis' jaws,

stopping it from
doing any more damage.

Other ants swarm over the mantis,

butchering it
with surgical precision.

The mantis' fate is sealed by
a clinical decapitation.

The eggs and pupae are
taken into the new nest.

Here, they are safe.

The millions of interlocking
ants that make up the nest's

superstructure create
an impenetrable barrier.

Only from the outside is
it possible to get an idea

of the nest's huge scale.

Literally millions of individuals

form a nervous network that
communicates using pheromones.

As ants pass messages to
each other, they effectively
act like brain cells.

Through the millions
of inter-connections

they arrive at a decision that
works for the benefit of the colony.

Like human brain cells, individual
ants are not "intelligent",

but the links between them create
a mind - an ant superbrain.

Deep inside is the queen.

Her role is to replenish the colony
by laying 2 million eggs a month.

She is merely an egg-laying machine,
under the collective command of all

the ants that make up
the mind of the hive.

The ants create a different
kind of intelligence -

a brain that exists
outside any single body.

Other social insects work
in a similar way.

One of the most well-studied
is the honey bee.

Like ants, individual bees
communicate with others in

the hive and their experiences
add together to make decisions

for the benefit of the colony.

This is most apparent when
bees create swarms, as they do
when looking for a new home.

In their searches, they can
turn up just about anywhere

- a disconcerting fact for
anyone caught in their path.

They're all right here, man.

Every single one of them.

We'll end up with a whole
hive on the thing. Oh yeah.

What seems to us an odd choice is
just part of an efficient process

that ultimately results
in the swarm finding the right
place to settle permanently.

So, choosing a car or a bike
isn't necessarily a mistake.

It has plenty of nooks and crannies
where they can build their combs.

The first bees to land release a
pheromone that guides the others in.

They cluster together
in a protective mass.

But as the sun beats down and
temperatures soar, they begin

to question their choice.

There is only so much
shade to go around.

They fan their wings to keep cool.

But the over-heating bees
release a chemical signal

that tells the scout bees
that they aren't happy.

The scouts quickly get the message,
and set off to find an alternative.

With the sun beating down,
it's a race against time.

The scouts look for a cavity
large enough to contain the hive.

This shows distinct possibilities.

She inspects the property -

pacing the floor and measuring up,
just like a human surveyor.

Once the scout is happy,
she leaves to let the swarm know.

Back at the temporary bivouac, she
announces the good news by dancing.

But this is a dance
with a precise meaning.

The straight part of the
dance shows the angle

they must fly to find the cavity.

The duration of her waggle dance
shows how far they have to go.

A second's worth of waggles
equals half a mile of flying.

Other scouts watch the dance,

following her every move,
taking in her directions.

When she leaves, the scouts follow.

With her guidance,
this advance party makes a
beeline to the exact spot.

Now it's their turn to check it out.

They too pace out the cavity,
checking whether they agree or not.

Having all made their assessment,

they hold a committee meeting
to consider their findings.

How they arrive at a
consensus is uncertain,

but eventually they do.

They let the swarm know
the good news.

The scouts rush through the swarm,
vibrating their wings

in what is called a buzz run.

This tells the swarm one thing...

It's time to leave.

100,000 bees take to the
air in less than two minutes.

The swarm follows the scouts,
leading them to their new home.

As more and more bees settle in,

they release a scent that
attracts in any stragglers.

Communal thinking is the secret
to the swarm's success.

But this kind of
intelligence has its problems.

It works best when things stay
as nature intended.

But it can't think out of the box.

Even this might not be
the disaster it seems.

Many swarms have become
successful by being transported

as stowaways around the world.

..Traffic heavy, one mile
south of the airport...

These are Fireants. They originated
in the jungles of Brazil and arrived

in North America on cargo vessels.

They now infest many airports,
homes and public buildings across
the southern states of America.

Despite their tiny size,
they have the power to close down

airports, traffic control systems
and server networks.

Their destructive influence
continues to grow.

Computers are especially vulnerable.

Remarkably, it's the
electricity that they like.

Their antennae are electro-sensitive
and the ants react

to electrical charges by
attacking them with their jaws.

The soldier ants also like
the sweet taste of the terminals

and they can't
resist having a nibble.

All this activity creates
problems and leads to dangerous

short circuits as their jaws
and legs touch exposed circuitry.

They are now creating havoc

over vast areas of the
southern states of America.

Having come from the
rainforest, the ants are used
to this kind of weather.

But unknowingly, the ants have built
their nest in a drainage ditch.

Flooding is a challenge for
even the most intelligent swarm.

The ants start an evacuation,
moving the nest to higher ground.

It's women and children first,

as the ants carry the queen
and her pupae to safety.

But still the water rises.

The ants react by linking
arms together, forming a mesh
of inter-connected bodies.

Between them, they
are making a life-raft.

The ants' most precious cargo,

the eggs and remaining pupae,
are safely stowed on top.

Flying ants also board
- like helicopters on

an aircraft carrier, ready
to lift off to start a new colony

if the raft gets into trouble.

Remarkably, some of
the pupae are set aside to

act as flotation devices,
to help keep the raft afloat.

The ants that make up the submerged
part of the raft have their own

emergency air-supply from
the air trapped on their bodies.

As the water level rises
further, the raft detaches

from its moorings - it is now at
the mercy of the wind and water.

Some of the workers paddle
with their front legs,

giving the elements a helping hand.

On the top deck, the workers
tend the pupae and larvae.

Below deck, workers clean and
maintain the underside of the raft.

As the raft approaches land,
it begins to change shape.

The ants start building
a pontoon from the raft that

reaches towards the bank.

The individuals are working
as a unified team

for the benefit
of the whole colony.

As fingers of ants reach out,

they show swarm intelligence
working to perfection.

As more ants add to
the pontoon's length,

it becomes a bridge to the land.

Once contact is made, the most
precious cargo is unloaded first.

Like a team of porters,
they ferry the pupae to the shore.

The next generation is safe.

The queen is next to disembark -
the colony's future is assured.

Using their incredible swarm
intelligence, fireants
are taking on the world.

As well as invading America, they
have started to colonize Australia.

With global warming, they are
likely to invade Europe,

as far north as southern England.

They are the swarm of the future.

As we have explored
the world of the swarm,

we discovered how they profit
on the back of our success.

How they feed off our agriculture

and take advantage of the
new environments we create.

We have seen how they can erupt at
any time - taking us by surprise.

And how they have hitched a
ride with us around the world.

We have seen how even simple
organisms can create spectacles

that can be
awe-inspiring and beautiful.

And also how they can become
the stuff of nightmares.

We have seen how swarms can learn
from their collective experience.

And how they can act as
a single organism.

We have even seen how looking
at swarms is like looking

into the inner workings
of an alien brain.

But this is one swarm that
we have yet to feature -

one that may even
help to save the world.

These little known creatures
are salps - a sea creature that

in fact is more closely related to
us than the jellyfish it resembles.

They come in many
bizarre shape and sizes.

Many are joined together to create
daisy chains - some a mile long.

At night, all across
the oceans of the world,

they rise to the surface
in their billions to feed.

Recently, their numbers have
started to increase

and swarms now cover
thousands of square miles.

They eat the algae that absorb
our greenhouse gasses and then

safely lock the carbon away
at the bottom of the ocean.

An average swarm removes
an incredible 4,000 tons
of carbon each night.

They are a growing swarm with the
power to help save our planet and

their significance has
only just been discovered.

They are living proof that
we should never underestimate
the power of the swarm.

Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd

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