Original subtitles

A rugged, yet beautiful landscape

in the heart of Europe.

Formed by water, ice, and rocks.

A valley hidden deep within the Swiss Alps.

The Engadin is one of Switzerland's

best-kept secrets.

A valley shaped by the river Inn,

and guarded by mountains on all sides.

Gigantic glaciers straddle the peaks,

the enormous force of flowing ice

constantly carving out new paths.

This barren wilderness is a last refuge

for many Alpine specialists.

The Engadin safeguards the future of

some of Europe's most iconic animals.

At over 2000 meters, the Lunghin Pass and lake

is the site of Europe's great continental divide.

A drop of rain that falls here has an uncertain future.

If it falls into the lake, it's the start

of a long journey down rivers heading east

towards the Black Sea.

Falling on the northern side of the pass

takes it down the river Rhine, all the way

to the North Sea.

And the southern side of the ridge will take it south,

through Italy's lakes and rivers, to the Mediterranean.

From these high Alpine peaks, water drains

in all three directions, carrying a little part of Engadin

to the distant corners of Europe.

And it carries with it a secret message.

The Alps are particularly sensitive to climate change

and global warming has an immediate and striking impact

on the water cycle.

In winter, water travels up the mountainsides

as snow and ice, forming vast glacial reservoirs

for decades to come.

Located in the remotest part of Engadin

is one of Europe's oldest, and Switzerland's only,

national park.

Untouched by man for over a hundred years,

the landscape has reverted to the hand of Nature.

Flocks of tiny birds seek safety in numbers

and congregate in a larch tree

beneath a Red Crossbill.

There's food and shelter to be found here.

In the depths of winter, a Willow Tit

and a Yellow Hammer pick out tiny insects

from under the bark.

The high vantage point and the many watchful eyes

provide safety from predators.

At the first sign of danger, they scatter.

Chamois mountain goats have always been here.

Bearded vultures have returned to the skies above Engadin.

With a wingspan of nearly three meters, they are

the largest birds in these mountains.

They are scavengers, searching for animals

that have succumbed to the cold.

A pregnant chamois struggles up the steep slopes.

And for last spring's young, this winter

is the first test.

There's little food to be had now,

and the chamois may go up to two weeks

without feeding.

But there's an upside to the deep snow.

The tree tops and their succulent shoots

are much easier to reach.

Winters are long and severe in Engadin,

six months at minimum.

Red deer have moved into the valleys

below the treeline.

With the arrival of spring, last year's young

will need to become independent.

Their mothers are pregnant again

and will have no more time for them.

The females keep their eyes peeled for exposed patches.

Shifting slabs of snow are a deadly danger,

but they often reveal the only source of much-needed food.

The stag rests nearby.

Hard winters bind the herd.

There'll be no rivals now.

The majestic peaks of the Engadin seem inhospitable

to all life.

But there is a creature tailor-made for this landscape.

The Alpine ibex is a wild goat that's adapted

to the high mountains.

It seeks out the rocky terrain above the treeline,

feeding on the exposed slopes.

Only in winter will it venture down into the lower valleys.

After an avalanche it's particularly tricky.

Special techniques are called for.

It isn't for everyone.

Unfazed by height and sheer drops, the ibex

can't handle unstable surfaces.

And at 100 kilos, her weight doesn't make it any easier.

Navigating through fractured snow uses up

valuable energy.

So in winters with heavy snowfall,

ibexes leave the safety of the national park

and seek out neighboring valleys with less snow.

Until 100 years ago, man was the worst enemy of the ibex.

Once widespread throughout the Alps,

by the end of the 19th century, ibexes were hunted

almost to extinction.

Surprisingly, it was a royal Italian hunter

who saved the species.

It was in the Aosta Valley, on the slopes of Mont Blanc,

that King Victor Emmanuel II,

nicknamed "Re Cacciatore", "The Hunter King",

inherited a piece of perfect ibex country.

He pronounced it his personal hunting ground.

There were only 100 ibex left, but his gamekeepers

protected them fiercely.

Fighting on the steep, rocky slopes is a dangerous business

so males determine their hierarchy through harmless tussles

throughout the year.

Today, the King's hunting ground, that Gran Paradiso,

is a national park and safe haven for the ibex.

But the iconic mountain goat is also found

in other parts of the Alps.

And this is down to the efforts of two

determined Swiss men.

Italian poachers played an important part

in this story.

For the King refused to sell a single one

of his precious animals, not even

to ensure the conservation of the species.

If caught, the poachers risked execution.

Under cover of darkness, the live cargo

was shouldered in crates or baskets

along the steepest mountain passes.

The secret operation often took weeks.

But it was a risk worth taking.

The Swiss buyers would pay today's price

of a mid-range car for a single kid.

To feed the kids twice a day, domestic goats

were strategically positioned along the route.

In those days, goats were often left to graze

beside fields and meadows, so they didn't

attract attention.

The kids were taken from their mothers

immediately after birth.

Keeping them alive was difficult.

Not all of them made it.

Over time, the poachers established a network

of caves and huts along the way,

providing much-needed shelter from the elements

and the police.

Once across the border, the smugglers

were hailed as heroes.

Their precious cargo was destined

for a wildlife park in the little hamlet of Saint Gallen.

Its founders, Robert Mader and Albert Girtanner

set up a program with government support

to reintroduce the ibex to Switzerland.

All told, 59 ibexes were smuggled over the border

making the poachers very rich.

Today, there are over 40,000 ibexes in the Alps,

all of them of Italian descent.

Robert Mader was one of the first

to invest his own money in conservation,

money he'd made in Engardin's flourishing tourist trade.

Snow polo on Lake St. Moritz has existed

as long as the national park.

It's an eccentric pasttime for the wealthy,

but it has indirectly helped wildlife conservation

in Engardin.

The Swiss National Park was created

in Engardin in 1914, the very first in the Alps.

The aim was to leave 170 square kilometers

untouched forever, and to let nature take its course.

With no threat from hunters, the chamois

have little to fear.

Their padded, flexible hooves make for sure footing

all year round.

The color of their coats provide good camouflage

in the springtime.

The "gazelles of the Alps" can reach speeds

of 60 kilometers an hour.

As winter nears its end, the chamois seek out

fresh grazing further down the slopes,

where spring arrives a little earlier.

Seasons here are about place, not just time.

The young learn what they can and can't eat

by watching their elders.

Bearded vultures once had an undeserved reputation

for carrying off lambs.

By 1890, they'd been wiped out.

A hundred years later.

Once again, crates are being carried

across the border.

This time, not by poachers, but by researchers

from the Vienna breeding station, who are bringing

two young vultures to a temporary nest.

At 90 days old, they still have

their black juvenile plumage.

In another month, they'll be ready to fly.

Until then, they must get used to their new surroundings.

Reintroducing the bearded vulture is Engadin's

second great success in the conservation of species.

These young vultures had a helping hand into life.

But now they must survive on their own,

without parental guidance.

The first youngster takes to the air.

Like all birds, they have a natural ability to fly.

But practice makes perfect.

In the Serengeti of the Swiss National Park,

the steep valleys provide perfect flight conditions.

At nearly seven kilos, bearded vultures

need a lot of energy to get airborne.

But they can always count on a thermal for extra lift.

In the 15 years to 2007, 26 bearded vultures

were released here.

And that year, the first breeding pair were seen

in the national park.

With vast territories averaging 500 square kilometers,

bearded vultures can only be introduced

via an international program like this one.

The Pleysier Alpine Pasture lies right on the edge

of the national park, close to

one of the vultures' nesting sites.

The sheep have nothing to fear from the bearded ones

but there's another newcomer here.

In 2008, a wolf was sighted for the first time.

And wolves need a year-round supply of sheep

to survive.

A remarkable dog, in sheep's clothing,

is the best defense.

Pure white Maremmano dogs were first bred

in the Abruzzo region of southern Italy.

They are born in the pen amongst the sheep

so they feel like members of the flock.

Their task is to be vigilant.

Gathering and moving the herd is the job of Border Collies,

miniature wolves in dog's clothing.

Their instinctive skills in sheep management

have a lot in common with wild wolves' hunting behavior.

Border Collies are said to have what's called "sheep sense".

They can predict what the sheep will do next.

That helps them keep the flock together

while the Maremmanos simply run alongside and watch.

Much of the time, they disappear into the herd,

barely distinguishable from their companions.

They are saving their strength and energy

for protecting the flock in an emergency.

But at the end of the day, he comes into his own.

As night falls and the fog rolls in,

the Maremmanos take up their positions as guard dogs.

This is the hour of the big predators.

In 2014, a brown bear was spotted on these pasture lands.

It killed three sheep in a little over a week.

The dogs instinctively form a defensive wall

between the flock and approaching danger.

But experienced predators know these tactics.

They approach silently, under cover of night and fog.

The following morning.

A Marimmano takes stock.

This sheep wasn't killed last night,

but it's a sure sign there's a killer about.

The return of the big predators has awakened

ancient fears and prejudices.

There may be compensation for any loss,

but that won't appease every farmer.

Slowly, spring returns above the treeline.

Water rushes down the mountainsides.

Water, the lifeline of Alpine pastures.

The basis of sustainable agriculture.

But traditional Alpine farms are fast disappearing,

forced out by changing lifestyles.

Marmots don't care who grazes here,

livestock or wild animals, as long as

the grass is kept at just the right length for their dinner.

After six months' hibernation, it's time to wake up

and clear up.

These young males are rehearsing the defense

of their burrow.

They're also establishing their place in the group.

With only the alpha pair breeding,

competition is high.

Some take a little longer to get moving.

While the female cleans, the male keeps an eye on things.

But these traditional roles are not quite what they seem.

In marmot society, males and females are equal

and both will fight to protect their territory.

A neighboring male approaches with dishonorable intentions.

Only a male can see off a male intruder.

The profusion of wildflowers in Alpine meadows

is a direct result of intensive agriculture.

As more and more pastureland is turned over to grazing

by wild deer, the variety of plant life may even increase.

But the vibrant flowers that attract human ramblers

and insects may disappear.

And this in turn has an effect on the insect life.

Does a fly know it has chosen a rather rare

Nigritella orchid for its metamorphosis?

A beautiful starting point for this short life.

The picture is always changing,

whether pastures are fertilized by a farmer's cattle

or trimmed by grazing deer.

The change itself can be delightful.

The decisive factor is time.

Engadin is a dry Alpine valley.

The surrounding mountains shield it from rain

in all directions.

Yet, under special conditions, gifts from far away

reach this secluded mountain region.

And then, the glacier ice turns the color

of chamois.

It's the color of Africa.

Sand from the Sahara desert, carried thousands of kilometers

by the winds, over land and sea,

up into the mountains, comes to rest on glaciers

at 3000 meters.

Mountain lakes, called "blue eyes", see the world

in a very special way.

They register geological messages from the depths

as well as every tiny particle the winds carry

across the globe.

Water is planet Earth's most sensitive organ,

where everything becomes visible.

Traces of human activity are measurable

even at 3000 meters.

Water mirrors the mountains, the heavens,

nature, the whole world.

It's mid-summer and red deer are grazing freely

in the open, in the middle of the day.

Living within the safety of the national park

has made them confident and less wary of humans.

The young stags congregate in their own bachelor groups.

In the long, warm days, they play-fight

and test each others' strength.

There are no conclusive outcomes, no real foes.

It's not compulsory.

Some prefer to graze.

No one's injured in this foreleg-strutting.

And the females don't deign to watch.

Several times a year, the park rangers

check the numbers.

They've recorded the movements in the park

for 100 years.

From the beginning, the scientists have asked

the same questions.

How will nature evolve if man doesn't intervene?

How does wild behavior change when

human civilization withdraws?

Regular counts of red deer are a major task.

So as not to count the same animal twice,

the rangers stay in close communication.

They divide the area into sectors

and note the individual characteristics of each animal.

Red deer often move between valleys

so regular monitoring is the only way to get reliable data.

This is also the country of Heidi,

the world's most famous shepherd girl.

But who would expect serenity and peace

in this rugged landscape?

But ibexes know how to pass their time at ease.

Next door, they're learning by doing.

Vital skills need to be acquired.

Under the watchful eye of a governess,

the young males go through their paces

on a perpendicular rock face.

Talent's inborn.

It still needs practice.

Today, it's hard to believe the ibexes

were once on their way to extinction.

"God da Tamangur".

In the local romance language, the name means

"That forest back there."

It's the highest Swiss pine forest in Europe.

The giant trees of Tamangur can live 800 years.

No other trees can survive up here,

in winter temperatures of 30 degrees below zero.

The Spotted Nutcrackers eats the pine tree's oily seeds

so it was long considered the pines' worst enemy.

In fact, the forest needs the nutcracker to grow.

These trees survived the Little Ice Age

as well as our own brief warm period,

but they can't reproduce easily.

The nutcracker needs about 80% of the seeds it takes

to get through the winter.

The rest remain hidden in the ground, where he left them.

There they have the chance to become a new tree.

So the nutcracker is really the pine trees' greatest ally.

When an ancient tree at last falls to the ground,

it's left where it lies, so the natural cycle

can continue over generations.

At every stage of its life, the Swiss pine

is a source of new energy.

For centuries, the tree's unique qualities

have been used in medicine.

Swiss pine brandy is famous too.

This small stand of ancient trees, safe within

the national park, sometimes welcomes a shy

and elusive visitor.

The lynx.

The wildcat has made a comeback in the Alps

in the last 30 years.

But it's still rare today.

The robin's red breast looks surprisingly yellow.

Maybe because of a carotene deficiency at high altitudes.

No more than a morsel for a large cat,

but the lynx has broad tastes, and small birds

are definitely on the menu.

A lynx is cautious when selecting a home territory.

He has high expectations of a habitat,

but he'll hunt anywhere.

Like most predators, he prefers to stay hidden

so he avoids open spaces and human settlements.

Switzerland has been successful in re-introducing

the lynx, but only in a very limited area.

To bring the lynx back permanently,

large interconnected territories are needed.

And most of all, other lynxes.

The wide, undisturbed forests of Engardin

with their abundance of wildlife, should be

the perfect lynx habitat.

What's missing is company.

In 2008, a lynx captured in the park

was fitted with a transmitter.

It stayed for a few months before moving on

to neighboring Italy, probably in search of a mate.

If the lynx is to come back to the Alps for good,

existing populations must have the chance

to come together.

The rutting season.

The roar of the dominant stag echoes

through the valley, declaring ownership of his harem.

Young males are chased away.

A sudden flurry of snow puts a temporary end

to the excitement.

It's only mid-September, but early snow

is not uncommon in Engardin.

One young male is not giving up.

But the reigning stag is quickly on the scene again.

He has to work hard to keep his females in line.

This is the call of a more serious contender.

He's also attracted the attention of the females.

It's a confident approach.

The females are still interested.

It's clear this is a serious challenge.

The two stags are now locked in a vocal duel.

But that won't be enough to resolve the issue.

Now all the deer's senses come into play.

The challenger can smell the aggression.

In the end, there's only one option.

Battles like this can last well into the night.

Body weight and strength will now determine who wins.

This time, the stag could see off his rival.

Next time, who knows.

A bearded vulture revels in its newfound freedom.

Two more bearded vultures were introduced

in 2014, and eight chicks hatched in the wild.

Ten new arrivals in a single year.

The Swiss bearded vulture population

has reached a sensational high.

A parent and youngster ride the thermals together,

the young bird learning from the experienced adult.

And it's about to get one of its most important lessons.

The adult is carrying a bone in its talons.

It seeks out a rocky slope, and then circles

at just the right height.

Into position, and the bone drops.

The bone has shattered, and the bird can get

at the nutritious marrow.

Is this a male or a female?

You can't tell from the beard.

The young vulture watches from above.

He's going to need a lot of practice.

Like other vultures, bearded vultures

are scavengers, always on the lookout

for a carcass.

But they just take what all the others leave behind.

This time, it's the youngster's turn.

The drop may have been hesitant,

but the landing glide is assured and confident.

The elder keeps a watchful eye from above.

The youngster seems unsure where

the bone has landed.

He's found it, but it hasn't cracked.

He'll have to try again,

up to 40 times to break one bone.

The adult goes again.

A young bearded vulture can take up to seven years

to master this skill.

Feathers along the wings act like flaps on an aircraft

fine-tuning the bird's descent.

Perfect.

With their diet of bones and bone marrow,

bearded vultures occupy a niche without competition

from other scavengers.

And they benefit from other birds of prey

by cleaning up their leftovers.

Efforts to reintroduce the lynx

and the bearded vulture to Engardin show that

protection alone is not enough.

International agreements and safe wildlife corridors

are needed, so that animals can move freely

and build up sustainable populations.

But the Swiss National Park has proved

that pristine wilderness can exist in Europe,

with human intervention.

And that makes this ever-changing oasis

a vital Alpine success story.