All language subtitles for River of No Return PBS Nature 2012 720p HDTV EN Sub_Subtitles01.ENG

Can you imagine what some beaches in
Hawaii would be like right now?

Terrible, I'd have sand all over me.

Pina coladas.
Ooh, that sounds good.

Water.

This may not be everyone's

idea of a honeymoon.

Almost went down.

But it was ours.

We wanted to fulfill a dream...

to live for a year

in the wildest place left
in the lower 48,

the river of no return
wilderness.

Our guides while we're here?

The wolves I've studied
for 13 years.

I've watched them right here
before, and I've never known

where they go from here.

That's the way it should be
out here.

We're not the only ones

trying to make our way
in this wilderness.

All around us are creatures of
undaunted courage.

Our own courage will be tested
by this journey.

I don't know if either one of us
could quit now.

And there's one thing
we know for certain...

there's no coming back from
the river of no return

unchanged.

Nature is made possible
in part by... Canon.

Take your inspiration
from nature,

leave it untouched
by your presence.

Capture its image
and preserve it forever.

Canon...
living and working together

to appreciate today
and care for tomorrow.

Additional funding for Nature

is provided by...

The corporation for
public broadcasting.

And by contributions
to your pbs station

from viewers like you...
thank you.

In the heart of Idaho,

there's a perfect place
to lose yourself in the wild.

It's a vast wilderness

built around the backbone
of a rugged river.

Lewis and Clark once attempted
to cross through here

looking for a route westward.

But they were
forced to turn back.

They met this stretch of
the salmon river,

known as
"the river of no return."

Two centuries later,

the untamed character of this
land remains largely unchanged.

[ Howling ]

It's part of the largest
roadless area left

in the lower 48,

the Frank church river of
no return wilderness.

At some 2.5 million acres,

it's larger than yellowstone.

But it has no visitor's centers,
no gift shops,

no convenience stores.

Most people have never
even heard of it.

I was drawn here because
this wilderness has wolves.

My name is Isaac Babcock,
and for the past 13 years,

I've worked as a biologist
for the Nez Perce tribe.

When wolves returned to
central Idaho,

it was the Nez Perce
who welcomed them home.

We trapped them,

collared them,

and tracked them...

following their lives...

And even their deaths.

She's bleeding internally.

That's awfully indicative
of poisoning.

Sorry, old girl.

I owe these wolves a lot.

They introduced me to
this place, to wilderness.

And because of that, my life's
never going to be the same.

I suppose you could say
I'm crazy about three things...

wolves, wilderness,

and my wife bjornen.

Hello!

Bjornen grew up back east
in Delaware.

I'd like to share
this wilderness

and the wolves with her.

We're gonna try to keep up with
the wolves as best we can,

not as biologists,
but as observers...

If we can find them.

I married a dreamer.

Isaac follows wolves
into the mountains of Idaho,

and now I'm following him.

He's always had this dream
of living in the wilderness...

a whole year in
the river of no return.

It was his idea to make a film
about this place.

I'm thinking it's

a once-in-a-lifetime adventure.

He's calling it a honeymoon.

The river of no return
is like a ribbon

tying all this
wild country together.

And for one little character,

that narrow ribbon is all
the wilderness it needs...

The dipper.

Just a small gray bird
on big gray rocks.

But unassuming as it looks,

it seems to live
a pretty exciting life.

Dippers thrive where
the river is roughest...

flying straight into the rapids
to hunt for aquatic insects,

never even getting wet.

The great naturalist, John muir,

wrote that the dipper's nest

was "one of the most
extraordinary examples

of bird architecture"
he'd ever seen.

And he was right...

a beautiful moss globe
perched out over the water.

It seems a menacing place
to have your home,

where your chicks' first steps
into this outside world

become a frigid
sink-or-swim plunge.

But somehow it works for them.

They seem so perfectly at home
in the chaos.

We're off to find a different
kind of nest...

a hole in the ground,

more appropriately
called a den.

It smells good up here.

What do you see?
Nothing yet.

There's roughly nine wolf packs
that roam this wilderness.

I know of a few of their
past den sites,

so that's where we're starting.

There's one,

it's on the other side.

Black puppies!

Yeah!

Well, this is a surprise.

[ Pup coos ]

They're denned
just right off the trail.

It's not where

I expected them to be.

[ Pups playing ]

I rarely get to see pups
so close and so young.

The pups are all on their own
at the moment...

the adults are
probably all out hunting.

They have a lot of mouths
to feed...

maybe they can't afford
a babysitter.

They're pretty little now.
What's that?

They're pretty little now.

These guys can only be
about four or five weeks old.

They're still too young
to know about people.

But if the adults return
and find us here,

they'll probably move the pups,

so we'll move on
before that happens.

That was pretty perfect.

Believe it or not, this
place didn't used to be so wild.

There used more people here,
mining and homesteading.

But with the Idaho primitive act
of 1930,

civilization began losing ground
to conservation.

In 1980, it was officially
designated "wilderness"...

a land to be governed by
the forces of nature.

Forces like fire.

You can hardly go
anywhere out here

without seeing the remains

of a burn.

Sometimes thousands of
charred acres.

It looks like destruction to us,

but fire is essential to
how this place works.

Take this ancient
whitebark pine.

It could be 1,000 years old,

standing dead on the Ridge,
presumably killed by fire.

A tragedy?

You couldn't tell
these bluebirds that.

Nesting in an old
woodpecker hole,

they've got a penthouse
with a million-dollar view.

This little couple is all busy

bringing insects
to their chicks,

safely tucked into this
scarred old tree.

When filming wolves,
the name of the game

is for them to not know that
you're there...

which means we basically
dress like, well, shrubbery.

Success seems largely
a result of luck,

and luck a result of patience.

And so, we sit in a small blind
overlooking a steep valley

day after day,

after day.

And just when we're about to
throw in the towel,

we get our break.

They seem to be
searching for something,

or at least
investigating some scent.

Something's not right.

Do they know we're here?

All day long, the wolves
have been really on edge.

We thought it was because of us.

[ Wolves howling ]

But it's not us...

It's other wolves.

Two young males...
not hostile,

but wagging tails,

practically wearing smiles.

Is this a social call?

Are they trying to
join the pack?

It starts out well...

And then they're
turned down flat.

As the pack heads down
to the meadow,

it all starts to make sense.

[ Pups crying ]

They have too much at stake
to take a chance with outsiders.

For wolves,
it's all about the pack...

a family of brothers,
sisters, aunts, and uncles,

generations working together
to all help raise the pups.

Even after 13 years
of wolf work,

a moment like this still
feels so wild,

so raw, so real to me,

I sometimes forget to breathe.

My hands get shaky.

The wolves' home
has been discovered,

and they make the decision
to leave the valley.

I feel for the female.

The pups are too young

to negotiate this terrain
on their own,

and they're getting
too big to be carried.

I wonder how she communicates
to the pack

that it's time to go?

I've watched them
right here before,

and I've never known
where they go from here.

But, uh...
That's okay.

That's the way
it should be out here.

It's kind of nice
to see a pack of wolves,

be able to watch them a bit,

and have no radio collars on,

no means of tracking them,

no knowing where they're
going to go next.

The wolves go straight up
over the Mountain

and leave us behind.

It's time for us
to strike out on our own.

Heading South and west,

we decide to
make for the river.

We have a fourth of July
date there...

something I've heard about
but I've never seen.

And the river is a natural
magnet for wildlife.

I've always said
if I get to be reincarnated,

I'd like to come back
as an otter.

They just seem to get the most

out of every moment... the most
affection, the most fun.

They're in cool water
when it's hot,

in warm coats when it's cold.

We're trudging along with
backpacks full of gadgets

all to make
our lives "easier."

While otters come perfectly
equipped for anything.

Hungry?
No problem.

With some flipper feet

and sharp teeth, it's easy
to dine on Sushi.

While the pup is trying to
figure out what a fish is for,

a dipper fledgling
is throwing a tantrum,

demanding to be fed.

And it works like a charm.

In fact, this chick
is so well fed,

it appears to be
bigger than its parent.

But soon enough it will have to
fend for itself

and face the world...
a wild river all on its own.

The river really begins to roar
at dagger falls.

It's a daunting place...

Even for the dipper.

But we've come here hoping to
meet a different creature,

one that's traveled a thousand
Miles to take on these falls.

Chinook salmon...

all the way
from the pacific ocean,

up to three and a half feet
and 30 pounds of power,

fighting upstream
to return home.

There is greatness
in these salmon.

I'm always amazed that
in such epic terrain,

it's not wolves but fish

that really go the distance.

I think of the millions

that once made this run,

and they seem to me like
wilderness itself...

a fraction of what it once was,

embattled but not bowed.

It's been nearly a month since
we've seen any sign of wolves.

Leaving the dipper
in charge of the river,

we head for a place
called Chamberlain basin.

It looks like it
may have spun a little bit.

If it hasn't spun,
I think we want to go that way;

if it has spun,
then we're gonna go that way

and it's gonna be wrong.

Every summer, trail crews
with hand saws and axes

clear nearly
800 Miles of trail.

But the wilderness
just takes it all back again.

I almost went down.

It's like someone took Lincoln
logs and just scattered them.

It takes us hours
to go a single mile.

At this rate,

Chamberlain is weeks away.

A wolf would just
eat up this distance.

They're built for this.

They move like quicksilver
through these mountains,

going after grouse in
the thickest of timber.

Thinking about
how easily they travel

makes us feel twice as awkward.

You all right?

Uh-huh,
I can't get up.

I said just keep it rolling!

[ Laughs ]

Are you ok?
Yes.

Okay.

We haven't gone far at all

when we find out that we aren't
the only ones struggling.

A baby bluebird
is out of the nest,

but it doesn't seem
ready to fly.

Maybe it wasn't ready to fledge.

Maybe it was injured
in the fall.

The parents have put so much
effort into this chick.

And they aren't going to
give up on it now.

They're feeding it all they can.

It's the only help
they can give,

and who knows...
with some time,

this guy might be good to go.

But he's sure off to
a rough start.

[ Grunts ]

Sometimes it's just easier
to be a dog.

[ Bjornen laughs ]

Good work!
Thank you.

Onward!

The trail,
or what's left of it,

goes straight across
a high, long Ridge.

And it comes with fair warning.

There's lots of mosquitos.

This is bad!
This is bad.

I'm putting on something.

Say "wilderness,"

and people think of
Mountain lions,

wolves, bears...

But it's always mosquitoes
that draw first blood.

Go for it.
I got it, I got it.

Oh, can you imagine what
some beach in Hawaii

would be like right now?

Hot, terrible, I'd be sunburnt!

Oh, it'd be so lovely.

I'd have sand all over me.

Pina coladas.
Ooh, that sounds good.

Water.

Ow!

Just when we need it most,

a river comes to our rescue.

We're not going to need
anything for this.

Yeah!
Just lay down.

It looks so lovely
and tranquil.

Oh! Oh!

In the flowers.

Ha! Ooh-hoo!

Now, how's it feel?

Oh, I like doing
the chicken dance!

But look! I don't have
any mosquitoes on me!

Okay, go, go, go, go.

Zip, zip, zip, zip, zip, zip!

Wow, look at them
all over my shoes!

That is just...

Horrible.

I mean, there's just something
very wrong with them.

[ Thunder crashes ]

[ Playing harmonica ]

What?

What is that look for?

I was wondering
what you're playing?

Oh, you know that song.

I don't.
You don't know the song?

I don't think so.

What are you singing?
What are you blowing?

You should know that song!
I'm not going to tell you.

Oh, come on! I think we
need to mail out for a book.

[ Playing ]

Oh!
"This land is your land"!

Oh, man!
Is it that bad?

No.

[ Both playing ]

[ Playing off-key ]

[ Bjornen laughs ]

It's turning August

when we meet
the chinook salmon again.

They've made it all the way up
to these small, clear streams,

where they find the gravel beds
they need to lay their eggs.

They're flushing
dark breeding colors now.

Their bodies began to change

the moment they left
the saltwater.

After three to four
years at sea,

and a tough climb
up a Mountain stream,

they're ready for
their final act...

They spawn.

It's hard to see
the salmon all in tatters.

Last time we saw them,

leaping dagger falls,
they seemed invincible.

They're approaching
the end of their lives,

but they've succeeded.

It must be a great thing
to reach your ultimate goal,

to fulfill your life
exactly as you're meant to.

There are times now

when I feel like I'm struggling
upstream myself.

Just before we set out
on this adventure,

I was diagnosed with
rheumatoid arthritis.

My immune system
has gone haywire

and is attacking my joints.

It's been moving around

from shoulder to hip,
to knees, to feet,

raising hell on some days.

How's that feel?

Cold.
Cold?

Doesn't even feel good, huh?

No, it does feel good.

Did you see the wolf tracks?

Yeah.
They looked fresh.

Biggies, huh?
Yeah.

It's not something
I like to talk about,

even with Isaac.

Are you gonna sit there?
Done soaking?

Yeah, for now.

When it really flares up,

we have to stop.

And I know my pain
is just as hard on him.

But I was not going to
miss this journey.

You make your choices
and take your chances...

life comes with no guarantees.

I'd choose an adventure
with hardship

over no adventure at all,
every time.

We reach
Chamberlain basin at last,

a primeval meadow
in beautiful evening light.

We come across
white-tailed deer...

And our first glimpse of wolves
in almost two months.

The wolves and deer
pay no attention to us.

They're already intent
on an ancient game.

This evening
we see something amazing.

One of the wolves we're watching
turns our way

and crosses the meadow
towards us.

She looks like a yearling...
her approach is all curiosity.

She comes within 30 feet

before circling and passing by.

We stare at each other
all the while.

We've taken the wildness
out of our lives

and mostly out of
our country, too.

But in the river of no return,

it's like we can reach back
to a place where we can still

see, hear,
and feel a little wild.

With the year turning,

it's time to make plans
for the winter.

We head east to a river
called big creek,

where we've been asked
to fill in as caretakers

at a university of Idaho
field station.

Spending the winter in a cabin

isn't something we planned on
when dreaming up this journey.

In truth, we're torn.

We're still after
a wilderness experience.

But now,
as we weigh our options,

a cabin doesn't sound half bad.

Taylor ranch is one of a number

of private in-holdings
and airstrips

that existed in
the river of no return

before it was
designated wilderness.

Once an old homestead,
it's now a research facility,

but it still runs largely on
wilderness principles.

A mule team cuts hay

and skids logs for firewood.

Supplies arrive once a week,

weather permitting,

on the U.S. postal service
mail route...

one of the last remaining
airmail routes in the country.

On the steep slopes
above Taylor ranch,

bighorn sheep are spilling down
from the high country.

This is prime winter range,

and the sheep will find
grazing here,

sheltered from the worst of
the weather to come.

Elk drift in
from their summer pastures.

Everywhere, animals are
on the move.

The elk rut is already over,

but the rutting season is
full on for the bighorns.

Usually, bighorns
are so skittish,

you can't get anywhere
close to them.

But during the rut, they're so
focused and distracted,

you can practically sit in
right among them.

The ewes and rams spend
most of the year separated.

But now they all come together

for a real social
free-for-all.

The rams have already spent
a lot of energy

sorting out who is stronger
before the rut even begins.

But a ewe will test them
all again anyways.

Until she finds one
she'll accept.

With all the chasing
and head butting,

the rams really take a beating.

There's no help
for an injury out here.

To survive,
it's good to be strong...

It's even better to be lucky.

We've been watching the elk
with some anticipation,

figuring the wolves
shouldn't be too far behind.

[ Howling in distance ]

Good wintering grounds for elk

make good wintering grounds
for wolves.

And for an injured elk,
that doesn't bode well.

It's hard not to pity
an elk in this condition.

The wolves will be quick
to single her out.

By dusk, the pack has isolated
the injured elk up on the Ridge.

And I'm secretly
rooting for her,

even though I know the wolves
are probably doing her a favor.

Then, something
remarkable happens.

A companion appears

and puts herself between
the wolves and the injured elk.

All my textbook biology
fails me.

When it's survival
of the fittest,

where is there room for
this compassion?

In the fading light,
I think I'm seeing things.

But I can just make out
the wolves, the injured elk,

and this unexplained companion

risking her own life
to defend her.

In the morning
I'm completely astonished.

The injured elk and her
companion are still together,

somehow having
survived the night.

The wolves
are nowhere in sight.

Our caretaking term
at Taylor ranch is over,

and we set up a winter camp
just above the river.

Back out in the cold,

we're hoping this homemade tent
will hold up,

and this titanium wood stove
is going to kick out

enough heat.

It started.
Thanks to that little...

We're pretty soft these days.

Much tougher people
lived in these mountains

for thousands of years.

They were sheep eaters,
the tukudeka,

a peaceful,
Mountain-dwelling tribe.

Sheep with a long tail.

Yeah.

Some kind.

They had no word
for "wilderness."

They probably
never imagined nature

as something separate
from themselves.

But we do.

And now, when the natural world
is slipping away,

we've had to create a place
to call "wilderness"...

a place managed to be wild.

Winter has settled in,

distilling the world
into black and white.

The river of no return
has all gone quiet.

But then again,
that's just an illusion.

Sitting in the silence
and the snow,

you really begin to hear.

[ Birds calling,
otters grunting ]

The river, of course,
is as lively as ever.

[ Otters grunting ]

Animals live so completely
in the present,

in hunting, gathering,

running, diving,
sneaking, playing...

In all the arts
of physical survival,

in everything they're
designed to be.

I love watching them
use their bodies.

And right now, when I feel like
my own body is failing me,

it really means a lot.

The dipper doesn't bother
with such thoughts.

It simply goes
straight to work.

Dipping and diving,

and singing its bright song.

What did you say?

I just stopped because I heard
all these noises,

and then I saw that.

What is that?

I don't know,
I didn't go look yet.

I figured you could do that.

A lot of blood, though.

The wolves have made
a kill out on the ice...

but there's nothing left

except the bright stain
of blood.

There's not even
a bone to pick.

Just some hair and tracks.

That happened right there,

we could have been
sitting right the.

Yeah, you couldn't know!

Be realistic.

You gotta know!

Be realistic!

You find them
after they happen.

I'm cranky because
I've been trying in vain

to film the wolves hunting.

But I'm never in the right place
at the right time.

I'm not sure how I'd feel

if I actually did see them
make a kill,

but it's how they make a living,

it's what makes them
who they are,

and I want to complete
the picture of their lives.

Death is easy to find
in the winter.

Whether it was the rut,
or sickness,

that weakened this ram,

it was coyotes that dealt
the final blow.

Magpies, too,
are glad for the windfall.

The river is so close
to freezing,

the coyotes can't stay on
the carcass for long.

Winter and the river
work together,

and what they kill
keeps many others alive.

Mule deer browse in the willows
along the water

until something startles them.

Wolves.

They're headed down the slope,

and I'm thinking this might be

that rare chance
to film a hunt.

The deer make for the river.

In times of danger,

they'll often use water
as a defensive barrier,

hoping it's deep enough
to keep the wolves at bay.

But in winter, the river can be
as deadly as the wolves.

The cold water must be sapping
all the deer's strength.

And there's no escape.

On the platform of ice,
the wolves wait it out.

Oh, look at that deer go.

It can't go anywhere.

It's just gonna get cold
and wear out.

And where the channel narrows,

I see a wolf make his move.

From my vantage point
on the Ridge above,

I watch the pack close in.

And then the action shifts
out of view.

I've gotta get
down to the river.

When we catch up to the scene,
I'm expecting the carnage...

that's the nature of the wild.

Boy, look at them
tearing that thing up.

But I also see simple hunger...

a family of hunters

sharing a meal.

The fact that
life depends on death

is hard for us take.

And this is why wolves
need wilderness...

they need a place
to live by their rules,

not ours.

We knew our journey into
the river of no return

would test us in every way.

Test our hearts,

our skills,

our teamwork.

But now, 10 months in,

it's taking a turn
that I cannot bear.

I'd say on a good day
for bjornen,

her feet hurt like hell,
walking's tough.

And you say, "well, I'll carry
your backpack,"

and she says "no."

I think that's what gets me is,

I don't know if either one
of us could quit now.

How's the feets?

Ooh, they're bad.

I'm afraid to take off
my boots.

I think they'll just explode.

And on a bad day,

she can't move,
she can't sleep, and, uh...

Yeah, and then it will
flair up in a hip,

and, you know,
her fingers swell up,

she can't get her shoes on.

Those are the bad days,

and I ask myself,
what the hell are we doing?

It was Isaac's dream
to live in the wilderness,

to be as much a part of
this place as we could.

Now, I'm the one
who's so reluctant to leave.

I've found something
I didn't even know was lost...

a way of life so simple
and so complete.

It's called
the river of no return,

and I now know what that means.

We're not the same as
when we set out

almost a year ago.

We've been both humbled
and made stronger

by our journey.

Maybe I see my own struggle
reflected in the kindred spirits

we've met along the way...

in a baby bird
that couldn't fly...

In a brave but beaten ram,

in an injured elk
with a faithful friend.

Yet, hard as it is
to survive here,

I would choose it to be
no other way.

We catch the mail plane
back to our world

as the river of no return
sweeps by below.

And though we will no longer
be able to call it our home,

we will always be richer for
having lived for a moment

in this wild place.

Now, a window into
a world without humans.

That's run wild.

Journey into
a forbidden landscape

and witness the legacy
one of mankind's

greatest disasters
left for its wildlife.

[ Pups whimpering ]

[ Geiger counter clicking ]

Now you can watch Nature
online.

Go to pbs.org to screen
complete episodes

from this season
and seasons past.

Visit Nature online
for production updates

from the field.

Well, here we are
on the Alaska coast.

Go behind the scenes
with our filmmakers.

We also used a borescope lens,

and that allowed us to put
the lens right into a flower.

And get connected with
Nature's online community.

All at pbs.org.

Nature is made possible
in part by... Canon.

Take your inspiration
from nature.

Leave it untouched
by your presence.

Capture its image
and preserve it forever.

Canon...
living and working together

to appreciate today
and care for tomorrow.

Additional funding for Nature

is provided by...

The corporation for
public broadcasting.

And by contributions
to your pbs station

from viewers like you...
thank you.

To order,
call 1-800-336-1917.

To learn more about what you've
seen on this nature program,

visit pbs.org.