Original subtitles

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 ]

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