All language subtitles for Tales From Zambia Series 2 8of8 Tree Tales 1080p

\h\h\h\h\h\h\h\h\h\hAfrica’s trees
have stories to tell.

They can live for centuries

rooted in
a breath-taking wilderness.

In the shadow
of their mighty branches,

dramas unfold.

They nurture other life

from the smallest
to the tallest.

They’re both home
and hunting ground

and provide feast
in times of famine.

They are the beating heart
of a thriving ecosystem.

In Zambia’s Luangwa Valley,
life depends on trees.

(MUSIC PLAYING)

It’s six months
into Zambia’s dry season.

A grueling time
for most animals,

unless you profit from death.

Hyenas will take
their food dead or alive.

They can smell a carcass
from over two miles away,

and stealing one
is often easier than hunting.

This leopard loses
over 20% of her kills
to hyenas,

but she has a cunning plan
to stash this one
out of reach.

If only she has time.

Her enemies can’t climb.

She heads for the trees
with her spoils.

(CHITTERING)

Providing her with both
storage and security,

trees like this tamarind
are her lifeline.

Up here she can rest easy.

She’s out of harm’s reach,

and has enough meat
to keep her going for the day.

As with other animals
in the Luangwa Valley,

she wouldn’t survive without
trees to rely on.

Over 300 species of trees
make up the valley’s
woodlands.

Each one a habitat
in its own right.

Together, they enrich
an ecosystem covering
3,500 square miles.

They make
South Luangwa National Park

a stronghold for 60 species
of large mammals,

and over 400 species of birds.

Sausage trees stand
emerald green in
the parched landscape.

Famed for the gargantuan fruit
that hang from their branches
year-round,

they’re unique to Africa.

They’re a wonder tree.

Even when soil is sun-baked

and other plants have been
trampled out of sight,

sausage trees
sport luxuriant crowns
over 65 feet wide.

Self-contained oases,
they draw animals in.

It’s October.

At midday, the mercury hits
100 degrees Fahrenheit.

Lions find respite
in the shade under
a sausage tree,

saving their energy
to hunt after sundown.

But in the canopy above them
hides another predator
that’s wide awake.

A male praying mantis.

His legs are the tools
of his trade.

And as every assassin knows,

it’s important to keep
your weapons clean.

He prepares for an ambush.

His huge compound eyes contain
10,000 light receptors
called ommatidia.

Those on the outside scan
for movement,

to help him detect prey,

while those in
the middle provide clarity,

which he uses
to lock onto a target.

(BUZZING)

He needs to be close
to launch an attack.

Brilliantly camouflaged,
patches of pigment
in his forelimbs

match the delicate stripes on
a sausage tree bud.

He moves with such stealth

that the bee has no idea
it’s about to become a meal.

When the moment is right,

he strikes.

His spiny arms
and powerful grip

keep the bee in place
while he eats it alive.

Sausage trees aren’t just
important hunting grounds
for peculiar predators,

they’re also feeding grounds
for extraordinary herbivores.

Giraffe are Earth’s
tallest land animal.

Growing up to 16 feet tall,

they can reach
succulent leaves

that are well out of reach
of other ground-dwelling
herbivores.

Giraffe gradually evolved from
a deer-like ancestor
16 million years ago.

Necks became longer
and longer over time,

and now account for
almost half their height.

They consume almost 160 pounds
of fresh foliage every day.

A modified joint
in their neck

allows them
to tilt their head vertically.

And just in case they need
a bit of extra reach,

an 18-inch prehensile tongue

allows them to choose
the choicest tips.

Their size allows them
to exploit most of what
the trees have to offer.

But size doesn’t matter,
if you can climb.

Above the giraffe,
hungry acrobats feed.

Sausage trees are
popular hang-outs
for vervet monkeys.

And this one’s
more than just a salad bar.

Moth-eaten leaves betray
the presence of caterpillars,

extra protein
for industrious primates.

In return for an energy boost,

the vervets provide the tree
with pest control.

Picking insect larvae from
the leaves keeps
the infestation in check,

and promotes
healthy growth in the tree.

This arboreal maintenance
will benefit the vervets
down the line

by ensuring
the tree bears fruit.

The trees in
the Luangwa Valley

all have their own strategies

to survive
the arduous dry season.

Groves of ebony trees
are never found
far from the river,

their long roots
tapping into water

close to the surface.

But the most extraordinary
adaptations

are where water
is harder to find.

Cathedral-like groves
of Mopane trees grow on poor,
shallow soils

far from the river

where other trees
can’t survive.

Every dry season,
this remarkable mono-culture
goes into lockdown.

To conserve water,

the trees cut off
the supply of nutrients
to their leaves.

Canopies turn golden,
then brown.

And soon,
butterfly-shaped foliage
flutters to the ground.

A thick bed of leaves
is just what this
grey tree frog needs.

It will provide her
with a protective blanket
to hide under.

(CROAKING)

By slowing her metabolism,

she can survive for months
without food and water.

But before she settles in,
there’s one last job to do.

She smothers herself
in her own waxy secretion

to help prevent moisture loss
through her skin.

Mopane leaves
are highly aromatic,

and fill the grove
with an aroma
similar to turpentine.

The biggest trees are
almost two centuries old.

And with age comes character.

Cracked, hollow trunks
attract one of the grove’s
smallest inhabitants.

This strange protrusion

is the entrance tunnel
to a nest of Mopane bees.

Just a eighth of an inch long,

these tiny stingless bees

mix Mopane tree resin
with beeswax to build a home.

(BUZZING)

Safely inside the trunk
are brood combs
full of growing larvae.

(BUZZING)

Their elaborate entrance hole
helps keep invaders out.

The ants below will make
a meal out of the baby bees,

if they can get to them.

Sentries, stationed
at the entrance,

raise an alarm
with pheromones whenever
danger looks imminent.

Worker bees scramble,
eager to lay a trap.

A ring of fresh, sticky resin
is gooey enough
to stop ants in their tracks.

If push comes to shove,

they’ll even glue
the ants’ mouths shut.

This time it’s a false alarm.

Foraging bees return
with leg-loads of pollen
to feed their hungry hive.

At the top of a Mopane tree,
there are more nests.

They’ve all been built
on the side of the tree
most sheltered from the wind.

Each, is the bedchamber
for a white-browed
sparrow weaver.

These gregarious birds
form tight-knit communities.

(CHIRPING)

Family groups forage together,

sifting the leaf litter
for insects and seeds.

Any squabbles over food
are quickly forgotten.

There are always more
important building projects
to be tended to.

Each bird has
its own nest to roost in

and they must be maintained
year-round.

Birds assist each other
with DIY.

There’s no shortage
of materials.

The exposed floor of
the Mopane forest

provides an ample supply
of dry grass.

The odd Mopane twig
here and there
adds a bit of rigidity.

These nests might look
ramshackle,

but they’re well thought-out.

There’s even
a second entrance hole

that can act as
an emergency exit in
the event of a snake attack.

Mopane trees harbor life,

even in the dry season
when they’re in
a state of dormancy.

Beyond the Mopane,
farther still from the river,

forests become plains
and, in the dry season,
plains become dust.

Shallow-rooted plants
lie dormant underground.

Rhizomes will only
sprout new shoots
when the rain returns.

The impala have
little left to graze,

and must turn to browsing
what leaves they can find.

It’s at the end
of the dry season,

when things are
looking desperate,

that giants awaken.

A Zambezi fig, one of
several fig tree species
in the valley.

It’s 60 feet tall,

with a 100-foot spread.

It needs to fruit before
the rains return,

so that its seeds
have a moist environment
in which to germinate.

First, it must put
all its energy into budding.

The fig tree’s transformation
doesn’t go unnoticed.

Sweet, soft
and easily digestible,

new buds are a treat
for vervet monkeys.

The buds are packed
with protein,

and their high-water content

means the monkeys
don’t need to take

as many risky trips
to the river to drink.

Like some human children,

young vervets
are fussy eaters,

wasting nutritious
outer leaves

to get to the succulent heart.

Luckily for the fig tree,

vervets rarely stay
in one place too long.

Their foraging grounds extend
across half a square mile

and they eat anything,
from leaves to lizards.

Their adaptability
saves any one tree
from being ransacked.

When famine is
still widespread,

nothing goes to waste
in the Luangwa Valley.

Animals are on a quest to find
nutrients anywhere they can.

Elephants trudge
furthest of all.

Each adult female needs
300 pounds of food a day.

And mothers nursing calves
require even more.

The riverine forest
is a crucial resource.

Elephants assimilate only
half of what they eat,

so they must shovel in
as much as they can.

A utilitarian trunk allows
adults to strip branches
20 feet up.

But until she’s tall enough,
the little two-year-old
is stuck with brittle twigs.

It’s time to move on.

A lilac-breasted roller
follows,

hoping to profit from
any invertebrates disturbed
in the elephants’ wake.

The matriarch has
a trick up her sleeve

to provide a feast
for the whole family.

It’s time for operation
"brute strength."

(CRASH)

With the entire tree down,

at last, even the young ones
can enjoy

fresh, moisture-laden leaves.

It looks destructive,
but in Luangwa,

elephants are always
on the move,

saving any one tree line
from total devastation.

At the tail end
of the dry season,

sausage trees are
preparing to reproduce.

Stalks known as peduncles,

sprout and dangle like
exquisite chandeliers.

Each three-foot sprig
bears up to 50 buds.

They don’t all open at once,

but in the hour
leading up to dusk,

when the temperature
and humidity are right,

the sausage tree starts
to reveal its true glory.

Blood-red trumpets unfurl.

The flowers are
an advertisement
to pollinators everywhere.

"Food in exchange
for fertilization."

(BUZZING)

Hidden inside each bloom
is a pool of nectar
that’s irresistible to bees.

A female bee will travel
several miles
looking for food.

Each time she visits a flower,

she carries
a dusting of pollen

from another sausage tree
with her,

fertilizing each plant
she visits.

And where there are bees,

there are bee-eaters.

Every year, carmine bee-eaters
from South Africa and Tanzania
flock here to breed.

They tunnel six feet
into the sand

to make a safe place
to lay their eggs.

Each pair takes turns
bringing food back for
their partner on nest duty.

(CHIRPING)

They hunt on the wing,
eating 500 insects a day
between them.

That’s a lot of excursions,

but having
a sausage tree nearby
makes life a whole lot easier.

They perch among
the flowering peduncles,

before setting off
in pursuit of their target.

(CHIRPING)

Sharp eyesight allows them to
track their quarry in flight.

Quick and agile,
they can outmaneuver
most insects.

The bee-eaters
return to the colony

with the last of
the day’s catch.

While they settle down
to roost

near the sausage tree,

the creatures of the night
are stirring.

At night, sausage tree flowers
emit a musty odor

unpleasant to people,

but enticing to their
most important pollinator,

nectar-loving bats.

But in the tree tonight,
a different furry snout
gets there first.

A genet has emerged
from her woodland hidey-hole,

and what better way to fuel-up
for a night’s hunting

than a slurp
of sausage tree nectar?

A tail almost
the same length as her body

helps her balance
in the branches.

Like a bat, the pollen
she carries on her fur

will fertilize other flowers
if she visits another
sausage tree tonight.

Genets are
nimble tree-climbers,

but most of their foraging
is done on the ground.

Despite a feline disposition,

a genet is
more closely related to
a mongoose than a cat.

Leopards do snack on them
occasionally,

but they prefer something
a little meatier.

And the woods are full of
dozy antelope tonight.

The genet would relish
a juicy mouse,

but grasshoppers,
beetles and termites
make up half of her diet.

At the sausage tree,
other predators
are out and about.

Bats.

But these ones
aren’t interested in nectar.

There are 65 species of bat
in Zambia,

of which 54 only eat insects.

These bats are bee hunting.

(BEES BUZZING)

Bees are busy round the clock,

collecting nectar
and pollen for the hive.

They’ve nested in
this neighboring ebony tree’s
hollow trunk,

which may make
the commute to work easy.

But with so many bees
in one place,

it’s a boon for the bats.

Zeroing in on the bees
using echolocation,

each bat can eat
half its body weight
in insects a night.

The genet uses
more conventional means
to home in on prey.

Her senses of hearing,
smell and vision
are all razor-sharp.

She’s spotted something.

A gecko would be a big meal
for the genet.

But while she’s eyeing up
her next meal,

other eyes have her
on the menu.

A giant eagle owl weighs six
pounds and stands over
two feet tall.

It’s big enough
to overpower a genet,

especially
one that’s distracted.

This may be
the genet’s last supper.

The owl seizes its chance.

Thick vegetation
saves the genet.

While the leopard drags
her fresh kill to cover,

the genet cleans up.

It’s been
a good night’s hunting

for everyone
in the woods tonight.

(HOOTING)

Well, almost everyone.

By the end of October,
the height of the dry season,

sausage trees hold
a special allure.

Antelope cruise in,
starting at the break of dawn.

Others have been here
all night.

This tree’s home to a family
of five bush squirrels.

They spend the nights
huddled up in a hole
left by a rotting limb.

The best thing about living
in a sausage tree

is that it comes
with a juice bar.

No nectar-filled flower
is out of reach.

Strong claws and ankle joints
that swivel 180 degrees

allow the squirrels to dangle
upside down.

Diving in nose first
is sticky business.

But some squirrels
have figured out
a very shrewd workaround,

chewing a hole
directly into the nectary
at the base of the flower.

Africa’s smallest parrot
has arrived.

Just five inches long,

Lillian’s lovebirds
specialize on grass seed,

but their hooked beaks
are perfect for ripping out
stamens, too.

But this part of the flower
isn’t to everyone’s taste.

Nectar is a mixture
of complex sugars

that provides
an important source
of energy in lean times.

Monkeys have
a hands-on approach
to getting their fix.

The sausage tree
will be pillaged as long as
it produces flowers.

Once a flower
has been fertilized,

its fruit will start to grow.

Each chandelier
can only support one fruit,

so the other flowers
on the stem become redundant.

Every day the tree
drops the flowers
that it no longer needs,

laying a crimson carpet
on the ground.

Another gift to Luangwa’s
animal inhabitants,

both small and large.

Across the valley,

it’s also time
for the fig tree
to share its bounty.

(ELEPHANT TRUMPETS)

It’s bursting with fruit.

These little green gems
are a magnet to baboons.

There’s so much on offer here,
they can afford to be choosy.

Any figs that aren’t
perfectly ripe are rejected.

Vervet monkeys join in
with fig quality control.

But a monkey’s trash
is an elephant’s treasure.

So much so,
that a 6,000-pound beast

will consume each juicy fruit,
one at a time.

(ELEPHANT BELLOWS)

The figs are beginning to get
the birds in a flap, too.

(BIRDS SQUAWKING)

A flock of Meves’s starlings
is busy gorging.

An African green pigeon
is a little more particular.

He’s a fig specialist,

and checks every one
for ripeness.

He’s also got
a possessive streak.

(BIRDS SQUAWKING)

Too big.

Too small.

An African grey hornbill seems
to have just the right fruit,

but also a bill
that could pierce a pigeon.

No point in risking
a painful peck.

Sensibly, he waits.

(SQUAWKS)

Ah, just right.

The smell of fermenting fig
wafts through the air

and stirs something
in the leaf litter.

A corn cricket picks up
the scent using his antennae.

He’ll eat almost anything,
including carrion.

But the baboons’ leftover fig
will do just as well.

Powerful mandibles,
strong enough to draw blood
from a human,

slice through fig pulp
with ease.

Sensory palps are
the equivalent of our tongue,

tasting his food.

After a sticky meal,
it’s time for a wash.

If he’s to navigate
the undergrowth,

it’s crucial to keep those
all-important antennae clean.

As the sun sinks
towards the horizon,

trees by the river
become important bedrooms
for baboons.

They roost in the treetops,
the higher the better.

The promise of
a safe treetop roost

brings other wanderers
back from afar.

Red-billed quelea
have spent the day

foraging for seeds
on the parched plains.

(LOUD CHIRPING)

A quick bath washes dust
from their plumage.

And so, to bed.

A single tree can host
thousands of these birds.

Individually, they weigh
less than an ounce.

But the combined weight
of a flock

is more than a buffalo.

(CHIRPING)

It’s a crowded dormitory.

But, by huddling together,

they can dry off
and keep warm overnight.

Little bodies
have fast metabolisms.

By sharing their body heat,

each bird
saves a lot of energy.

Most of the baboons
have already nodded off.

Only the bravest stretch out.

Baboons typically sleep
in a sitting position,

so they can
spring into action.

Even up here,
they’re not safe
from predators.

Leopards are the only big cats

that can hunt baboons
in their treetop roosts.

Tonight,
this female is on patrol.

She must regularly
delineate the boundaries
of her territory.

Leopards are drawn to
any large tree

with branches more than
10 feet from the ground.

They make the best hideouts.

Urine, infused with secretions
from her anal glands,

leaves a clear message
to any intruders.

"This tree is mine."

Whilst the leopard works
to keep visitors away,

the fig tree
actively attracts them.

Epauletted fruit bats
disperse up to 95%
of the figs’ seeds.

(BATS SCREECHING)

They navigate by
vision and smell,
rather than echolocation.

Fruit is usually consumed
about 200 yards
from the source,

to avoid attracting predators.

But some bats
just get stuck in.

A single bat can consume
24 figs a night,

each containing 1,000 seeds.

To prevent the seeds
from being destroyed by
the bats’ digestive enzymes,

the figs encourage
a swift passage
through the gut.

They’re nature’s laxative.

By stimulating
regular bowel movements,

the fig tree gets
something in return
from the bats.

Every night, the bats travel
eight miles

between their foraging grounds
and roosting trees,

pooping out seeds
along the way.

A colony of just 100 bats

can disperse almost
two and a half million
fig seeds

in a single night.

As the flowering season
draws to an end,

the sausage tree
reveals another bounty
for the animals.

The sausage-shaped fruits,
which give the tree its name,
begin to sprout.

Giraffe are the first
to take advantage

of a new food
high in the treetops.

But the sausages soon
outgrow this onslaught.

Each one grows to over
two feet long

and weighs more than
20 pounds.

The seeds inside are embedded
in a tough fibrous matrix,

rather like a loofa.

When they’re this large,

a hard outer shell keeps most
animals from eating the pods.

Like the fig tree,

the sausage tree
relies on animals to help
distribute its seeds,

but only a few
have the teeth for the job.

When the fruit is ready,

it’s bombs away.

With canine teeth
two inches long,

baboons can rip through
the fibrous pulp
to get at seeds inside.

The greatest guzzler
of sausage fruit is the mammal
with the biggest mouth.

With a bite force of
1,800 pounds per square inch,

three times
the pressure required
to crush a human skull,

a hippo can munch its way
through them with ease.

A baboon abandons his fruit.

It’s not worth the pain
of standing your ground
for the sake of a sausage.

A female kudu arrives.

Kudu are Zambia’s
second-largest antelope,

but she has a mouth
more suited to nibbling leaves

than noshing sausage fruit.

It’s as though the hippo
can’t bear to watch.

A kudu jawbreaker.

While the baboons
taunt each other with
their sausage spoils,

the kudu perseveres.

Finally.

(GULPS)

The sausage tree
doesn’t make it easy,

but its fruit
is tempting enough

to ensure that its seeds
get spread far and wide
across the valley.

Trees are by far Africa’s
oldest living residents.

They’ve witnessed generations
of animals come and go.

Every year, they endure
the dry season,

providing food and shelter
for the furred
and feathered,

and a hunting ground
for miniature predators
and prey.

It’s a cycle that’s
stood the test of time.

Like eternal sentinels,

trees protect and preserve
the incredible diversity

in Zambia’s Luangwa Valley.

(MUSIC PLAYING)

}moovlmvhd