Original subtitles

Epic battles

fought every day across an entire continent.

They clash for territory.

For dominance.

For survival.

Only the strongest prevail.

They are Africa's deadliest.

AFRICA'S DEADLIEST

A new day in Cape Town, South Africa's False Bay.

For some, it's the last day.

Each of the 60,000 Cape fur seals on Seal Island

eat about seven pounds of fish every day.

But they're not the top predators here.

Circling the island, a streamlined assassin.

The great white keeps a low profile.

His color conceals him from above.

He patrols with perfect stealth.

His keen eyes penetrate the murk.

He can see as sharply below the water as we can see above it.

But it's his teeth, three rows of daggers, that will get the job done.

The shark needs to eat.

And so do the seals,

risking shark-filled waters.

They fish in groups, sometimes spending days at sea.

As long as they're in the water, they're in danger.

From deep in the kelp beds

to the surface, where they catch their breath.

The shark's lateral line organ detects the seals' motion.

Sensors on his snout home in on their electric field.

Singling out a straggler...

he makes his move.

And misses.

The killer's quick, but the seal's more agile

and can rip into him with her claws and teeth.

Two strikes and he backs off.

But he's not done yet.

He dives to the bottom...

then blasts up from the deep at 25 miles per hour.

He fails again...

and circles around for another try...

while the exhausted seal swims for her life.

Until her luck runs out.

4,000 pounds of bite force shear the full-grown seal in half.

That's the power of the world's largest predatory fish.

In those final, crucial seconds when the three-ton shark

explodes out of the sea,

his eyes roll back for protection, so he can't see his prey.

The great white's jagged teeth splay out like fingers

when he opens his maw.

All the better to grab a bite.

He hunts alone, and if a struggling seal injures or blinds him,

his hunting days are over.

So, he relies on surprise.

A 60-pound seal will keep his belly full for about two weeks.

He's not a fussy eater, but a cautious one.

Tasting a sample before going whole hog.

Within minutes, nothing's left.

Unlike most fish, he's partially warm-blooded,

and thrives in cold, temperate, and tropical waters.

You never know where he'll turn up next.

Satisfied, he vanishes into the depths,

until opportunity calls again.

While the shark covers the waterfront,

Africa's plains are a proving ground for three assassins in training.

Cheetahs have killer instincts, but need coaching.

That's Mother's job.

Every two years or so, she'll train a new litter.

Today's lesson, Thomson's gazelle 101.

The boys are top of their class.

Deadly serious.

Except there's always a class clown.

She gives the hiding calf a head start,

and shows the boys how it's done.

Now it's their turn.

Cheetahs score a kill about half the time.

It won't be so easy when they're on their own, in about a year.

The takedown is only part of the lesson.

To make a living, they'd better learn to eat fast,

or they could lose their prize to aggressive lions or hyenas.

Mother cheetah does her job well.

The seasons pass.

The fully grown cubs have banded together, a triple threat.

They look so tough, but their swagger is premature.

They cross a pair of cheetah brothers

who've already claimed this swath of savanna.

A brawl could bring crippling injury and slow death by starvation...

unless the five wise guys wise up.

Two bands of brothers settle their differences and form a coalition.

A gang of five.

They size up their first major assignment.

Oryx.

A target too risky for a single cheetah to tackle.

Those saber-like horns aren't just for show.

And hunting on an open plain is never easy.

But the boys hatch a plan.

One tears in to spook and split the adults...

while the others surround the calf.

But they're forced to abort.

No meal is worth losing life and limb over.

The coalition's lack of experience doomed their scheme.

They planned the heist, but forgot the getaway.

The rescue party seems to surprise them.

They'll have to work on their hunting strategy if they expect to succeed.

A herd of wildebeest might provide another chance.

Except this cheetah's hunting solo today.

Recklessly, he makes his move...

and gets beest-blocked.

Big baby animals make tempting targets.

Except there's always someone bigger watching out for them.

Large prey might work for the coalition,

but he's out of his league.

To get his mojo back,

he needs to pick off something a little smaller, or go hungry.

He returns to the basics.

Gazelles, just like Mother used to take.

Patience.

Stealth.

Speed.

Those are his tools.

From zero to 60 in three seconds.

The fastest cat on Earth.

But gazelles are almost as fast.

At last, he pins her.

He sports an oversize heart and lungs in a race car body.

But if he doesn't catch his meal in less than a minute, he'll run out of gas.

He's the only cat with nonretractable claws

and tire-tread pads, so he can turn on a dime.

A strangling bite finishes the job.

He eats as much as he can as fast as he can,

before bigger predators come or vultures advertise his kill.

Cheetahs may be the smallest of Africa's big cats,

but they're equally fit, fast, and fatal.

It looks so tranquil.

But behind every corner of East Africa's reefs,

death lurks by claw,

by sting,

by being swallowed whole.

And the 7-inch peacock mantis shrimp makes a tasty morsel.

Every moment he spends in the open looking for a meal,

he risks becoming one.

Now the 22-pound octopus,

jet-propelled,

is gunning for him with a shell-piercing beak

and paralyzing venom.

The shrimp knows it's too late to hide, so he needs to take a stand.

The octopus closes in on the mantis shrimp.

It's David and Goliath.

And David has a slingshot.

Cornered, the crustacean strikes his most threatening pose.

The killer stops in his tracks.

For a moment.

The little shrimp stares death in the face.

Until...

The octopus, the world's smartest invertebrate, has brains,

but the shrimp's no wimp.

Firing a punch with the force of a .22-caliber bullet,

he stuns the octopus

and buys just enough time to dodge his deadly embrace.

Even the military studies the shrimp for secrets

to strengthening armor and airplanes.

That sturdy fist isn't his only superpower.

He can see 10 times more color than we can,

possibly providing insight into increased computer storage.

The seven-inch powerhouse flees to safer grounds.

Or better hunting grounds.

He's worked up an appetite.

He doesn't wait long for his prey.

One strike and it's dinnertime.

Against the shrimp, the crab's claws are like bringing a knife to a gunfight.

The shrimp can swing his hammer

with a force more than a thousand times his own weight.

Which makes some large predators wish they'd picked on someone their own size.

Up on the savanna, an entirely different show of strength and prowess.

The leopard can leap 20 feet in a single bound, even tree to tree.

Though he prefers to stalk by night,

he won't miss a chance to work the day shift if the benefits are good.

And right now, they are very good.

The wildebeest migration.

Over a million strong.

In June, they parade toward the Serengeti's Grumeti River.

The Nile crocodile, Africa's largest, awaits their arrival with open jaws.

They pass here only twice a year.

A biannual bounty worth getting excited about.

The ambush predator's wait is almost over.

Even a 15-foot bank doesn't stop the thirsty wildebeest

from reaching the river...

and their salivating hosts.

Some break their legs or get trampled,

but they keep coming, answering an ancient call.

They must drink every day.

But thirst should be the least of their worries.

And the crocodile isn't the only hungry predator happy to see them.

While the croc glides into position at the riverbank,

the leopard wants to grab his cut of the wildebeest action.

With no trees for cover, he treads cautiously.

His spots blend with the grass as he closes the gap to his thundering prey.

He's an ambush predator and needs a place to stage his kill.

He's still out of range, but the migration seems never-ending.

The riverbank shields him as he speeds into position.

On the river, the croc has plenty of targets.

But catching one is harder than it looks.

The thirsty beasts don't notice him.

He needs to keep it that way.

He scans the herd for the weak, the small, or the injured.

An underwater strike boosts his odds.

Fail.

And fail again.

Raw power isn't enough.

He needs to focus.

The leopard is a hundred pounds of focus.

As the wildebeests speed toward the river, he steals into position.

He doesn't waste a shot.

He can conquer prey twice his own weight.

The leopard smelled opportunity and grabbed it by the throat.

Twice.

Because he can stash his kill in trees, his work won't go to waste.

The Serengeti doesn't offer many second chances,

but the migration sends waves of prey to the river.

This time, he nails it.

Surprise, brute strength, and slippery river

work to the croc's advantage.

The commotion lures other crocs, who help with the heavy lifting.

Everyone grabs a mouthful.

Adjusting after his failed attempt, he creeps within inches before striking.

The powerful croc pulls the wildebeest into the river

and has to drown it.

Difficult in the fairly shallow water.

A death roll helps the croc tear off larger chunks.

Once the crocs make the kill, they compete for their share.

The croc with the highest rank gets first dibs.

Then, dinner's served without reservations.

Crocs and leopards. Two powerhouse predators.

In this part of the Serengeti,

they don't often get a chance to go gunning for wildebeests.

But when the time comes, they're game.

Off South Africa's east coast, deeper water holds deeper trouble.

This warm ocean invites a certain class of killer that doesn't discriminate.

The tiger shark's a familiar assassin in these waters.

Constantly on patrol.

His excellent night vision pierces the gloom.

His fading camo fatigue markings mean he's seen a lot of action.

Fourteen feet long.

Quiet as a mouse.

Deadly as hell.

And on today's menu,

turtle.

Green turtles live mainly among the sea grass.

They're named for the color of their flesh, not their shell.

But he depends on his shell to keep that flesh intact.

The shark has other ideas.

From turtles to tires, he'll devour practically anything

without a second thought.

Or even a first thought.

When the turtle surfaces for air, he's vulnerable.

Besides his sharp vision, the shark detects his prey's electric field

and senses changes in water pressure and temperature.

Pinned, the turtle has no way to defend himself or rebuff the killer.

He can survive without a flipper, and some do manage to escape.

But the turtle's thick shell is no match for the tiger shark's sharp,

saw-blade teeth.

He'll finish his meal and then go on his way.

Remora fish harmlessly cling to him, hoping to snag his leftovers.

Inland, beyond the reach of any shark.

Two secretary birds share a quiet moment

while keeping their guard up.

The life-mates made it through another day.

Who knows what might happen tomorrow?

This guy, an Egyptian cobra, brightens nobody's day.

His venom can paralyze, suffocate, and kill.

Legend says that's how Cleopatra chose to go.

The secretary bird merely wants breakfast.

A few bugs, maybe a small reptile.

Not today.

This cobra can't spit venom.

But he's lethal, hungry, and on the move.

He surprises the bird, inciting what looks like a frenzied chicken dance.

But who's the predator here?

The secretary bird, almost 5 feet tall, holds his ground

and tramples the cobra to death.

Take a memo. Don't mess with the secretary bird.

Those legs, some of the longest of any bird of prey, are lethal weapons.

His flapping deflects the snake's bite while the bird gets down to business.

Once he's pummeled his prey, he downs it head-first.

All in a day's work for the secretary bird.

In the grass, a predator can launch a sneak attack.

But on a wide, sandy beach, a killer has no place to hide.

Pupping season on Africa's southwest coast.

A big, noisy muddle of Cape fur seals.

But today is no ordinary day at the beach.

An intruder is coming

with an appetite.

A brown hyena, about the size of a German Shepherd.

Her massive, bone-crushing teeth are among the largest of any carnivore.

The young seals look like easy pickings.

But it's never a good idea to get between a mom and her pup.

The skittish hyena would rather scavenge a dead pup than make a kill.

Lots of pups die from heat stroke,

and she won't hesitate to gobble up one of those.

But most of these pups look pretty spry.

Seals group together for safety.

But each mother watches only her own pup.

So, if Mom goes fishing, no one's minding the baby.

She picks the wrong pup.

She can't go home empty-handed.

In the den, everyone pitches in to feed the cubs,

and she needs to pull her weight.

She'll keep up her nervous patrol until hunger consumes her fear.

A pair of jackals, one of her only competitors,

makes her tense situation even worse.

Seals, with their sharp claws,

can defend themselves against sharks in the water.

On land, they're not quite as nimble, though the hyena hasn't realized.

It's getting late.

She has to make her move.

It's now or never.

After a day of indecision,

the timid brown hyena finally faces down the mother seal

so she can feed her own clan's young.

For hyenas, as with all predators, it's not about the thrill of the kill,

but the drive to stay alive.

[TRANSLATOR CREDIT]

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