All language subtitles for Africas Deadliest s03e03 Ambush Hunters

The fight for survival.

It demands a lethal combination
of strength and stealth,

exquisite timing, laser focus...

primal hunger.

These are the winners.

They are Africa's deadliest.

AFRICA'S
DEADLIEST

It's a little hard
to take warthogs seriously,

but these wild pigs are born survivors.

Digging up plants and roots,
they can go months without water.

Mom weans her piglets after four months,

but they'll stay with her
for a year or more.

Which isn't a bad idea...

because these three little pigs
are in danger.

And it's not the big, bad wolf.

A leopard.

From desert to mountaintop,
it's a far-flung killer.

Powerful and patient.

It tracks the warthogs
to an old aardvark burrow.

They backed in,
so it's greeted by sharp tusks.

He has them cornered,

and knows they have to leave sometime.

And when they do,
it's at up to 30 miles per hour.

The leopard's a pouncer, not a chaser.

And warthogs aren't as goofy as they look.

Expecting danger at their doorstep,

each morning they bolt,
prepared for an ambush.

That little head start is all they need.

The continent's most widespread big cat
moves on

to hunt Sub-Saharan Africa's
most pervasive monkeys.

Vervets.

Squabbling over territory.

The leopard prefers to sleep in trees,

but the shade
of a giraffe will do in a pinch.

The giraffe has nothing to fear
from this cat today.

The same can't be said for the vervets.

The sentry sounds the leopard alarm.

He has more than 30 calls
for specific threats.

The leopard pays no attention.

And apparently,
neither do the bickering vervets.

They can usually find
safety in the treetops,

but they underestimate this cat.

He inches into range.

Finally, the strike zone.

One monkey hesitates, and the chase is on.

Game over.

The agile cat steals as close as it can,

ignoring all distractions...

and sprints faster than 35 miles per hour.

But it's the cat's leap,
almost ten feet high

and 20 feet across,
that gets the job done.

It can pull prey down
and climb back up with it,

to savor in its private dining room.

While the lone leopard commands the trees,

a different family of killer cats
keeps its ample paws on the ground.

It's the heat of the day
in the Greater Kruger Park,

and two mothers and their cubs
are just "lion" around,

waiting for it to cool down enough
to go hunting.

Each lioness eats about 17 pounds
of meat a day,

almost 90 pounds for the pride.

They're well-equipped to get it,

with their
inch-and-a-half-long retractable claws.

Loose belly skin cushions the kicks
from struggling prey.

Lions are the most social of the big cats,

and these related females
will hunt together

to benefit the whole pride.

Working together,
the lionesses have almost nothing

to fear except male lions.

If a new male forces
his way into the pride,

he'll kill all the babies.

These lucky older cubs
never had to face that.

Now, as the afternoon cools,
it's time to go grab a bite.

The cubs depend on their mother
for almost a year and a half,

but some of the females
might share her territory for life.

They're still too young to hunt,

so everything
rides on Mom's hunting prowess.

The pride's territory could cover an area
up to 150 square miles if prey is scarce.

Not a problem here.

Get in close.

Don't be seen.

She'll go in alone,
but her pride isn't far.

The wildebeest don't notice her.

She's practically the same color
as the dry grass.

This guy might sense something's up.

Tread softly.

Keeping her distance, she curls her lip

and inhales through her mouth
to detect more scent.

The smell of her prey.

It's called the flehmen response.

The wildebeest relies
more on sight than smell.

Giving the camouflaged cat
a great advantage.

Her hunt
is going exactly according to plan.

Go slow.

Slink into position.

One wildebeest stands right next to her,

and doesn't even see her.

She's that shadow in the center,

right where she needs to be.

She started out so well.

Kept low and undercover.

Aroused no suspicion

until the last second.

She didn't single out a target...

and blew it.

Lions wage a shrewd ambush,

not a long chase.

She has to wait until things settle down...

and try a different strategy.

Tonight, the pride goes hungry.

The next morning, she starts again.

This time, zebras...

with the help of another lioness.

The zebras suspect nothing.

The wingman flanks one side.

Now, they see the lion ahead of them...

but not her accomplice...

or a second wingman on the other side.

The zebras are jittery and dangerous.

Their kick can shatter a lion's jaw,
or kill it.

They know if they bolt,
the lions could chase them.

By standing together,
their stripes might make it tough

for the lions to pick out a single zebra.

While all eyes are on the main lion,

the flanking lions
are in the best positions

to make the kill.

But the main lion goes for it...

targeting a weak or slow one.

To bag the zebra,
the lion needs to grab it by the throat.

Not an easy move
with the powerful, bucking prey.

It's all in the grip.

She uses her claws and teeth to hang on

while she squeezes out
a powerful choke hold.

Reinforcements arrive.

But only one lion makes the kill.

At last, the cubs can eat.

Game is plentiful,
but never easy or guaranteed.

In bad times, rodents,
eggs, or carrion will do.

But today, no one goes hungry.

Family life is the key
to these big cats' survival.

And it's just as crucial
to a little bird with a voracious enemy.

On a continent
of large and colorful birds,

one remarkable Kalahari resident
is neither.

A songbird the size of a sparrow.

The sociable weaverbird
might not look very special,

but it lives
in one of the world's most enormous nests,

a thatched apartment house

that could rise over ten feet tall
and weigh more than a ton.

The neighborhood isn't exactly safe.

Nearby, the birds' biggest threat,
a Cape cobra, gets ready for breakfast.

With hundreds of sociable
weaverbird families at home,

the cobra's not going to go hungry.

He's five feet of bad news.

Sociable weavers line their nest entrances
with sharp straw to deter snakes,

but the Cape cobra's determined.

The hot-tempered snake
is one of Africa's top people-killers.

The most powerful cobra venom
on the continent

paralyzes breathing
to suffocate its victims.

In the climate-controlled nest,

devoted parents and juveniles pitch in
to raise the little ones.

Now, they sound the alarm call.

They must abandon them
and save themselves.

Snakes gobble up
around 70% of their hatchlings.

That's a lot of chicks.

The dozens of hens
each lay two dozen eggs a year.

He goes door-to-door...

treating the nest
like an all-you-can-eat salad bar.

The weavers can only watch
as he conducts his gruesome mission.

He swallows the chicks whole.

He doesn't bother hunting adult birds

when he can pluck chicks and eggs
like low-hanging fruit.

His belly full,

he sluggishly creeps out of the nest,

which can be 50 degrees cooler
than the sun-scorched desert.

The birds patiently watch his exit.

And everyone knows, he'll be back.

While the Cape cobra
makes his living as a home invader,

the Nile crocodile waits
for his meal to come to him.

Tipping the scales
at more than 500 pounds,

he can eat half his body weight
in one sitting.

And when there's a whole bask of them,

it's a good thing dinner's on its way.

Wildebeests migrate
about a thousand miles a year.

They're joined by zebras...

who graze the coarser blades
the wildebeests won't touch.

As they chew their way
across the Serengeti,

they'll need something to wash it down.

And they'll learn
there's no such thing as a free lunch.

Zebras need a daily drink.

But sticking their nose into danger
is just the start.

They've got to get across
to fresher grasses.

Powerful kicks and turbo runs
mean nothing in the river.

Here, crocs call the shots.

Instinct propels the zebras forward
at any cost.

Though the predators are breathing
down their necks,

the stream of zebras never stops.

The clumsy stampede
accidentally bumps a croc,

who fumbles his victim.

The predator heads to deeper water
to gain more advantage.

He spots a struggling foal.

But the current carries it out of reach...

giving his desperate mother
time to block him.

While the mare distracts the croc...

the foal struggles to make shore.

Mother is safe.

Her instinct to rejoin the herd
overpowers her need to save her foal.

He'll catch up.

The croc considers an easier target.

This zebra's in over his head.

The croc drowns his prey.

A valve in his throat lets him keep
his death grip without swallowing water.

While he's busy making his kill,

the rest of the herd can cross safely.

What the croc can't finish,

he'll wedge under rocks
in the cold water for later.

But there won't be leftovers today.

For a croc, this is a dinner roll.

It helps him bite off chunks of meat.

The toothy beasts
won't waste time chewing.

The stream of zebras and wildebeest
follows its natural course.

And so does the river...

eventually flowing into the sea.

Where, off the coast of Southern Africa,
hides a stone-cold killer.

The stonefish
hunts by safely hiding in plain sight.

So, even if he misses a few,
he hasn't risked much.

The suction from his wide,
fast-opening mouth pulls in his prey.

Even more sinister than his front side
is his back side,

armed with 13 hypodermic-like spines

that can inject enough venom
to kill a person.

He's about to meet the moray eel.

Graceful,

sleek,

with toxic skin

and scissor-like serrated teeth...

for a life-and-death game
of rock versus scissors.

The showdown of two savvy predators
doesn't last very long.

The eel deftly dodges
his victim's venomous spines.

Once he sinks his teeth
into the stonefish, he's not letting go.

The eel's slimy skin
exudes an excruciating toxin

that destroys red blood cells
when it's rubbed onto wounds.

But that's only half the story.

While the fish is pinned in his jaws,

a second pair of jaws
in the back of his throat

slides forward to chew up the meal.

Then, the eel pulls the fish
through his knotted body

to tear off chunks.

About 200 different kinds of morays
live throughout the world.

Some chase their prey.

Others hide and ambush their victims.

When food is scarce
and conditions are rough,

it saves energy to let dinner come to you.

In the Namib Desert, where the sands reach
a scorching 140 degrees,

a little lizard tries to keep his cool.

Aided by fringes on his hind toes,

the shovel-snouted lizard
dances across the loose sand,

making as little contact as possible.

There's plenty of room to run,

but almost no place to hide.

Except under shaded, slightly cooler sand.

Here's a good reason to hide.

Peringuey's adder, whose sidewinding
motion helps him slither up dunes.

He drinks by licking fog off his skin.

The lizard,
about the length of a credit card,

wants nothing to do with him.

He's looking for seeds and bugs.

The eight-and-a-half-inch adder
has other ideas.

But chasing isn't his style.

He finds a shady spot and settles in.

Patience is his virtue.

With shade at a premium,

he knows eventually the lizard
will pay a visit.

Even if it's the last thing
the lizard ever does.

In the hot sands of the Namib,

the Peringuey's adder stirs up a little
surprise for an unsuspecting lizard.

The snake's venom takes time to work.

But it does the trick.

In this harsh desert, the adder manages

to conserve energy
by having his meals delivered.

He will often twitch his tail tip
like an insect as a lure.

Devouring the shovel-snouted lizard

might be the most strenuous thing
the adder does all day.

And now that his work is done,

he can kick back
and disappear for a while.

Blending in is one of the most basic
weapons in a predator's arsenal.

In quiet greenery all over Africa,

little crickets live
in a surveillance state.

Closely but secretly observed...

by chameleons.

Not much gets past
this flap-neck chameleon,

one of Africa's most familiar species.

His eyes, moving independently
on their turrets,

give him 360-degree vision.

His tail, not detachable
like lots of other lizards,

gives him stability during his stakeouts.

He spends most of his time
in the branches,

swaying like a leaf as he looks for prey.

The cricket can spring away
if he's spooked.

To catch him,
the chameleon has no need for speed.

He just has to be invisible...

and get within one body length of the bug.

Because with a tongue like this,
distance isn't an issue.

Plus, it's tipped with a suction cup.

He launches it like a catapult.

For the chameleon, like any predator,

success hinges on that final second.

[TRANSLATOR CREDIT]

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