All language subtitles for A.Wild.Year.On.Earth.S01E06.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-NTb_track3_[eng]

[narrator]
Earth is a restless place.

Its seasons driven by
the orbit around our sun.

An epic journey that sets
the rhythms of all life.

Humans honor this passage
through ritual and celebration.

Nature marks the cycle
with its own patterns.

Over the course of a year,

the planet's most
spectacular events of migration,

rebirth and transformation
unfold.

[squawking]

[bellowing]

Moment by moment...

..month by month...

throughout a wild year on Earth.

It's November, and the Earth
has almost completed

its annual orbit around the sun.

As the planet comes full circle,

many of the
life stories on earth

also reach their climax.

In the lush forests of
Michoacan, Central Mexico,

one of the greatest migrations
on the planet

is coming to an end.

A delicate creature
has flown almost 3,000 miles

to spend the winter here,
in the warmer southern lands.

By the time the monarch
butterflies reach Mexico,

millions of them have converged
at their ancestral home.

No one butterfly
makes the entire migration.

Rather, it's an
intergenerational journey

that was started by
their great-great-grandparent

the previous spring.

Using just an
internal biological clock,

and the position of the sun,

they've managed
to make it to a place

they've never been before.

They'll overwinter here
for the next four months,

huddled together to keep warm,

occasionally stretching
their wings.

These last sacred groves
of fir trees

provide refuge for the fragile,
fluttering icon

in a rapidly changing world.

For centuries, Purepecha Indians

have recorded the arrival
of the long, flowing cloud

of orange-winged butterflies

at precisely
the same time each year.

The butterflies
are believed to be

the souls of departed ancestors,

returning to Earth
for their annual visit.

Their arrival coincides
with Dia de los Muertos,

'The Day of the Dead.'

It's a festival
as colorful as the monarch.

On this night, millions of
Mexicans will light candles

to help guide the spirits
of loved ones back home.

Many Mexicans do not
believe death is an ending.

Rather, they embrace it
as a part of a natural cycle.

Through its metamorphosis

from caterpillar
to ethereal winged creature,

the monarch
represents resurrection.

Life after death.

Across cultures,

many creatures have been
regarded as spirits of the dead.

In Madagascar, there are
also ghosts in the forest.

The name 'lemur'
is derived from a Latin word

referring to the spirits
of people left unburied

who return by night from
the dead to haunt the living.

Perhaps an unfair comparison,
for such an appealing creature.

November is baby boom
time for lemur parents.

Babies share a tight bond
with their families.

The troupe stick together,
for there is safety in numbers.

[bird screeching]

In the distance, dinner calls.

[cicadas singing]

Cicadas are the world's
noisiest insect.

They may be easy to hear, but
they are not so easily caught.

As they take to the wing,

the insects pee honey dew
in the face of their pursuer.

Craving the crunch of a cicada,

the primates are undeterred.

While the adults
are engrossed with feasting,

the young one has wandered off.

It's a dangerous thing to do.

Predators not only soar.
They also slither.

A boa constrictor like this

would make an easy meal
of the youngster.

Alone, the baby lemur
instinctually cries out.

[lemur screeching]

Luckily, Mum hears his call
over the cicada cacophony.

He's safe once again.

And after a bit
of comfort grooming,

the lemur troupe
are back on the move.

Lemur babies have been born to
benefit from the flush of food

that comes with the wet season.

Across the Mozambique Channel
on the continent of Africa,

the rains are yet to
reach land-locked Zambia.

It's been dry for
seven straight months.

What little water
remains becomes a beacon

to those searching
for sustenance.

Quelea are the most
numerous bird on the planet.

Dubbed 'the locust bird'
a super-flock like this

can number 30 million at a time.

Constantly on the move as they
migrate across the continent,

these waterholes

provide a vital place
for them to quench their thirst.

But it's not without
its dangers.

Crocodiles lie in ambush.

But they're not an easy catch.

The quelea may be birds,
but they're no bird-brains.

They exhibit
a super intelligence,

emerging from flock behavior.

No single individual
is in charge.

Rather, the flock is
governed by simple rules,

mimicking their
neighbors' movement

and maintaining equal distance.

The flock becomes
more than the sum of its parts.

They take on the characteristics
of a super-organism

millions of birds acting as one.

As Zambia's dry season
comes to an end,

these living clouds are replaced
by darker ones on the horizon.

It's a sign for them to move on

and return to the start
of their migration,

before the wet season
truly begins.

In a matter of days,

rainfall completely alters
the landscape.

Each valley becomes
a lush green paradise.

The Emerald season has arrived.

The new season brings with it
new enterprise.

Above the safety of a river,

master architects carry out some
impressive aerial engineering.

Male weaver birds

rely on the abundance of fresh,
soft grass to build new nests.

The tree is filled with
males busy building,

hoping their bachelor pad
will be the one

that attracts
a female's attention.

Nest-weaving is a skill
that takes time to master.

Each builder does a bit better
than he did the year before.

Yet some are clearly novices.

If a neighbor's house is
looking a little too good,

it may attract
the wrong kind of attention.

Weaver birds are
a jealous bunch.

And are not above
a little sabotage.

Once the males have put the
finishing touches to their pad,

they are ready to advertise.

Shaking feathers and
showing off their plumage.

It's a flashy
invitation for the females.

But when it comes to real
estate, it's a buyer's market.

She won't be rushed.

Once she's decided,

she'll take care
of the interior design...

..and renovate,

immediately changing
all the soft furnishings.

This weaver's house
has just become a home.

As November showers

bring domestic bliss
to Africa's weaver birds

in Thailand, months of rain
are finally coming to an end.

The wet season has
brought with it

a bounty of rice, and rivers.

The twelfth full moon of
the year signals Loi Krathong.

The Festival of Light gives
thanks to the water goddess

for her rain and harvest.

Prayers are set
afloat down the river.

While paper lanterns carry
wishes towards the heavens.

It's a practice that has
taken place in Thailand

for thousands of years.

As November's full
moon starts to wane,

it sends a signal to
colonies of creatures

far away in tropical Australia.

It will initiate the most
climactic annual breeding event

on the Great Barrier Reef.

The world's longest
and largest coral reef system,

the Great Barrier Reef is so
vast, it can be seen from space.

Fringing the shore
like lacework,

generations of coral
have built it, layer upon layer

for almost 10,000 years.

Around 600 coral species exist
on the Great Barrier Reef

of all shapes and sizes.

Their colonies create
multi-story citadels

for millions
of marine creatures.

Unlike the citizens they host,
corals cannot move.

But like them,
they need to reproduce.

So what does coral
do when it's time for sex?

Magic.

Four nights after
November's full moon,

the waning light spills
blue into the inky black.

This color is one cue the
corals have been waiting for.

The slackening
current is another.

But most importantly,

summer's arrival
warms the water,

ripening bundles
of sperm and eggs.

For coral, that's
the ultimate turn-on.

The sexual tension of billions
of organisms suddenly erupts.

Across hundreds of miles,
corals synchronize

their release
in this one moment.

It's the largest reproductive
event on the planet.

The sheer volume
overwhelms predators

and dazzles onlookers.

Other aquatic beings
seize the moment

and join the midnight orgy.

Like confetti, the egg and sperm
bundles scatter.

With luck, those of the same
species collide

in the liquid dark
and fertilize.

By dawn the next day,
tiny coral embryos

can be many miles
from their birth site,

seeking their own spot
on the seafloor to settle.

If successful,
a new coral colony begins.

One minuscule bundle at a time,

this annual event
has built the reef

into the largest
living structure on Earth.

By late November,
the Top End of Australia

is at the tail
of the long dry season.

What life there is has retreated
to the rivers and billabongs...

..or is hiding in the shadows.

For these little red
flying foxes,

hot temperatures are a recipe
for dehydration and heat stress.

Flapping their wings like
leathery fans gives some relief.

But flying foxes have another
trick for cooling off.

Skimming the surface
of the water,

they soak their bellies.

A quick dip lets them
lick thirst-quenching water,

and sodden fur
provides cool comfort.

But drinking has never
been so dangerous.

Freshwater crocodiles

are sensitive to
the tiniest of vibrations.

They lay hidden just below
the surface, ready to strike.

Some bats are fortunate...

..others, not so.

But for the colony and its
tens of thousands of members,

their luck is about to change.

Water will soon come to them.

[thunder crackling]

As the Australian
continent heats,

sea breezes
join moisture-laden air

from the Indian Ocean
to the shore.

Mountainous clouds billow,
creating the perfect conditions

for one of nature's
greatest shows.

Huge electrical storms
spanning thousands of miles

signal the arrival
of the monsoon to Australia.

Each storm cell

unleashes a force
equivalent to an atomic bomb.

Other forces arrive unbridled.

Tropical cyclones
now rampage along the coast.

No longer fed
by the heat of the sea,

they release
their energy over land.

As global temperatures rise,

cyclones like these are likely
to become even more ferocious.

On Christmas Island, North of
Australia in the Indian Ocean,

the monsoon
has triggered the movement

of one of its most
famous inhabitants.

Red crabs have evolved
to live in the inland forest,

safe from predators
and the harsh sun.

Yet this female faces a problem.

Once a year, she must travel
to the ocean to reproduce.

She's usually confined
to the center of the island...

..but now the monsoon
provides a solution.

Moist air enables her
to breathe in the open

and protects her from drying out
on her quest towards the sea.

Soon, others join her
on the march.

Hundreds become thousands.

Thousands become millions.

Robber crabs lie in wait.

By their sheer size,

they make an easy meal
of their red intruders.

To make it past this giant,
she'll have to tiptoe.

Within sight of shore, the males
stop to dig courtship burrows.

Mating is a quick transaction,

with the male passing his sperm
to her undercarriage.

Having mated,

he now leaves the shoreline
and returns to the forest.

The female spends the next
two weeks in the burrow,

brooding her eggs,
which can number 100,000.

As the moon reaches
its last quarter,

she joins millions of
other fertilized females

at the water's edge.

She enters the waves

and performs a moon dance
to release her eggs

with the receding tide.

Billions of crab larvae
are now swept out to sea.

The circle of life now complete,

she'll face the same journey
back to the forest,

until next year's migration.

The intimate relationship
between oceans and land

is more than tidal.

Along the Arabian coast,

December's shorter days
means falling temperatures.

As cool night air
over the Arabian Sea

meets the heat
and humidity on land,

fogs form, shrouding
the city of Dubai.

December mornings
see the fog build,

sometimes rising as far
as 60 stories in the air.

It's a sign that winter days
have finally arrived.

Half the world away,
on the Californian coast

winter's mist signals it's time
for the arrival of a giant.

Elephant seals have
swum thousands of miles

to haul out
for December's breeding season.

A titanic male rules
this stretch of sand

and all the females on it.

Blubbery brute force
controls the harem.

His overwhelming sex drive

means he'll copulate
up to ten times a day,

pinning each female beneath
his 2-ton bulk.

But like all tyrants,
his days are numbered.

Another lusty male is ready
to challenge the beach master.

There's little skill
in their bloody battle.

Weight and aggression wins.

Even as the challenger
retreats to the ocean,

there is no guarantee of escape.

The beach master must
maintain total authority.

Due to the supreme
dominance of so few,

as many as 80 percent of
males will never get to mate.

But each year,

new challengers will attempt
to topple the hierarchy,

as the annual ritual
of sex and violence

plays out on these beaches.

The changes that nature's cycles
bring are not always brutal.

More often, they're beautiful.

In the higher
latitudes of the globe,

the plummeting temperatures
trigger a silent transformation.

As December deepens,
the cold creeps over Europe.

Vegetation stiffens
as plants grow coats of icicles.

Hoar frost signals
winter is coming.

Tiny ice crystals in the air
amass to become snowflakes.

Soon, they become heavy enough

to fall to the
ground in a silent flutter.

These silver forests

are the territory of
the secretive Eurasian lynx.

In winter, he is in his element.

His large paws
are like snowshoes

enabling him to move easily
through the deep powder

without a sound.

The name of his game is stealth.

Hares turn white in winter,

changing the color of their coat

to match the snow around them.

But camouflage
can't fool a keen eye.

The hare, small and nimble,
is too fast.

The lynx will seldom succeed
at a long chase.

Only ambush ensures a kill.

Which means the lynx must
practise patience,

throughout the barren winter.

Unlike solitary predators

haunting the forests
of Northern Europe,

others band together

in the Rocky Mountains
of North America.

In December,

Yellowstone National
Park shimmers in the winter sun.

The beauty of this land belies
the harshness of the conditions.

For creatures here,
winter is to be endured,

if it is to be survived.

Except for one animal.

[wolves howling]

The gray wolf.

The park is home
to packs of wolves,

reintroduced here 25 years ago

after being
eradicated by hunters.

Once again,
they are the top predator.

And this is their territory.

Wolves thrive in winter,

adapted for speed
and agility in the snow.

Their dense, double fur coats

insulate against
sub-zero temperatures.

[wolves howling]

The wolves can smell
elk up to 2 miles away

before they can see them.

Winter's larder
is scant for the elk.

They are weak. Vulnerable.

The pack picks up the pace.

Their strategy is simple.

Separate and slaughter.

Unlike the soft footfall

of the wolf's wide round
paws on deep snow,

the elk's hoofs break through
the crust and slow them down.

But the elk has found
an advantage too.

It seeks safety in a river

too cold and too deep
for the wolves.

And its antlers are now
at the perfect height

to impale an approaching threat.

[wolves whimper]

A stag drowned in the river

suggests this tactic
doesn't always succeed.

[howling]

But today, the pack
leader surrenders and retreats.

Wolves need to make a kill
every few days.

The clock is ticking.

Downwind, female elk
have unwittingly come too close.

Although they have
snow on their side

the pack still work together
to create chaos.

The kill is shared
among the pack.

Together, these apex predators
reign over Yellowstone...

[wolves howling]

..keeping the entire
park in balance.

By the 21st of December,

the North Pole is at its
maximum tilt away from the sun,

creating the longest night
of the year

in the Northern Hemisphere.

The Pagan festival known as Yule
marks the winter solstice.

Germanic people have
observed Yuletide

since the Middle Ages,

before it transformed
into Christmas

as it's celebrated today.

The final dark days of the year

are illuminated by the cheer
of Christmas decorations.

Further north, in the skies
above the Arctic Circle,

the Aurora Borealis pulsates.

A solar flare has ejected

a billion tonnes of radioactive
particles towards Earth,

hitting the planet's
magnetic field.

The inky night makes
it easier to see

Earth's invisible shield

as it's briefly illuminated
by an electric sea,

dancing across the Arctic night.

This is our planet protecting
all life on her surface.

Without it, our world,
our home...

...would be just one more
barren rock in space.

Instead, it is a gem,

an oasis of life...

..filled with
infinite wonders...

..whose rhythms and movements
are driven by the seasons,

as each year,

our planet completes
its orbit around the sun.