All language subtitles for Great British Winter 04

The British countryside in winter.

Cold...unforgiving...bleak.

As temperatures plunge,
the skies open,

the winds rage
and the light fades early.

This winter,
we've seen extremes of weather.

Mild, wet and freezing cold.

Conditions that challenge
both wildlife

and the people
trying to survive here.

In this series,
I'm going to uncover a winter world

few of us have a chance to see.

I want to shine a light on the
bleakness of the British winter

to reveal its fragile
and often subtle beauty.

I'm exploring five of our
most extreme winter landscapes.

Including some of my BBC colleagues'
experiences from over the years.

And together, we're revealing
what's really out there

during this challenging season.

Today, we're looking at estuaries.

And I'm in a windswept
Morecambe Bay.

I'll be meeting people
fighting to make a living

at the edge of the sea.

What's the technique?
Just rake straight into this?

Rake and straight into the bag.

Finding out about the plants
that make these habitats so special.

So this is the moss
that made the bog. Oh, wow!

And discovering how the wildlife
they sustain not only survives,

but thrives here
in these toughest of months.

(Yes! They're there!)

Welcome to
The Great British Winter.

The British Isles
enjoys a huge range of landscapes,

like lakes in the Highlands

and low-lying fens
on the east coast.

One habitat we find in all parts
of the country, though,

is the estuary.

Estuaries and their
surrounding wetlands

are bodies of water usually found
where rivers meet the sea.

They're home to unique plant
and animal communities

that have adapted to a mixture
of freshwater and salty seawater.

To uncover the stories of the people
and creatures

that flourish in this wild winter
habitat,

I'm heading to an estuary
that supports

one of the most diverse
arrays of life in the country.

Today, I've come to Morecambe Bay,

the largest intertidal zone
in the UK.

It's an area that's made up of rocky
shores, flats and sandy beaches

and surrounded by a patchwork
of wetlands, marshlands,

reed beds, bogs
and, of course, a whole lot of mud.

On the surface, these flats
can appear to be pretty quiet,

almost barren in winter.

But when you look a little closer,

this place is, in fact,
awhirl with activity.

From a host of visitors
flying in for the winter...

..to animals small and large
who call these waters home.

BIRDSONG

The reason this landscape is so
alive in winter is down to this.

Yuck! Mud, glorious mud.

It may not look like much, but to
many birds, this stuff is a feast.

What's contained
in this brown sludge

is the lifeblood of this landscape.

At first glance, it's hard to see
what makes it so special.

I'm hoping Carol Bamber here,

who's an expert on the stuff,
can enlighten me.

Carol, you're used to getting
your hands dirty for research.

Yes. Yes, we're busy looking for
some of the billions of creatures

that make this mud their home.

So, what sort of things
can you generally find

by digging around in this mud?

Well, shrimps, snails,
shellfish, worms.

They're the main things
that we find.

There's lots of these little tubes.
Oh, yeah.

Evidence that shrimps
have been around.

And these macoma shells,
which, unfortunately,

this one's been eaten,

but there are the smaller shells
like that.

But it's absolutely teeming
with them.

And you can see
why it attracts the birds.

Morecambe Bay
and its surrounding reed beds

are descended on by over 150 species
of birds every winter.

Over a quarter-of-a-million birds
fill the skies.

From gaggles of geese...

to great plumes of knots...

..to dunlin...

dippers and many more.

Some, like avocets, stopping off
on their way further south.

Others settling in to spend winter
in our mild climate.

These mud service stations
provide rich pickings for them all.

And thanks to the unique way
each bird has evolved,

there's plenty of food here
for everyone throughout the winter.

The curlew will be able to dig
a lot deeper for the worms

cos it's got a much longer beak,
curved.

Very sensitive to find them.

And the oystercatcher
can break open the shellfish

with its tougher beak.

And the smaller birds,
like the redshank we've got around,

are pecking around for the shrimps
that are nearer the surface.

They've got a much shorter beak.

Different lengths of bills

means the birds aren't competing
for the same animals.

So a pretty juicy diet
for the birds.

What sort of calorific content do
you think you can get out of mud?

Well, somebody in 2010 did a survey

a kilometre out into the bay.

He took a square metre of mud

and he estimated 29,000 of these
minute creatures in the mud.

Which, in human food energy terms,
is about ten Mars bars.

That's not bad for such
a small patch.

There's quite a lot of energy
in one bit of mud.

Which is what keeps this area
so alive, even through the winter.

Yes. Absolutely.

It's not only the bird life, though,
that thrives off the riches

found in the mud
of estuaries like this.

The shellfish and shrimps
that abound in this habitat

have given rise to generations
of human activity.

Curlews and herons aren't
the only ones digging down

to reach the lugworms that build
their burrows in the sand.

They're also highly prized by sea
fishermen as winter bait for cod.

So sought after
is this seasonal tempter

that at this time of year,
men like Gordon Park

make a living gathering supplies
for local fishermen.

In 2003, he was filmed
as he headed out

onto the sands
in the Norfolk estuaries

during an unseasonably mild
December.

When I first started, I think
we were getting 25 pence a hundred.

Whereas now they're £12.00
a hundred.

So quite a considerable increase.

They're now very difficult to find,
really.

Everybody wants big bait,

but obviously, depending on the tide
and the conditions,

it's not always possible
to...um...get them.

Normally, they'll show a cast
on the sand.

And depending on the size
and the thickness of the cast

depends the size of the bait.

The worm digging
is dependent on the tides.

You can only dig
in this particular area

about three hours after the tide.

And, er...you get until about
three hours before the tide

before it'll put you out again.

But, um...it's quite long enough.

# Dig, dig, digging the dirt

# Shovel, shovel, shovel to the dirt

# I've got my spade, I've got my hoe

# I've got my rake
and I'm ready to go

# Doo-bee-doo-bee-doo-dee-dee-dee. #

Old hands like Gordon need to know

the estuaries they work in
in intimate detail.

Quicksands and fast-flowing tides

are as much a trademark
of these winter landscapes

as the riches
hidden below their surface.

Over in Morecambe Bay,
it's something

Carol and I are only too aware of.

The tide is right upon us.

We've got but seconds now.

Fortunately,
it's not a spring tide today.

If it were,
the average amount of water

coming into the whole bay
on a spring tide

would take about ten days
to go over Niagara Falls.

There's that much water coming in.
Wow!

Let's put these back.
Let's run for our lives.

We're only a short way
from more solid ground,

but this is a place where the
uninitiated can come easily unstuck.

I've been here once before
in the spring.

Even when the weather was better,
this place was pretty treacherous

with shifting sands, high winds
and a really fast tide.

But in winter, stuck out here on
your own would be pretty terrifying,

as Matt Baker discovered
when he was here with the RNLI.

When an emergency call comes in,
they'll often have no idea

what situation they'll face,

so both the crew and the hovercraft
arrive on the scene fully kitted out.

Whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!

Being able to fly across the bay,
whatever the terrain, means the team

can do the ten mile journey from one
end to the other in just 14 minutes.

Before the hovercraft came we was,
basically, stuck with a boat.

At low water, if we had a job over
at the Bay, over that side... Yeah.

..now the tide's out the boat would
have to go, literally,

right out to sea and right round
to get to the casualty

but this machine that we've got now,

we can go straight
the way the crow flies,

get to the casualty within minutes.

How easy is it to get stuck
in this kind of environment?

Oh, it's so easy, you could just
get the public walking out,

off the beach, and they can,
literally, go yards

and be down to their knees
in no time. Really?!

And once you're stuck in there,
there ain't no way out?

There's no way they could get out,
not without this machine.

So, it's time to put these
guys' skills to the test.

To prove that you don't have
to go far to find quicksand

we head back to the shore.

Two foot, straight in... OK.
..and, hopefully, you'll sink!

Right. Here we go.

Waggle one foot at a time. Eh?

One foot at a time.
I can't move them.

I actually cannot move.

Well, keep going, Matt, that's it,
you're going down now, mate.

That's it, Matt, go on.
You're going to get stuck now, mate.

You've got no chance of getting
out of there now.

The crew then leave me
stranded to give me an idea

of how it feels to be stuck
out here alone.

I'm actually getting lower,
don't be too long!

Honestly, please, don't be too long.
I am actually getting lower!

It's so disconcerting.

I'm getting lower and lower,
and lower,

and there is no way that my feet
are coming out of here.

No way.

And to think of the
tide rushing in...

..it is frightening.

It might have only been a brief taste
but it's still a big relief

when the hovercraft reappears.

Right, lads, shall
we, er, get him out?

The rescuers then use plastic boards
to get out onto the sand

without the risk of sinking
in themselves.

So, these are your little working
platforms, are they? Yeah.

If you want to sit down there now,
Matt. Sit on here?

Is that nice and comfy?
Yeah, that's great.

Are we ready to get muddy
then, James?

Come on, James!

Using a metal stick with holes in it,
water is squirted deep down

to loosen the sand that's now
set solid around my legs.

Right, OK, so...we're going
to now blast you

with a little bit of water.

OK. You'll see it bubbling.

Now, all we've got to do
is work your toe.

That's fine. And we are out.
That is extraordinarily powerful.

Did you feel the suction?
Yeah. Yeah?

That's the vacuum
underneath your foot.

What we're trying to do
is just break that vacuum

by putting my hand underneath,
in the water.

And then we just work it out.
That's one foot out.

We're nearly there.

Oh, there you go! Phwoar!

Cheers, thank you very much indeed.

Give us a hand up, there. Perfect.

Hopefully, I will never, ever, find
myself in that situation again

but it's very nice to know that you
guys aren't too faraway.

Despite the best efforts
of lifeboat crews, like these,

the quicksands and fast flowing
tides of Britain's estuaries

have claimed hundreds of lives
over the years.

In the winter of 2004 it was
an incident here at Morecambe Bay

that proved just how unforgiving
this environment can be.

18 people are now known to have
drowned in the sea

at Morecambe Bay, in Lancashire.

The victims, all of them
from the Far East,

were gathering cockles on the beach

when they were cut off
by the rising tide.

All morning the operation
has continued.

A search for bodies now,

any hope of finding anyone else
alive has disappeared.

These were the lucky ones,
the survivors,

who had remained on the beach.

They were discovered cold and weary,
they were taken to hospital,

some suffering from hypothermia,

but there were others
who did not survive.

One by one their bodies were
brought ashore.

The cockle pickers were all
illegally hired labourers.

Unfamiliar with the dangers
of the bay in winter

and caught in water of just seven
degrees, they stood little chance.

Today shell-fishing is a more
tightly regulated industry

but the dangers faced working
somewhere like this

will always exist.

The thing about the estuary here
at Morecambe is that the mud flats,

no matter how treacherous,
are so rich in invertebrate life

that they've provided
generations with food

and a way of earning a living -
even in winter.

That's why people are still prepared
to take the risk out there.

Back in the 1950 and '60s
shrimping was done on horse and cart

and today Morecambe Bay's shrimps

are said to be a firm
favourite of the Queen's...

..but while shrimping takes
place in the summer,

in the cold winter months
the fishermen brave the elements

to harvest the cockles
and mussels instead.

At a time when many creatures
are struggling to get by,

this catch is ripe for the picking.

These shellfish add over £25 million
to the seasonal economy.

For men like Jack Manning

they're just what this time
of year is all about -

and they're why he's braved
this estuary,

even in the harshest of conditions,

during a working life spent
harvesting these shallows.

40 years ago he was filmed
for a BBC documentary

contemplating the season to come.

Well, we're now in the middle
or Morecambe Bay,

something like, I suppose,
seven miles from shore,

on a glorious summer's day

and, of course, it's a pleasant
occupation today.

We're fishing for shrimps,

as my forefathers have done
for many generations

but, come wintertime,
it's a different story.

In fact, it can be bloody awful.

Today Jack still recalls
the harshness

of fishing in winter in Morecambe.

One of the things that I remember
most about it

was you worked hard, physical job,

so you kept reasonably warm under
the oil skins and things

but then to load the tractors

and trailers with two or three
tons of cockles,

and to drive them back into
that cold easterly wind

was absolutely terrible.

Jack endured these conditions for
60 years, finally retiring in 2007

but one winter still stands out
amongst all the others.

The worst winter that I can recall
and probably anybody can recall,

in the last century, was
the end of 1962 and into '63.

ARCHIVE: 'For London, it was
the coldest January

'since records were first
kept in 1841.'

50 years ago The Big Freeze
hit Britain.

Temperatures dropped
to -20 degrees centigrade,

more than 30 people died

and the country ground
to a virtual standstill.

In places, the sea off Britain's
coast froze up to one mile out

but in Morecambe, Jack and his dad
braved the Arctic conditions

to catch shellfish.

To work on the cockles,
in the icy water,

in conditions like that,
was unbelievable.

It really was terrible. You could
only describe it as hellish.

Hard frost day after day, after day,
after day. 12 weeks, in fact.

So hard that the water pipes,
that are three feet underground,

were frozen solid but we were making
decent money relative to the time

so we thought, "Well, we've got to
go," and we did go, day after day.

A hard life was made worthwhile
by the rewards on offer...

..but over his lifetime Jack's
seen overfishing and pollution

put many men out of business

and the future of this age-old
industry now hangs in the balance.

I'm pretty sure that the industry
won't come back

as I knew it 50, 60 years ago

when there were 30 to 40 fishermen
going out from Flookburgh.

Declined gradually down the years

till there are about
half a dozen left.

I can't see there being
any full-time fishermen.

Part-time fishermen, maybe,
that can go and do other jobs

when times are hard,
and when there are no fish to be had

but for full-time fishermen, no.

The old ways may be disappearing

but for some this tide of change
brings with it new opportunity.

Another man who grew up helping
his dad harvest mussels

through the bitter winds
of a Morecambe Bay winter

and who still works these shores
today is Rob Benson...

..but he's got a plan he hopes
could secure the future for him

and the bay's mussels -

keeping this star
of the season thriving.

Hi, Rob, good to meet you.
Hi, there.

You're looking hard at work here.
Well, we're trying!

So, they are harvested by hand,
then? These mussels?

These mussels are, yes. Why is that?
Why do you do that this way?

Erm, it's just because the orders
that we have are quite small

and, truthfully, it's easy. Is it?
You can just get what you need.

I like the sound of easy.
Shall I have a go?

You can most certainly have a go.
So what's the technique?

Just raking straight into this?
Rake and straight into the bag.

Let's have a go at this then. It's
good to watch somebody doing it,

rather than doing it!

In this particular area,
there are some natural mussel beds,

but the quality that we have got
here at the moment is unusable,

so we are in the process of clearing
the area of the unusable stuff

and then reseeding it with
small mussels that we'll bring in.

How you do that, how do you reseed?

The easiest ways is fish them
by boat and bring them

back in and just basically
broadcast them

on the seabed through
the bottom of the boat.

Rob sees his patch more
like a farmer's field - the ground

needs to be sown with
the seeds of his crop, in this case

mussels, which will, 18 months
later, mature into a good harvest,

thanks to the nutrient-rich
land in which they grow.

By winter, his product is at its
prime and ready for harvesting.

Winter is normally the busier time,
one of the markets that we

have quite a bit of business with is
the French market, their mussel
stocks

get depleted because they eat a lot
of mussels in Europe,

they love mussels.

Challenging weather conditions to be
out here harvesting!

It is, today is quite a nice day,

we're very, very local where
we are today,

whereas, where we normally are,
is a little bit different to this.

You're more exposed, are you?

Very much so.

Although this is the season
when Rob can make most money,

it also brings the greatest
dangers to his shellfish stock.

So, once you've got them all out
here and hopefully the stocks

are looking quite good, what could
potentially lose you the mussels?

Erm, nature. If we get bad frost,
bad weather. Really?

Yes, because of strong winds,

because the way the mussels fix
themselves to the seabed,

if they start to move around
you can possibly lose them,

they can wash away, predation
from birds, crabs, you know,

there are lots of things
that can happen,

but hopefully with the knowledge
that we've gained over the years,

it's as near as we can be to having
everything secure as possible.

Well, thank you very much,
I wish you well with the harvesting.

No problem. And hopefully
no storms this winter. OK. See you.

Thank you. Bye.

It's impressive the lengths Rob
is prepared to go to

to revitalise the shellfish
industry here in Morecambe Bay,

in order to make a living.

But in other parts of the world,
some families' actual

survival in the depths of winter
depends on mussel harvesting.

In Canada, on the Arctic Sea,
the Inuit's winter mussel collecting

poses an unimaginable challenge,

as the series Human Planet revealed.

In this far-off place,

the trials of the season
take on a whole new meaning.

And living off the land requires
not only determination,

but a level of daring that has to be
seen to be believed.

NARRATOR: Cosy inside their igloo,
Lukasi and his friends must wait.

Before they can hunt, something
extraordinary has to happen.

Underneath the sea ice, the tide is
going out.

And out.

The floating ice drops a staggering
12 metres, nearly 40 feet,

exposing the seabed and hopefully
the bounty they are after.

Lukasi and his friends try
to get under

the ice as quickly as possible.

They have just half an hour before
the tide comes back in.

TRANSLATION:

The world beneath their feet
is unstable.

The giant blocks of ice are no
longer supported by water

and could collapse at any moment.

This is the only place on earth
where the tides are extreme enough

to allow people to dare
venture under the sea ice.

And in a chamber that moments
ago was underwater,

they find what
they are looking for -

Mussels.

All they could hope for.

Now they have just minutes
to gather all they can carry.

The returning tide is
an unstoppable force.

As the sea steadily flows back,

it lifts the huge blocks of ice
over their heads.

Even as they escape,
the ice shifts around them.

The ocean reclaims its secret
garden.

Living off the land the Inuit way
might be a bit much

for most of us, but for one
couple, being cut off from all

mod cons
and exposed to the more modest

elements of the farthest reaches of
Morecambe Bay is a dream come true.

They're willing to put up with the
rigours of winter out in this remote

spot because of the stimulation that
life here offers them.

Artist John Fox and his wife have
lived in this wooden beach hut

on the bay for the last 12 years,
and their lives have

become entwined with the landscape
that surrounds them.

Hi, John. Oh, hi.

Good to meet you.
I catch you mid-flow here.

So, is this some
driftwood from the beach?

Yes, some of it is, yes,
some trees that came down in January.

What are you using this wood for?

Well, some of it's for artwork,

we put together sculptures
from flotsam and jetsam.

The debris washed in on the shore
is transformed into impromptu

sculptures

and driftwood heats their home.

Can I take a look at your fabulous
view from up on your veranda,

so we can get a sense of the
landscape from up here? Sure.

Let's take a look.

As the seasons change, it's the ebb
and flow of the estuary and

the life that lives here that is the
real inspiration behind John's work.

And he's got the best
outlook onto the bay.

John, this view's amazing!
It is, isn't it?

I'm very jealous of this. Wow!

It's like being in a dream,
we can't quite believe it ourselves.

How has this landscape in front
of your house changed in the time

you've been here?

Well, the spartina
grass is the main difference.

10 years ago there was hardly
any here at all,

but now you've got this
massive swathe of it.

I mean, the story is it came
into Plymouth on a Yankee schooner

over 100 years ago
and it has gradually come up here,

but it is really
turning into salt marsh

and all the land
animals are moving out,

the rabbits are going out there,
the crows are going out there

and there's an interesting liminal
space, you know,

that gap between the sea out
there and the freshwater

coming down here on the land,

it's a whole kind of corridor which
literally changes by the day.

It's quite extraordinary
and wonderful.

Amazing to watch.
You've got your own oystercatchers.

And real ones out there?

Yes, well, I made these because the
oystercatchers are a threatened

species, they're on the amber list of
the RSPB,

and they are very unpredictable,

some days there are thousands of
them,

and other days they completely
disappear.

In winter, the landscape
and the life in front of his house

change on a daily basis
and these sights

and sounds of the estuary are all
captured in the artwork he creates.

Revealing a unique perspective
on the new wonders that the

season brings.

You never quite know what's
going to turn up.

Apart from the flotsam
and jetsam on the beach,

like, the other morning, there were
suddenly 15 swans out there... Wow!

I've never actually seen that, they
were about 400 yards out.

Fantastic, a dream place for a
creative man like you, then, really.

It is a dream
place, it's completely perfect.

I can't imagine anywhere I would
prefer to be.

In all estuaries, including this
one at Morecambe Bay,

the tide is key for shifting
around the sand and the mud

and shaping the landscape - it's
constantly evolving.

But, of course, it's not just tide,

but the time of year that changes
John's view from his cabin -

and with winter, migrating birds
become a dominant feature,

drawn to the mudflats
and the riches they provide.

It's a habitat that means John
and his wife are sure to enjoy

the company of pink-footed geese
any time soon.

They come down from the Arctic
to overwinter here.

They're attracted to many
of Britain's coastal flats for their

milder weather. And their arrival is
quite a sight, as Richard Daniel

witnessed when he joined Ciaran
Nelson

over at Snettisham in Norfolk.

You know, this is an amazing
sight - suddenly, out of nowhere,

the sky becomes black as thousands
of geese take off.

It's an incredible sight.

They're all getting
up in this big flock

and heading inland, basically,

because they feed on the
remains of the sugar beet harvest.

Those are some incredible lines,
why do they fly like that?

Yes, they get up as this big, like,
amorphous mass of birds, and then

one bird seems to take charge and,
just like these birds here,

they form into these skein shapes,
these Vs,

and head inland,
and the reason that they

come into these skeins, we think,

is aero-dynamic efficiency,
basically, so, the downbeat

of one bird's wing gives a little
bit of uplift to the bird behind it.

Who is leading the way?

Well, I would love to know.

If you watch them on long journeys,
they change as they're going,

so you see these birds moving around,

and a different bird takes the lead,

and that's about giving another bird
the chance to take the brunt

of the wind, and on a day like today,
you can see why they need to do that.

You can see as they're being
pushed away!

Yes, they're more flying
sideways...

We're not going to see this for much
longer, are we?

That's right, they're only
here... December and January

are the peak months,
really, for this.

And then, after that, they'll
head back north,

they'll go to places like the Ribble
Estuary

and Morecambe Bay, and then they will
make their way back to Iceland

and Greenland, their breeding
grounds.

It's a real privilege to see.
It is, yes.

Britain's mudflats

and marshlands are great
habitats for birds in winter.

But there's another type of wetland
ecosystem that's lush and green -

even in winter - because it's
dominated by the growth of mosses.

I'm heading inland to a peat
bogland

that's been lovingly restored.

This site at Foulshaw Moss used to
be a typical estuarine lowland,

fertile ground fed by rainwater
and rivers flowing to the sea.

But like many of our bogs it was
planted with fast-growing

conifers after World War II to
restock our wood stores

and satisfy a rapidly rising
demand for consumer goods.

As these fast-growing trees sucked
moisture from the earth,

the bogs and the life that
lived in them was lost.

Now, thanks to the work of people
like David Harpley, these

sites are being returned
to their former glory.

Hi, David. Hi. Good to meet you.

How're you doing? All right, thanks.

So, what is going on out there?

So, these guys, the guy on the right,

he is re-profiling the peat face,
and the guys on the left

are building peat bunds to stop water
moving off the site. Hmm!

So, do you want to
look at some less-damaged bog? Yes!

Absolutely, yes. Jolly good.

These cold, damp months are the
key to nurturing life here.

To discover exactly why that is,
David's taking me

to see the one piece of land that
escaped cultivation on this site.

In particular, he's showing me
a special moss that creates

and sustains these unique
environments.

So, we're starting to get
sphagnum in here, and if I go...

Everything moves.

Earthquake! That's ridiculous.

Yes, so, this is
a hill of water made by a moss.

So, this is the sphagnum down here?
Yes.

So, this is the moss that made
the bog and if you pull a bit out...

Woops! Oh, wow!

So,
it's absolutely wringing with water.

What percentage of this is
water, then?

A huge percentage.

This is quite a dried-out
bit of the bog,

but it will still
be 90% of water in the peat.

And yet it feels very light and...

Yes, once you've wrung the water out,
yes...

Good gracious.

This is holding water inside hollow
cells,

inside the vegetation itself,

and the way it grows actually holds
water in between all the leaves,

you see the complexity of it
as a structure? Yes, absolutely.

So, this all looks very lush
and green,

which is a great sight
in winter, isn't it?

This is still growing. Right.

So, in weather like this, this will
grow virtually all year round.

And the wet year that we've had, the
wet season is good for sphagnum?

Suits it down to the ground.

There's a lot less competition
from the surrounding vegetation,

so, it is actually a good time for it
to be growing,

as long as it is warm enough.

Sphagnum moss is the first plant to
gain a foothold in this

landscape, thriving in these
wetter, winter months.

But soon others will follow -
heather, reindeer moss,

cotton grass -
which in turn attract the insects,

birds and bees that make these
bogs their home.

How long will that take, then,
to restore it to decent bogland?

That's one of those really good
questions

I don't think we know the answer to.

You can see change already,
so you can see the sphagnum starting

to grow through all
the tussocks of purple moor grass...

And that's been in a few years?
Yes, within ten years. Right.

How long it takes you to get back to
really good-quality bog vegetation

is really a complete unknown.

This bog, once restored, will be
a prime spot for deer,

ground-nesting birds

and up to 200 species of butterflies
and moths.

Thanks to these bogland plants this
environment can provide

food for animals all year round,
but for some more delicate species

the British winter is just too
harsh.

Butterflies like these will be
seen in

wetlands across the country
in the coming months.

During this harshest of seasons,

they are still around,
but they're deep in hibernation.

Over in Dorset, Dr George McGavin
went in search of some

of their more ingenious winter
hiding places.

Here on the Isle
of Purbeck these World War II

defences are often seen as ugly,
as a blot on the landscape,

yet for half the year

they're important refuges for
overwintering insects.

One such insect choosing to
hibernate here is

the beautiful peacock butterfly.

Not quite the common
species it once was.

On the roof here, we have got two
overwintering peacocks.

Now, they will hibernate
from the middle of August to March

the following year.

50 years ago you would have seen
a lot more than this,

only two in here,
which is evidence of a decline

and it won't be long now before
the days get longer and warmer

and these two will emerge from this
concrete bin, fly outside

and mate and lay eggs,

so I think
it's time I left them in peace.

In the past ten years,
peacock numbers have fallen by 25%

and the charity Butterfly
Conservation are keeping a close eye

on their diminishing numbers, but
they aren't the only ones in
trouble.

Matthew Oates researches
the butterflies

in the Forestry Commission's
Savernake Forest in Wiltshire.

What have you got over here?

Well, here we have a hibernating
caterpillar of a purple emperor.

I want you to find him.

That is unbelievably camouflaged.

Have you got him? No!

It's less than a centimetre long
at the moment.

This is embarrassing!

No, I can't see it. Seriously,
if I was a hungry bird...

Am I going to have to help?

You are going to have to help,
I'm sorry, yes.

Here we are, so, the point
is that it is very late winter

and this caterpillar has survived,
and he is there.

Oh, my goodness!

Any bird who found that

and ate it, I tell you, is doing
really well, they deserve the meal.

Everybody thinks, you know, winter,
things are dead, but it's all

there, it's all hibernating,
as an egg, as a caterpillar,

as a pupa - somewhere, they're just

waiting for the spring, aren't they?

Yes. And not just waiting for the
spring,

they're avoiding the predators and

the only defence mechanism they've
got is camouflage

and they are masters of the cryptic
arts.

Even with this camouflage,
there are always caterpillars that

won't make it until spring, eaten
by birds scavenging for winter food.

More worryingly, butterfly numbers
on the whole have been falling

year round - in part because of the
loss of natural habitats.

This makes projects like the bog
restoration I've seen

even more vital.

Towards the coast on the far
east of the bay, there's

another sanctuary that's playing
its part in supporting wildlife

of a different kind - attracting
over 270 species of birds.

I'm heading over to the freshwater
reed beds of Leighton Moss.

Thanks to the work
of conservationists, this area

is now home to a wealth of winter
wildlife,

but it wasn't
always like this...

50 years ago, Leighton Moss
wildlife reserve was

founded by John Wilson, who was
the original warden here.

To my way of thinking,
a world without birds,

and, well, any wildlife,

a world without wild places

certainly wouldn't be a world worth
living in.

Really, I am very concerned
about the preservation of wildlife

and this is really why
I took this job.

Now John's retired from his job,

but his love for the place
remains undiminished

and he still spends almost every day
here as a volunteer.

Hi, John! Good to meet you.
Hello, welcome to Leighton Moss.

Thank you very much. I hope you're
going to tell me this is great
weather for birds.

Oh yes, but it's very wet, that's the
only problem.

It sure is, I'm guessing that's why
the waders are there.

Yes, absolutely. Those are for
me.

John's had his work particularly cut
out for him this winter as

the reserve is flooded, due to
having the eighth wettest

December on record.

You OK? Yes, that just about sums up
our weather this year, doesn't it?!

Absolutely!

Good news for the sphagnum moss
we're walking across - but at

this time of year the birdlife
needs a bit of a helping hand,

so John's preparing a rather strange
winter feast for some bearded tits.

A little dicey here.
Tentatively stepping out now. Yes.

This is very unusual-looking bird
food! Absolutely.

Why are they eating grit?

They have an interesting
change in diet.

During the spring
and summer they feed on insects,

but in the winter they actually start
to move to the reed seed which

is much harder,
so they do need grit to grind it up.

So that helps break it down when
they're digesting the seeds? Yes.

Birds don't have teeth, so they need
the grit in their gizzard,

in the stomach, to grind up the seed,
and there has been this German

study done, where they have up to
800 stones in their gizzards.

Amazing they can take off!

When I first started bird-watching,
bearded tits only bred in Norfolk.

And there were only seven pairs,
so the thought that one day

they would nest here at Leighton Moss
was absolutely unthinkable.

But then in 1973 one pair came
and nested here and I found it.

Were you jumping for joy?
I was thrilled to bits. Yes, I bet.

And then eventually we got as many 65
pairs,

so they have done incredibly well.

For over half a century, John's
worked long

and hard at building up
the reserve into what it is today.

He's seen it grow from 400 acres
to over 7,000.

And thanks to him
and his team's hard work,

come rain or snow, it now celebrates
a record-breaking 276 species!

During the winter months, many who
leave are replaced by new types

of birds coming to enjoy the food
and shelter this habitat provides.

John's taking me
to a hide where hopefully we'll spot

some of these winter residents
in action,

but the first thing to catch my
attention is the name above the
door.

This is a very new-looking hide.

It is absolutely new.

How long has it been around?

Just this summer it has been built.
Oh!

It's in memory, of course,
of Eric Morecambe.

So was he a keen birder,
Eric Morecambe?

He was, yes.

Really, originally, the idea
came from the local city council -

they wanted a memorial to
Eric Morecambe, and they chose this.

APPLAUSE

Not only did he take his surname
from the town where he was born,

but Eric Morecambe apparently took
up bird-watching as a relaxing

hobby after suffering
a heart attack.

It's lovely here, isn't it?

It is, good spot for it, isn't it?

I love this ornithology, you know.

I'm all for it, all for it.

What's it mean? What?

Bird-watching. You know me.

Better keep your eyes peeled now.
I will. Don't make any noise,

don't frighten away all these
feathered friends. Shhh. Good.

I'm sure the birdwatcher in Eric
would have loved the sights

I'm being treated
to from his specially named hide.

You can see pintails very close.

Teal, widgeon.

So is winter a really excellent
time for birding in general?

Well yes, for seeing wildfowl
it's the best by far,

because, of course, a lot of these
birds that we have seen today

have come from as far
away as Russia, Iceland, Scandinavia.

They'll come here, because although
we grumble about our weather,

in fact, it's the mildest part
of Europe, really, in many respects,

so that's why they are drawn here.

The really best time to see wildfowl
and waders is

when the tide is in, because they're
brought right to the edge

and you can get really
lovely views of them.

You get avocets here, don't you?

We do, yes.

That was really something
we never thought of

when we made it originally, because
they were quite rare, but they have

extended and they bred here about
ten years ago for the first time,

but this last year we have had the
best year ever, we had 19 pairs,

and they reared 46 young, which
was really superb. Gosh.

Unfortunately, we won't see any here

because avocets are one of the bird
species who spend winter

in other British estuaries further
south.

In 2005, Chris Packham visited

one of these winter holiday
spots, on the Exe estuary in Devon.

Avocets are always popular,
they are a very, very elegant bird.

In the past they were a great
rarity here in Britain,

they had been persecuted for the hat
trade, millinery.

They've come back and they now
breed in East Anglia,

but great numbers of continental
birds come down here to the Exe

and you do get super views of them
here.

The avocet's most
distinctive feature is its upwardly

curved beak, which it uses to good
effect to find food.

Now, when you watch avocets feeding,
what they are in fact doing is they

are scooping here that very fine,
upturned bill through the mud.

They are using that to detect any
small crustaceans

or shellfish they can find in there.

More than 7,500 of these magnificent
birds

flock to south-west Britain every
winter to take advantage of the

rich pickings on offer.

But while avocets are spending
the winter in the south-west

of England,

John's work here has managed to draw
in one of Britain's rarest birds -

the bittern.

It is the feather
in the birdwatcher's cap.

This secretive fisherman
needs large,

wet reed beds full of little fish,
like the ones in Morecambe Bay.

A type of thick-set heron
- their huge, long toes stop them

sinking in the mud.

They can also grab individual
reeds to walk along -

a bit like walking on stilts.

The reeds they live in need
fresh water to grow,

so the bitterns are attracted to
the lakes in wildlife reserves

where banks can also be artificially
built up and the water level

kept at the perfect height for them
to go fishing.

In the late 1990s there were only
11 breeding pairs

in the whole country.

Perfectly camouflaged,
difficult to find -

even when you know where they are -

this elusive bird very nearly
disappeared altogether.

The good news is that after efforts
to create safe havens for them,

there are now 75 breeding pairs.

Far too few to be out of danger, but
the beginnings of a success story.

As dusk draws in during these
winter months,

all across the country
there are special spots where

one of the season's greatest
sights can be fleetingly glimpsed.

Estuaries can be prime places to
see these spectacles,

so as the sun goes down I'm
hanging around.

I'm here to see a murmuration.

A flock of starlings
performing a mesmeric, acrobatic

display across the winter sky.

It's one of the most glorious sights
that nature puts on at this

time of year, and it happens about
now, at dusk.

And not just here, because

Julia Bradbury travelled to
the Avalon marshes in Somerset to

get her first glimpse.

We are all here to witness one
of this country's natural wonders,

and to talk me through it, I've
enlisted the help of Chris Griffin.

Where are they, then?

That's nature for you, they'll be
here at some point, I'm sure.

SHE SIGHS

They've been here for three months,
so I'm hoping, anyway,

otherwise
I wouldn't be very good at my job.

No. Look at this, turn around!

Where are they?!

All eyes look to the skies,

the anticipation in the air
is tangible.

And then, right on cue...

Ah, there you go. Can you see that?

Look, yes, this is it,
it looks like a swarm of bees.

That's it, yes.
That's the first, sort of...

The first tranche.

They usually send in a first
little recce group from the pre-roost

just outside the reserve.

These are starlings, that humble
bird that normally sits

chattering on top of your TV aerial.

But out here, in the open country,

they flock in
their hundreds of thousands.

Where are they coming from?

Some of them are from Britain,
as a British bird,

unfortunately, our starlings
have been in massive decline over

the past 40 years,
which is a real shame,

so, having these big numbers
down here can be a bit misleading,

but that is because about two thirds,
maybe even more than that

come from Russia and Scandinavia,
and usually come over here for

milder winters, but it hasn't really
gone to plan this year.

No, I think they will be phoning up
the travel agents and going,

"Excuse me,
it's much colder than you told us!"

Yes, they'll get their money back.
Yes.

'And now for the main event.'

Here they come.

A dive! Ooh!

Look at that!

Oh! They twisted, it was some
gyroscope,

incredible. Oh!

They're still going...
look how dense that is there.

These extraordinary
shapes are called murmurations.

The name comes from the sound
the birds' wings make

when they flock like this.

The numbers, the sheer numbers...

We've got anywhere between 1.5

and 3.5 million birds that
come down to the roost every night.

That is an impressive figure.

SHE GASPS

Oh, right above us.

And layers and layers,
it's like watching them in 3-D.

The thing that I like about them

the most is that you can continually
learn about nature, but then,

every experience that you have,
it just keeps getting better

and better, you learn more
and more and more,

and it just never stops,
and it is so inspiring.

You might be able to get this awesome
display nearer to you as well,

I mean, this goes on all over
the country, not just here.

You've just got to find your local
spot, haven't you? Yes, that's it.

Over in Morecambe Bay I've
found my local spot,

but so far my wait's proving
rather less rewarding than Julia's.

It's getting dark, it's nature,

it's raining, so I'm not
holding out all hope!

But after an hour of waiting with
not a starling in sight,

the last light is fading
from the day - and the only thing

that's taken my breath away is
the biting cold of a winter's night.

Sure enough,
we haven't been lucky this time.

After a good, dry night's sleep,
next stop on my estuarine

adventure is Walney Island just
off the west coast of Morecambe Bay.

The shape of this small
spit of land, just 11 miles long

and one mile wide, has been likened
to a gigantic killer whale.

The island's thought to have
formed during the recession

of the last Ice Age.

It's a breathtaking sight

and it's also one of the windiest
spots in England.

The wind on Walney never stops
blowing,

and with an average speed of 20 kph

it's no surprise that this place
has one of the world's largest

offshore wind farms right on its
doorstep -

this must be one of the most
buffeted strips of land in the UK.

However, despite the exposed
conditions here,

there is life.

Life is able to be sustained here
thanks to one plant - this.

It's marram grass.

Now, it might not look like much
but this binds the dunes together

and protects them from the sea and
the wind, especially in winter.

Marram grows quickly - through up to
a metre of sand a year -

and as it gets bigger more sand
gathers around it,

establishing firm land.

Its vertical roots penetrate deep
into the dune to up to 30 feet,

anchoring it down and yet allowing
it to absorb maximum nutrients.

The nodules on these roots allow new
plants to sprout from underground,

avoiding the risk of seeds being
cast far away on the bracing breeze.

This toughness makes it
the frontline flora of our shores.

And in the shelter it
provides, there's

the creation of a whole new
environment, which over 600 types of

plant call their home -

their seeds
hiding safe underground during the

cold, winter weather,

ready to spring into life in a few
months' time.

Life isn't just hiding in the sands
on Walney, though,

there are also some surprise

seasonal visitors lurking on the
shore.

Winter may batter the most
exposed areas here,

but that hasn't stopped this island
becoming home to an elusive

and exclusive gentlemen's
club at this time of year!

These guys like their privacy
so I'm keeping my distance.

I'm going as quietly as I can
because just over here,

I'm hoping, are some of its
illustrious members...

And sure enough,
my stealth pays off.

Yes, they're there!

Oh, I think they can tell I'm here,
look at that!

They're one of a number of colonies
of grey seals usually

found off the coasts of mainland
Britain.

But since the early 1990s, male
seals have also been seen

here at Walney Island.

Male seals become sexually mature
at about six years old, but they're

not big enough to fight for
the females, so some of these are

the young ones
that would have had a go,

but have had no chance of success.

These underwater mating battles
may seem graceful,

but can seriously maim
and even kill.

The loser must know
when to cut his losses.

And as there aren't enough
females to go around,

defeated males have to find
somewhere to go and lick

their wounded pride, leaving
the winners to stay and breed.

For the last 25 years, some of those
spurned seals have ended up

here on Walney.

It's not just female seals that
aren't particularly enamoured with
them.

They haven't won many friends
with some local fishermen, either,

who see them as competition
for food.

This feud between man and mammal
hit the headlines in 2008,

when some of Walney's fishermen
claimed the seals had

started following their boats
to try and steal their catch.

As soon as they see us coming
they'll poke their heads up,

and as soon as we shoot
the marker buoy for the net

they'll make a beeline for the net.

Numbers have been steadily
increasing

and over 130 seals have now been
spotted at one time in the bay.

We did an 18 hour shift one day, we
put a 50 mile round trip in, me and

my friend over in the bay,
and they must have taken 75% of both

our fish that day. With the fuel
costs and everything else,

it's frustrating.

These seals may be a bit
unpopular with some people,

but I can't help
but be completely charmed by them.

Adapted to withstand freezing
temperatures and chill winds,

they seem to be enjoying the cold,

rather than hiding from it
like the rest of us!

They really are a beautiful sight
in the depths of the British winter.