Original subtitles

An ancient kingdom, a last refuge for creatures

of shadow and myth.

Behind the veil of green, Thailand's cats bide their time,

searching for prey and protecting their legacy.

Apex hunters.

These are the masters of the jungle.

The forests of Thailand are some of the oldest on earth.

For over 100 million years, they've stood watch over the

landscape, hiding some of Thailand's greatest mysteries.

And few are as secretive as this group of hunters.

Elusive, agile and with an ability to vanish in the blink

of an eye, cats are the ultimate masters of the

disappearing act.

At around 15 kilograms and standing at about

40 centimeters, this small feline,

larger than a tabby cat, may closely resemble her

domesticated relatives.

But this Asian fishing cat has a gift that sets her apart.

Unlike most small cats, she hunts in water.

She eyes her prize, fish.

Not fast enough.

This is the forest region of Huai Kha Khaeng.

And together with its neighboring reserve,

it is the largest protected wildlife area in mainland

Southeast Asia.

With only around 2,500 fishing cats remaining in the wild,

this forest is one of the few remaining habitats for these

remarkable creatures.

Shy and solitary, the female prefers to stay under the radar.

But she's been spotted.

A male fishing cat has been

tracking her scent through the forest.

She's nearly ready to mate.

Before he can reveal himself, another sound interrupts them.

The alarm call of a macaque echoes through the trees.

The reason for their alarm is not the fishing cats.

They are too small to pose much threat to an agile macaque.

There is something much bigger stalking this section of forest.

The troop of macaques, from their vantage point in the

treetops, spot the danger.

High up in the canopy,

they are usually safe from most predators.

But not this one.

While most cats are good climbers,

the clouded leopard is one of the best in the whole cat family.

Her rotating ankles on her back legs allow her incredible

agility in the trees,

much like a squirrel.

With the longest upper canines of any carnivore her size,

her teeth resemble the legendary sabertooth.

She's mostly nocturnal but she's breaking all the rules

for a meal.

She's not the only rule-breaker.

A few kilometers away, her two tiny cubs unwisely venture

from the safety of their den.

About a month old, they are helpless,

and a sojourn away from their hiding spot is

a dangerous move.

The long tailed macaques are no fools,

moving quickly to a new part of their home range,

far from the prying eyes of the nimble predator.

In this part of the forest, temptation can lure even the

most nervous primate to the ground.

Pollenated entirely by a tiny wasp,

figs are vitally important to these forests,

providing an important food resource for many animals and

birds that live here.

The macaques are not the only creatures here for the feast.

A herd of sturdy banteng emerges from the forest.

A relative of domestic cattle,

these wild bovines are usually very shy,

preferring to keep to the thickets for protection.

However, the promise of figs is enough to draw them out

into the open to pick through the undergrowth,

gobbling up any fruit dislodged by the birds or monkeys.

Some are not drawn to this area for figs.

The King of this jungle is on patrol.

He treads the familiar pathways along the edge of the river,

marking his territory and smelling for any sign of females.

It's his job to keep them and their cubs safe from intruding males.

He's not hunting and ignores the banteng as they feed.

This big dark bull is this herd's leader.

He's the only male of this group and he's highly

protective of all his lighter-colored females.

Green peafowls add a splash of vivid color,

but not all of them are here for the food.

Birds have an incredibly sophisticated ability to see colors.

So for a watching female,

this brilliant display is simply dazzling.

Males are highly territorial, and if a beauty contest fails

to determine the top bird, things can turn ugly.

The winner claims the territory and mating rights to

the watching females.

After their fill of figs,

the banteng move off through the forest.

And following, a silent shadow.

This tiger is a female.

She's got cubs to feed.

And unlike the big male, she's focused on the hunt.

She keeps her distance for now.

This clearing offers little cover.

She follows their scent as they move to the water nearby.

It's lined with steep banks and thick vegetation,

the perfect spot for an ambush.

Perfectly camouflaged,

the tiger waits and watches.

Her target, the banteng herd,

completely oblivious to her presence,

just the way she likes it.

She lets her prey come to her.

With every step, they get closer.

Still she waits, every muscle coiled and ready.

She's entirely focused on the herd.

She's forgotten about the peahen.

The alarm call sends the banteng running.

She settles for a dip in the stream,

to cool down after the failed hunt.

There's no need for stealth now.

With hunting off the table, she heads back in the

direction of the thickets,

where she's eagerly welcomed by her two adoring cubs.

They're about five months old, and growing fast.

She is the center of their world and she's completely

devoted to them.

Their father, the big territorial male,

plays almost no role in their upbringing.

Their mother provides everything they need,

from food to protection from potential predators.

She whiles away the afternoon with them.

She'll return to the hunt at nightfall.

About one third of all mainland Southeast Asia's

known mammal species call this forest home.

And this leopard is one of them.

With as few as 400 wild leopards remaining in

Thailand, she's incredibly rare.

She too has a secret.

Cubs.

The little female is her tiny twin.

The other cub is a little male,

and he's very special indeed.

These two are part of the future of this incredibly

special gene pool.

Oblivious to their importance to the survival of their kind,

they explore the streams and forests of their home.

They are nearing a year old, but it will be a few months

until they venture off entirely on their own.

The little female is constantly accompanied

by her black shadow.

Her twin brother may look like a completely different species,

but aside from a rare gene that causes a surplus of pigment

in his skin or hair, he's exactly the same as his sister.

It is unknown exactly how many black leopards roam Thailand's

forests, but it is thought that his coat is an advantage

in shady habitats when it comes to hunting.

He and his sister are at the age where they are learning to hunt.

A quail, the perfect target.

Not even close.

What the little female lacks in talent,

she makes up for in youthful enthusiasm.

She sets her sights higher up in the trees.

An A for effort, but their lack of experience means the

birds in this part of the forest are safe for now.

These clumsy games are the building blocks that will

eventually transform her and her brother

into deadly assassins.

Sunset in the forests of Thailand is the cue for the

night stalkers to begin their rounds.

The female fishing cat is back on the hunt,

but she's got a stalker of her own.

The male fishing cat continues to lurk close behind.

Time to make a move.

Normally solitary creatures,

fishing cats rarely interact with each other,

except to mate.

With a growling noise, called chittering,

she advertises her readiness to mate.

But that doesn't guarantee she'll accept him as a partner.

He'll need to prove himself first.

His act still needs work.

But he's not to be deterred.

He'll stick to her like glue,

in case any other males track her down.

The light of day reveals his progress.

Finally, his persistence pays off.

(hissing, growling).

Mating complete, they go their separate ways with barely a

backward glance.

Time for the female to focus on the important matter of

catching food.

Gingerly, she pats the water to make waves as if insects

were landing on the surface.

The fish moves in to investigate a potential meal.

A split second is all she needs to scoop the fish to shore.

Landing a meal this slippery needs special equipment.

Her semi-retractable claws and partially webbed feet are

perfect for the job.

High above, the green lung of this entire ecosystem

is hard at work.

Thanks to its ability to moderate temperature,

protect the interior from wind and rain,

and provide ecological niches for countless creatures,

the canopy itself is alive with activity.

For the most part, hornbills are protected from the many

predators that lurk below.

But they cannot underestimate one of the jungle's

most agile climbers.

The clouded leopard spots the opportunity.

Not fast enough.

The cat must go hungry once more.

This great hornbill is lucky to survive.

Waiting for him is a hungry mate.

Concealed and imprisoned in a hole that she plastered almost

completely shut from the inside using regurgitated mud,

this female hornbill relies on her mate to bring her food

while their chicks develop.

Without a mate to share parenting duties,

the female fishing cat searches alone for a

quiet corner of the forest.

It's been nearly two months since she mated,

and she's pregnant.

She needs to find a den site soon.

But she won't find any peace here.

At nearly a ton, banteng bulls

move though the forest like bulldozers.

The herd's dominant bull spots an intruding banteng bull.

He gores the ground in a display of strength.

But instead of backing down, the newcomer stands his ground.

He has his eye on the bull's females,

and he lays down a challenge.

This will only be settled one way.

The lighter-colored newcomer wins the battle.

The old male is out, a changing of the guard

and a new bloodline for the herd.

The seasons are also changing,

and May usually sees the end of the dry season.

Rain collects into streams.

Streams become rivers.

And where there are rivers, there is life,

in abundance.

Sambar deer are seldom found far from water.

And while they are mostly active at night or early mornings

and evenings, they will often while away the day

near, or even in, a river.

They are some of the largest deer species on earth,

potentially reaching half a ton in weight.

Their sheer size makes them difficult to hunt for most of

the predators here,

with the exception of one.

Patient, silent and practically invisible,

the tigress waits for the perfect moment.

At a top speed of 56 kilometers an hour,

she closes in.

Instead of feeding immediately,

she drags the kill undercover before moving away towards

the thick undergrowth,

where her two cubs are hiding,

patiently waiting for their mother's return.

They still rely on their mother's milk but they are

slowly being weaned onto meat.

The tiger is not the only mother out on the hunt.

The clouded leopard has been away from her two young cubs

for days, in search of food.

She's getting desperate.

The noisy leaf litter makes stalking more difficult.

And with no sign of any prey on the forest floor,

she once again turns her attention to the treetops.

A lar gibbon swings obliviously through the canopy.

Among the fastest primates, they fly through the trees,

their long arms and curved fingers propelling them.

While the clouded leopard prefers stealth,

lar gibbons make quite a racket.

The eerie call of this male is part of a duet between

him and his mate.

Her answer pierces the jungle at over 100 decibels.

She may be a good climber, but a gibbon can cover nine meters

in a single swing,

and move through the trees at 55 kilometers an hour.

The hunt is over before it even begins,

as the gibbon vanishes deep into the forest.

This is not her lucky day.

But all that is about to change.

Her keen hearing picks up a rustle of leaves.

Wild boar piglets, small and easy to catch.

But they come with a security detail.

A wild boar piglet.

Born at less than a kilogram, it's a perfect meal for a

hungry clouded leopard.

There is a whole litter of them up for grabs.

The piglets may be small and helpless,

but their mother is not.

A straggling piglet is her reward.

Her meal over, she returns to her den.

She's stayed away longer than normal in

her desperation to find food.

She searches, smelling for any sign of her cubs.

The cubs are gone.

A forest of predators is often to blame.

After a last look, she melts back into the forest alone.

Cats are not the only creatures here that

embrace the dark.

In a nearby cave system, the setting sun is the cue for

thousands of bats to start their day.

As they stream out of their rocky vault,

birds of prey congregate above the colony.

They circle closer and closer to the dark cloud of bats.

Suddenly they attack, picking their targets out of the sky

like predatory fighter jets.

Only when the light fails completely are the bats safe

from the aerial attack.

On dark, cloudy nights, only thermal cameras can penetrate

the forest's stygian blackness.

This Malayan porcupine, armed with sharp,

microscopically barbed quills, may be small,

but it's still incredibly dangerous to tackle,

even for a tiger.

One wrong move could mean a serious injury.

She comes off very lightly.

A few quills embedded in her thick coat will not cause any

lasting harm.

At dawn, the fishing cat is back on the hunt.

Although fish are her favorite food,

she too will adapt to hunt anything within her grasp.

Anything, from rodents to insects, will do.

Even a bird within leaping distance is worth a try.

She cannot linger for a second try.

She has somewhere to be.

Her cubs are waiting.

But she's not alone.

Her den has an unwelcome visitor,

a king cobra.

One bite to her or her cubs would be fatal.

She has a choice, flee, or defend her family.

Growing to lengths of five and a half meters,

the king cobra is the world's longest venomous snake.

It's armed with enough neurotoxic venom to kill an elephant.

It has slithered into the fishing cat's den site.

If bitten, the mother would face certain death.

She stands her ground.

Luckily, her bravery pays off.

She has returned to the den just in time.

Her cubs, barely three weeks old,

have just opened their eyes for the first time.

For the next 18 months, they will be her top priority.

The leopard cubs are now about 18 months old.

They are beginning to wander further and further from the

den as they hone their skills as hunters.

Their practice is beginning to pay off.

They are now agile and calculating predators.

Their final rite of passage into adulthood is

hunting for themselves.

These are the first steps towards independence.

The tiger cubs are not yet ready to leave the safety of

their mother's side.

She still has much to teach them,

such as there are more ways than one to find food.

Her attention is focused on something in the river.

Her body language changes.

She's picked up a delectable scent.

Her keen sense of smell leads her to the water's edge.

Tigers are supreme hunters,

but they are not above scavenging.

Unlike many other cats, she'll happily wade into deep water,

especially for food.

It's not often that a free lunch presents itself,

and this dead wild boar is a lucky windfall for her and her cubs.

They're not fussy eaters.

It's unclear how the boar died,

but surviving here means taking whatever is available.

Perseverance and adaptability is key.

And in Thailand's mist-shrouded jungles,

few creatures master this skill as well as cats.

For the clouded leopard, a new season brings new life.

A chance to start over.

Her new family, born to rule the shadow worlds of

Thailand's great forests.

Captioned by Cotter Media Group.