All language subtitles for Great Rivers II.s01e03.Yukon

Earth's great rivers...

..make extraordinary journeys.

Carving through continents.

Feeding and connecting life.

Nurturing culture.

Providing a place for adventure.

From the frozen wilderness of the
Yukon...

..to the tropical heat of the
Zambezi...

..and the magical, hidden worlds of
the Danube.

Great rivers are the lifeblood of
planet Earth.

At the top of North America is a
legendary river...

..flowing through some of the wildest
country on Earth.

Relentless.

Immense.

For the First Nation people, it's seen
as the Great River.

The Giver Of Life.

Its natural riches have long sustained
all those

that live along its banks.

It gathers its waters...

..from vast ice fields...

..and great lakes...

..from mountain streams...

..and tundra plains...

..and brings life wherever it touches.

It seems all-powerful, but another
force is at work here.

The cold of the Arctic winter.

When it strikes, this river is
transformed.

It becomes a river of ice.

A frozen highway, upon which many will
depend,

during the long, dark winter.

From icebound lifeline...

..to free-flowing giant.

This is the Yukon.

North America's great frozen river.

For 2,000 miles, the Yukon flows in a
great arc

through northwest Canada and central
Alaska to the Pacific Ocean.

Along the way,

it gathers water from an area four
times larger than Great Britain.

But its story begins deep in the
coastal mountain ranges

of British Columbia.

The Juneau Icefield,

1,500 square miles and nearly a mile
deep.

The flood of summer meltwater from
these glaciers

fuels the Yukon on its journey to the
sea.

But this far north, the seasons change
quickly.

As autumn temperatures plummet below
zero,

the Yukon's tap turns off.

Soon, the entire river is hidden
beneath a shield of ice.

Despite the October chill,

one of the Yukon's remote tributaries
remains ice-free.

In Fishing Branch River,

thermal springs percolate from deep
underground,

warming the stream just enough to keep
it flowing.

It creates an opportunity for some of
the Yukon's toughest characters.

For weeks,

chum salmon have been battling their
way upstream from the Pacific.

Racing the freeze, they have swum over
1,500 miles,

following a long-remembered scent to
reach their spawning beds.

On arrival, the females excavate
shallow scrapes,

or redds, in the gravel.

Around them, the hook-jawed males
tussle for prime position.

They need to be close to fertilise the
thousands of eggs

the females release into their nests.

But spending so much time in the
shallows leaves them vulnerable.

Up to 40 grizzly bears visit the creek

during the brief spawning season.

With air temperatures at 30 below,

wet fur quickly freezes, coating the
bears in frost.

These are the Yukon's ice bears.

Unique, because the late salmon run
means they can still hunt

when other grizzlies are already
hibernating.

These cubs may lack the pioneering
spirit.

Their mother certainly does not.

She keeps the first catch of the day
for herself.

Her cubs are hungry

and determined not to miss out on
breakfast.

They just need to find a way across
the river.

Too slow.

Mum's straight back in the stream...

..chasing a second breakfast.

When her direct attack doesn't work,
she gently paws the water,

encouraging the salmon into the
shallows

where they can be picked off.

If the fishing is good, she will eat
30 kilos every day...

..feasting on the juiciest,
energy-rich parts,

like eggs and skin.

But as the salmon run dwindles,

even old fish heads start to look
appetising.

The bears need to put on enough weight

to see them through the long winter.

After a hard day's fishing, a good
scratch helps them defrost.

Once the fish are gone,

even these tough ice bears will retire
to their dens

to bed down for hibernation.

As the northern hemisphere faces away
from the sun,

an intense cold now settles along the
Yukon.

Across northern Canada and Alaska,

the Yukon is locked away beneath
several metres of ice.

It will stay frozen for six months or
more.

Temperatures tumble to -50.

As winter blizzards sweep along the
Yukon Valley...

..the hard river ice is blanketed by
snow.

In a land with few roads,

the frozen river becomes a highway
through the forest.

And the skills needed to run these ice
roads

still flourish along the Yukon.

- I've been travelling on the river my
whole life.

- Kyla Boivin is a dog-sled racer

and the frozen Yukon is her racetrack.

- I like how it all changes from mile
to mile.

The land is so big.

It's the highway of the north, right?

- She's putting her top team through
their paces

along a section of the Yukon Quest
challenge...

..a sled race billed the toughest on
Earth.

It's a 1,000 mile test of endurance
and teamwork,

run between Whitehorse in Canada and
Fairbanks in Alaska.

Kyla has tackled this marathon seven
times...

..the first when she was 18-years-old.

But now she rides just for the thrill
of it.

The race harks back to a time when the
frozen Yukon

was the only link between isolated
settlements and the outside world.

- Temperatures can be 50 below.

You can have a blizzard where it drops
eight inches of snow

and the trail is gone.

There are spots that are just
windswept

and it's barren and it's like the moon
down there.

- Kyla is following the same call of
the wild

that drew the early pioneers to the
Yukon.

- You're only going to have six hours
of daylight in the winter, right?

In the deepest winter.

And when it's dark you only see your
head lamp beam.

That's not very far to spot trouble.

You are completely relying on the dogs

and they are completely relying on
you.

And they're such wonderful creatures.

They're my favourite creatures on this
planet, the sled dogs.

Definitely.

- Even today, life for a musher and
dog team out on the ice

is much the same as in those
pioneering days.

Some straw for the dogs and a fire to
melt snow for coffee

can make life a little more
comfortable.

- It's bitter, 25 below.

Ooph.

They're good dogs.

Once they see the straw, usually,
these guys have camped a lot,

so they know straw means we're staying
awhile.

- Despite the cold,

the frozen river is a lifeline through
these northern forests.

Even in deep midwinter, lynx are on
the prowl.

Using the windswept ice river

means they can avoid deep,
energy-sapping drifts.

Their huge furry paws act as
snowshoes...

..helping them move effortlessly
across soft snow.

Lynx are top predators...

..but a half-ton moose is way out of
their league.

They have something much smaller in
their sights.

Snowshoe hares can make up to 90% of
their winter diet.

But being a specialist hunter brings
its own problems.

Hare numbers rise and fall
dramatically

in regular 10-year cycles.

In years with few hares, many lynx
starve.

Even in good years,

pursuing such elusive prey means
covering many miles a day.

As they wander these well-travelled
highways,

lynx mark out their territories...

..with a squirt here...

..and a squirt there...

..leaving scent to help stake their
claim to a stretch of frozen river

and to advertise for a mate.

These chemical signposts are the only
way these loners

can keep in touch in such remote
country.

And this really is North America's
wild frontier.

Along the Yukon, there are no big
cities and few roads.

Only four bridges span its 2,000-mile
course.

Just 125,000 people live in the entire
Yukon Basin.

Close to the Alaska-Canada border, 400
miles east of Anchorage,

is one of the few riverside towns -
Dawson City...

..where the Yukon is joined by its
most famous tributary...

..the Klondike River.

Dawson sprang up almost overnight

after gold was discovered here in
1896.

By the following year,

gold fever had lured 30,000 fortune
hunters

to this remote river bank.

A lucky few struck it rich.

Most left empty-handed,

defeated by the Yukon's crushing
hardships.

In just a few years, the gold petered
out

and the rush was over almost as
quickly as it started.

But Dawson lived on,

a beacon of light in a sea of
wilderness.

One of the strangest reminders of
those wild times

can be found in the Downtown Hotel
saloon,

where the preserved frostbitten toe of
a Yukon prospector

has become the key ingredient in a
unique cocktail.

Taking the Sourtoe challenge has
become a rite of passage

for anyone who visits Dawson today.

- And if you dare, we can serve the
toe.

Are you ready?
- I guess so.

- You'd better be, cos here we go.

You can drink it fast, you can drink
it slow,

but your lips must touch this gnarly
toe.

Just your lips.

No teeth, no tongue, no tonsils.

Slainte.

- Should I just do it?
- Oh.

- You got it.

That was well done.

That was well done.

Perfect.

- THEY LAUGH

Just when it seems the cold

will never release its grip on the
Yukon...

..there's a sign in the heavens that
change is coming.

The Aurora Borealis.

The Northern Lights.

These atmospheric light shows often
reach their peak

just as the Earth's orbit

swings the northern hemisphere back
towards the sun.

It marks a moment of transformation,

as new energy pulses along the Yukon.

Rising temperatures and the stirrings
of long-dormant currents

open the first breaches in the frozen
river's defences...

..just in time to greet thousands of
noisy migrants to the Yukon.

Trumpeter swans have flown over 1,000
miles from southern Canada,

en route to their breeding grounds
further north.

Marsh Lake gives these huge birds a
chance to rest and refuel,

but only if their timing is spot on.

If they arrive before the thaw,

ice stops them feeding on the sedges
that grow on the lakebed.

Arrive too late,

and spring floods put these plants
beyond reach.

They've got it just about right,

although the cold April nights still
glaze over the open water,

so the early risers must help break
the ice.

Even for these long-necked birds,

it's a stretch to gather the
vegetation a metre down.

Unable to reach the plants for
themselves,

smaller migrants like wigeon stick
close to the swans,

scooping up any leftovers.

After a short stay, it's time to move
on,

chasing the spring thaw as it moves
north.

The Yukon gathers its waters from
across a vast backcountry...

..and it may take many more weeks

before the thaw reaches its Arctic
tributaries.

Even in May, these are still frozen
solid.

Rivers like the Porcupine.

500 miles long, its course takes it
north across the Arctic Circle,

then back south to join the Yukon.

At its most northern point

is the First Nation Vuntut Gwitchin
village of Old Crow.

Here, life revolves around subsistence
fishing and hunting.

- Winter in Old Crow can be harsh, it
can be cold.

Being above the Arctic Circle,

we experience earlier winters and
later springs.

The Porcupine River is the last,

one of the last large rivers to break
up

and that's where we're at right now.

- Every day, Paul Josie climbs the
bluffs above the village

to scan the frozen river, watching and
waiting.

- As I stand and witness the changes
in front of me from the river

and you hear the geese in the sky,

and the water trickling down the
mountain

and you can feel the warm air on your
face,

it gives me a sense that spring will
be upon us.

- There's one sign above all that
means spring is close.

The arrival of the Porcupine caribou
herd.

Over 200,000 animals on the move.

A 1,500-mile migration,

the longest by any land mammal on the
planet...

..taking them to their calving grounds
on Alaska's Arctic coast.

Early arrivals at the still-frozen
Porcupine River,

mainly pregnant cows, walk across the
ice.

But temperatures are rising rapidly.

Melting ice eases away from the banks

and starts to break up.

As more caribou arrive...

..they face a dangerous, shifting
patchwork of unstable ice

and open water.

There's no way through.

They are forced to wait as a growing
mass of ice

surges downstream towards Old Crow.

Slabs of ice jam against one another,
blocking the river.

Some caribou get caught out,

marooned as the ice breaks up around
them.

The lucky ones are carried back to
shore,

miles further downstream.

Ice continues to build around Old Crow

until the pressure can no longer be
contained.

It takes just a few days for many
miles of river-ice to stream past,

heading for the Yukon.

- Ever since I was young, the break-up
of the river

has always been an exciting time for
my community.

Watching the break-up is literally
watching winter wash away.

- The remaining caribou now take their
chances with the ice.

- Watching the Porcupine caribou swim
across the river,

navigating through ice chunks...

..you get a sense of worry for this
animal,

as you want them to succeed, you want
them to cross

and you want them to be safe.

- As the ice moves off downstream,

the stragglers make their way across
the river...

..playing catch-up with the rest of
the herd.

Winter is finally letting go.

- Now that the river has broken up,

it's actually just waiting for more
ice to clear,

waiting for it to be a little safer to
travel.

And then I can put my boat in

and start travelling on our highway
again.

- After months of isolation,

the inhabitants of Old Crow can now
reconnect with the Yukon.

As the great frozen river turns its
back on the Arctic,

it starts to come alive.

Now bathed in near-continuous summer
daylight,

temperatures continue to rise.

The snow and ice that brought the
Yukon to a winter standstill

now re-energises the river.

With every stream and tributary adding
its own pulse of meltwater,

the Yukon's power steadily grows.

With the flood comes something just as
important as the water.

An ever-growing cargo of rock dust
from distant glaciers...

..and mud from eroded valleys.

This meltwater flood

turns the Yukon into a formidable and
relentless mud-filled giant.

Over the short summer,

the river will shift more than 80
million tonnes of sediment.

Most of it carried all the way to the
ocean.

This unique mineral signature

now helps guide waves of salmon back
to the Yukon.

Runs of chum, coho, pink and king
salmon

battle their way hundreds of miles
upstream

to spawn in the river's headwaters.

For thousands of years,

the indigenous First Nation peoples
harvested the fish.

A summer bounty that fed them through
the winter.

It's still a tradition for families

to head to remote riverside fish camps
to catch and prepare salmon.

Sisters Faith Peters and Kathleen
Peters-Zuray

from the Athabaskan First Nation

are heading to their camp at Rampart
Rapids.

- I'm middle of the river clan

and we've been surviving on king
salmon all our life.

We've been coming to fish camp here
for, like, 35 years.

- Over those years,

the sisters have witnessed dramatic
changes along the river.

Recently, the Yukon's many salmon runs
have gone into steep decline...

..victims of a shifting climate and
over-fishing in the Pacific.

Strict limits are now placed on
catches

and if numbers of returning salmon are
very low,

no fishing is allowed.

The family wait for this summer's
decision,

relayed via the local Mukluk radio
station.

RADIO:
- The pre-season projection does not
meet the threshold

of 300,000 fish needed to allow
subsistence fishing.

Therefore, subsistence salmon fishing
will be closed

to begin the fall season.

Subsistence fishermen should prepare
for continued closures.

- Despite this bad news, the sisters
are determined

to keep up the traditional knife
skills they learnt as children.

- It's hard for us to not to come to
fish camp and to cut fish,

cos this is what we've been doing all
our life.

- With no fresh fish to cut,

Kathleen retrieves what's left of last
year's catch

from the camp freezer.

- Ooh, there you go.

We're ready.

- This is one of salmon that was in
the freezer from last year,

so it's a little soft, but it's still
beautiful.

- It's not even a job for us to do
this. It's a happy vacation.

- The strips are hung in the breeze to
dry.

- It's amazing that we're using frozen
fish...

..and it's turning out pretty good.

It's going to taste like gold.

- After a day in the sun,

the oil-rich strips are moved into the
smokehouse.

The smoke helps preserve the fish

by creating a coating that slows
decomposition.

In past years,

this smokehouse would be full to the
rafters with salmon.

These few strips are a sad reminder of
how bad things have become.

- So there was no summer chum, no king
and no fall chum.

That is...

..unprecedented.

We've never seen that.

- It makes me sad. It really makes me
sad, cos...

..for us to have a dinner without king
salmon,

it's almost like starving.

- It hasn't really hit me, really,

but we're losing a part of our
culture.

It's...

It's devastating.

- The sisters can only hope

next summer brings more salmon back to
the Yukon,

so they can fill the smokehouse once
again.

By September, autumn is colouring the
Yukon's banks.

Bull moose are putting the finishing
touches to something remarkable.

Every year, they grow a new set of
antlers.

In older bulls, these can be two
metres across and weigh 25 kilos.

Bulls need top-quality grazing to grow
these huge racks

and lots of it.

Over 15 kilos every day.

Up to half their summer diet consists
of water plants,

rich in protein and vital bone-growing
minerals.

At their peak, the antlers are growing
at two centimetres a day,

making them the fastest-growing organ
in the animal kingdom.

All this effort is for just one thing
- to get noticed.

And this bull's eye-catching headgear
has already done its job.

All he needs to do now is dig a pit
and soak the soil with his scent,

releasing pheromones that add to his
already impressive allure.

He's irresistible.

Now over half a mile wide and still
700 miles from the sea,

the mud-filled Yukon swings
southwards...

..into some of the wildest country in
Alaska.

With no roads or rail links,

the few isolated villages here rely on
the Yukon

to stay connected to the wider world.

Bush pilots can make some
deliveries...

..while anything bulky must be carried
by barge.

- This is the last run of the season.

We do about between 13, maybe even
14,000 miles,

river miles, transporting cargo for
customers.

- Captain Lester Hakey has worked the
Yukon for 26 years

and knows this autumn voyage is risky.

- Most of the challenges are the river
depth.

That's the biggest challenge.

- It's only September, but the
headwater streams

that feed the Yukon are already
starting to freeze,

slowing the flow of water into the
main channel

and river levels are dropping.

- You got big river, you got wide
river.

But you still have channels

where the river will go from 35 feet
to six, seven, eight feet, you know,

and then you can get yourself stuck
down there.

- The currents are incredibly
powerful...

..making navigation tricky

through constantly shifting bars and
mudbanks.

And the barge doesn't stop just
because the sun goes down.

They are on a tight schedule.

Lester shares the piloting with Sean
Wright.

It's six hours on, six off, around the
clock, seven days a week.

- There's really nothing that we won't
move.

If it's got wheels or if it can be
picked up by heavy machinery,

we will haul just about anything that
you can bring us.

We've got excavators, loaders,

we've got 70-foot long conveyor-belts
on trailers.

Yeah. Keep on rolling, Sean. Looking
good.

- And with no docks or piers in the
village,

deliveries are unloaded down
make-shift ramps.

- We've got people's personal
vehicles.

- Thanks a lot.
- All right, dude.

All I do is get it from point A to
point B, man.

- Oh, yeah.
- Yeah. Here you go.

- People's food, groceries, soda cans.

Building materials.

Yeah, just about anything you can
think of.

- If anything has been forgotten,

it's eight months before the spring
thaw allows deliveries again.

The barge's most precious autumn cargo

is 700,000 litres of fuel.

It's what villagers rely on to warm
their homes

and run their vehicles once winter
comes.

- I love the challenge.

I love the challenge of the whole
thing. It's just...

It's awesome because when you get
done, and you're, you know,

you think you've been beat,

and then all of a sudden you get it
done, and everybody's happy

and you got the freight off to the
people and they're happy...

..you feel a sense of accomplishment,
you know? Yeah.

That's part of the reason why I love
this, you know.

I mean, you can't beat this office to
work in, can you?

I mean, really.

- After the last delivery, it's an
eight-day battle back upstream

to their winter quarters before the
river freezes.

Meanwhile, the Yukon, now at its
widest, and most remote,

forges westward into a very different
world.

With the mountains far behind,

there's now almost no gradient left to
drive the river forwards.

Across this flat, exposed landscape,
the Yukon slows and spreads,

splitting into a tortuous network of
meandering channels.

Breaking up this maze of waterways is
an endless boggy tundra...

..pockmarked with thousands of ponds.

This is the Yukon Delta...

..covering over 50,000 square-miles,
an area larger than England.

At the very end of its journey, the
Yukon has one final surprise.

Rising out of the waters surrounding
the southern delta is Nelson Island.

Here, at the very edge of the
continent,

live some remarkable creatures.

Musk ox.

With their fine woolly coats, these
relics of the last Ice Age

can shrug off the very worst delta
weather.

Days are spent gathered in small
family groups.

A tight-knit sisterhood of cows with
their calves

and one very large bull.

He's trying his best to corral the
wandering females...

..constantly checking if any are ready
to mate.

It's the rutting season

and his harem has caught the eye of a
young bull,

who fancies his chances.

As the herd drifts over the hills...

..the hopeful youngster follows,
slowly getting closer.

Finally, his presence forces the
resident bull to react.

This is all about intimidation...

..as rivals assess each other's size
and strength.

A few tentative shoves

and this youngster quickly realises
he's more than met his match.

During the rut,

contests like this are kicking off all
over the tundra.

If rivals are evenly matched,

things can escalate into full-blooded
confrontation.

Thick skulls and ten-centimetre horn
bosses act like helmets

protecting them from these
earth-shaking collisions.

Intruder seen off.

The victor has won the chance to
father next year's calves.

But now, across this wilderness,

all musk ox turn to face the greatest
challenge of the year.

After the freedom gained during the
intense summer...

..the Yukon must once more yield to
the power of an Arctic winter.

The first snows already blanket the
high country.

Cold is silently creeping back along
the valleys.

This year's salmon runs may have been
poor...

..but some fish have made it back to
their spawning streams.

As life along the Yukon turns full
circle...

..this is where their journey will
ultimately end.

Their deaths will help others to
survive the winter.

And this is not the end of their
story.

Nurtured by the Yukon's waters, salmon
eggs pulse with life.

For the salmon...

..and all those living in this wild
country,

the river holds the key to the future.

The Yukon will always be the natural
and spiritual heart

of this great wilderness.

North America's legendary frozen
river.

For the Earth's Great Rivers team,

the challenge of filming in the Yukon

was in finding ways to access one of
the most remote regions on Earth.

A mission that took them on many
intrepid adventures.

But it all started with an old school
bus.

Once an ordinary school bus,

now it's on the ultimate field trip
for the BBC.

- So our small crew is completely
self-sufficient

when we're out in this bus.

As well as making all the power from
the solar,

we are kitted out with VHF radio,
satellite phones.

We also have a cell booster,

which will help amplify any cell
service that might be in the area.

I think if I just park in here.

- Travelling with everything they
need,

the crew head into the river's
far-flung headwaters region.

They have set themselves the challenge
of capturing

a series of dynamic shots of creeks
throughout the year,

with the camera moving fast,

just a few centimetres above the
water's surface.

Camera operator Ollie is adapting a
First Person View Drone,

or FPV, for the task.

- These are the FPV drones.

These allow us to see from the
perspective of the drone

as we're flying, which allows us to
get much tighter shots,

go through smaller gaps,

which we just wouldn't be able to do
safely with these bigger drones.

Not only does the drone need to be
waterproof,

but we need to be able to retrieve it
and it not sink if it does crash,

so we've got these quite high-tech
pool floats

with ping-pong balls in them.

So I'm just going to test them out.

Success. It floats.

- Having survived the bathtub test,
it's time to try it for real.

- Let's give this a go.

- Using a headset, Ollie can see from
the perspective of the drone.

- Well, they add quite a bit of
weight.

- It's a process of trial and error,

which the crew will perfect through
their time filming.

And different creeks present different
challenges,

both for flying and for retrieving the
drone.

- Fingers crossed. What could go
wrong?

- As winter draws in, the task becomes
increasingly difficult

and drone recovery becomes even more
nerve-racking.

Despite the mishaps, Ollie's drone has
worked,

delivering a completely new
perspective.

Dramatic low-level shots along some of
the wildest

and most inaccessible parts of the
Yukon.

To capture the final chapter of the
Yukon's story,

the crew have to leave the bus behind

and embark on their most challenging
journey of all.

To film musk ox herds that roam a
remote island

where the Yukon empties into the
Bering Sea.

Standing in their way is the Yukon's
vast roadless delta.

The only way across is by plane.

Waiting for them in the remote village
of Toksook Bay

is local Yupik guide Jackie Cleveland,

who has organised some unusual
accommodation

in this rarely-visited community.

- It's very remote here. There are no
hotels.

So this is the Nelson Island School,
where we will be sleeping.

- Jackie introduces the class to the
crew.

UNTRANSLATED

- So here is the library,

which we've turned into a sleeping
space slash office.

This is one bedroom. Cosy.

And then another bedroom is down here.

Neat.

- With their base camp set up,

the team set off on the next leg of
their wild journey...

..this time taking to all-terrain
vehicles.

The best way to navigate the island is
to follow the coastline.

The flat beaches make for faster going

than the dense tundra that cloaks the
interior of the island.

But this route has its own challenges.

- We're in a bit of a race against the
tides.

We have an hour to get there and if we
don't make it back,

we're stuck there.

So time's on. Pressure's on.

- With the tide coming up, the crew's
travel corridor is shrinking.

And they still haven't seen any musk
ox.

With the way ahead disappearing fast,

they have no option but to head
inland.

Up here, it can take an hour to cover
just one mile.

After hours of bumpy travel,

the team reach areas where even the
ATVs struggle.

The only option is to send a drone up

to help scope out the endless rolling
hills.

They spot a herd, sheltering in one of
the island's hidden valleys.

Thanks to the drone, the crew can at
last start filming.

Spending time with these magnificent
animals

makes a fitting end to a journey that
has taken the crew

to the wildest parts of one of the
wildest rivers on Earth.