All language subtitles for Coastal Africa - 01x04 - Algoa Bay Last Refuge of the African Penguin Eng

Africa's only penguin

A doting parent, fighting the
odds to raise a family.

Threatened on all sides,

these charismatic birds
have found a refuge

at the southern tip
of the continent.

Taken to the brink of extinction
by humans,

and now being brought back.

Battered by the surf.

Hunted by sharks and seals.

This male penguin
has been at sea for months.

He's exhausted,
unsteady on his feet.

Now he's returning to
one special place.

A safe haven in a protected bay.

Far away from the threats that
have seen African penguin
numbers

plunge from millions
to just 25,000 breeding pairs.

Somewhere on this barren rock,

his mate is waiting for him
at their nesting site.

Now, as summer ushers in
a new breeding season,

the couple face a
monumental task:

raising a family.

If they are to get
a healthy chick into the ocean,

raising it from the egg
until its first swim,

they'll have to be totally
dedicated, and physically tough.

But in the safety of Algoa Bay,

the odds are being slowly
shifted in their favor.

The southern coast of the
African continent rises slowly
eastwards

in a series of broad
sheltering bays.

In Algoa Bay, vast dune fields
trace a majestic shoreline.

This is part of
the Addo Elephant National Park,

world-famous for sheltering
Africa's giants.

It's a huge area,

almost 700 square miles.

But out in the bay,

two tiny islands are offering
a vital refuge for the penguins.

From the air they
don't look like much.

St Croix, just 700 yards long,

is a rocky outcrop
almost devoid of vegetation.

On the eastern edge of the bay,

Bird Island is more generously
covered in scrub.

But it's a low, exposed place,

at its highest point
just 20 feet above sea level.

Its low profile
and dangerous submerged rocks

wrecked many ships before
an iconic lighthouse was
built in 1852.

And yet for the African penguin,

these inhospitable islands
are a lifeline.

Half of the planet's
remaining African penguins
live in this bay.

Their dwindling numbers
seem insignificant

next to the vast colony of
gannets with which they
share their home.

Penguins and gannets are
uneasy neighbors,

but the island's geography
keeps them apart:

gannets nest on open ground

while penguins need the shelter
of the low scrub.

When they do cross each
other's path, tempers flare.

But the biggest fight here is
not personal.

It's the fight for survival.

And here in Algoa Bay, the
African penguin is making
its stand.

Penguins may seem out of
place in the heat and dryness
of Africa.

But these sea birds have adapted
to this continent for two major
reasons:

these waters are cold,
and full of deep-water fish.

Anchovies are their staple,

comprising over
90% of their diet.

To top-up, they also feast on
sardines, horse mackerel and
fish larvae.

But food and cold water

are only part of the reason
they've settled in Algoa Bay.

Most seabirds nest
on the ground,

which leaves them vulnerable
to land-based predators.

To solve this problem,

they generally nest on islands
free of dangerous mammals.

The two islands in Algoa Bay
provide a perfect haven.

But they couldn't save the
penguins from one unique
land-based hunter:

humans.

More than a century ago,

this island was not a sanctuary

but rather a killing field.

In the 19th century,

Merchants scoured the islands
of Southern Africa

for a valuable new commodity,

guano - sea bird excrement.

Huge numbers of penguins
were displaced and slaughtered.

Today, traces of this
occupation are everywhere.

Now, in the shadow of
these structures,

the penguins go about
their daily routine.

As couples reunite to breed,

that routine is the business
of building a nest and
starting a family.

The breeding season has begun
in earnest on the colony.

Around the rocky shore
of Bird Island,

penguins are going in search
of their long-term partners

after months apart.

They know where their
mate is waiting.

They don't have to rush.

Their rendezvous is the place
they built their nest last year.

Many believe that penguins
mate for life,

but new theories suggest
that they're faithful to their
nesting site

rather than a specific partner.

This is an experienced pair.

They've come together at this
site for a few seasons,

and they know what to do.

They waste no time
starting work on a new family.

Romance takes a back seat.

It's a clumsy affair.

But not everyone has a mate.

For singletons, it's time to
enter the noisy world of
penguin dating.

It's believed that males win
over females with their raucous
braying squawk -

a sound that earned the
bird its original name of
Jackass Penguin.

Penguins seem to choose mates
that are roughly the same size
as them.

Once they've found a
potential partner,

they get more tactile,

touching beaks together and
enjoying more physical contact.

If the courting goes well,
they'll pair up,

ready to build a nest
and start a family.

Making a home on this rocky
ground is not easy.

The African Penguin prefers
to nest in burrows

that it creates by digging
with its beak and scraping
with its feet.

Once, Bird Island was
carpeted in a deep layer
of ancient guano,

and penguins could tunnel into
its spongy surface with ease.

But when the guano was
stripped away, their
burrows went with it.

Now, they make their nests
on the rocky surface

out of whatever materials
they can gather.

On Bird Island that's mostly
grass and twigs.

They're dedicated builders,
but it can be awkward work.

Their bodies are designed for
swimming, not construction.

Some of them also seem to have
trouble figuring out the basics
of nest-building.

Assembling a home at sea
seems overly ambitious.

And for some new nesters,

remembering where you left
your mate can be tricky.

It's a long process for
beginners,

sometimes taking several weeks.

For one, a large tussock
is a great find.

As soon as it's delivered,
it's added into the nest.

A difficult job is made easier
when you do it together:

building the nest strengthens
the bond between new couples.

Once their nest is completed,

they'll spend their time mating
and taking turns to fish.

It will take time for their
clumsy efforts to be rewarded
with a clutch of two eggs.

Low tide reveals an important
site on the island: the old
slipway.

Once, launches and dinghies
were dragged up and down
this concrete ramp.

Today it serves
more feathery traffic,

providing the penguins with
easy access to the ocean in
any weather.

For those returning from long,
exhausting expeditions in
rough seas,

it's a welcoming gateway
to the island -

a smooth, gentle slope

rather than the sharp rocks on
the other sections of the shore.

For those about to depart,

it's a place to wash off the
dust of the nest and to preen.

This cleaning ritual
is not just cosmetic.

Penguins need to have waterproof
coats to survive the cold ocean.

To ensure that their diving
suits are in good shape for an
extended fishing trip,

they pause here to spread oil
from a special preen gland near
the base of their tails

all over their bodies.

Preening and bathing can
take up to an hour -

all the while watched
by curious eyes.

Young penguins loiter here,
watching the comings and goings,

waiting for their molt to finish
so that they too can go fishing.

It's been suggested that these
youngsters are doing what other
young seabirds do:

gathering important information.

They watch to see which adults
are in the best condition.

The fatter and glossier the
adult, the better it is feeding.

But inexperienced
youngsters can overstep
the mark with adults.

For juveniles that get in
the way of tired hunters
or preening rituals,

a flipper slap puts them
in their place.

The slipway is a
penguins-only club:

a gannet makes the mistake of
venturing onto their turf and
is attacked.

The penguins are hostile,
but careful.

An adult gannet's beak is
vicious and can do a lot of
damage.

This male is back from the hunt.

He's exhausted, but eager
to get back to his family
as fast as he can.

His family is pleased
to see him.

Each reunion is serenaded
with a greeting.

A call that is as unique to
that couple as a fingerprint.

This recognition ritual is
a form of greeting

and a way of strengthening
the bond between parents.

But when it goes wrong,

there are tough consequences.

One returning male
fails to perform it properly.

She's having none of it.

Their single chick is hungry,

but she's not allowing him
to feed it.

She puts her beak
between him and the chick.

He attempts another tactic:

when she looks away, he
tries to sneak his chick a meal,

but she stops it at once.

Her message is clear:

either you say hello properly,
or you're sleeping somewhere
else tonight.

All across the colony,
chicks put on a desperate
show of begging,

but they won't go without.

The returning parent has brought
back plenty of undigested fish
in its stomach,

and it regurgitates this food
until the chicks are satisfied.

Almost no food is lost
during feeding.

The beaks of the parent and the
chicks fit together closely,
preventing spillage

and giving the growing chicks
every morsel of food the parent
has brought home.

These two chicks are lucky:

their size and health reveal
that their parents are
excellent hunters.

It's a scene playing out
around the island.

And now, as the penguin's
breeding season reaches
top gear,

it's not only they that
are raising families.

The middle of Bird Island
is a vast metropolis of gannets,

the largest gathering
of this species in the world.

Their breeding season is
coming to an end.

Thousands of pairs
have successfully raised chicks,

and many of these juveniles
are still here,

gingerly testing out their new
wings as they learn to fly.

They'll need to learn well.

Soon they'll head far
out to sea to hunt,

dive-bombing their prey in
a spectacular display of
aerobatic skill.

For gannets, laying only one egg
is an all-or-nothing venture.

Failure means a
wasted breeding season.

For penguins, laying two eggs
increases their odds of success.

If there's plenty of food
and two strong, healthy parents,

it's possible that both chicks
will survive to fledge.

But in this harsh world,

two eggs are as much about
insurance as they are about
abundance.

The chicks will hatch
a few days apart,

and the bigger and stronger
of the two will be favored at
feeding time

since it's able to
beg more vigorously.

The smaller sibling
pleads for food,

but no one is listening.

Born to be a spare,

it is unlikely to survive.

The parents may be
affectionate with each other.

the chicks may look
well-fed and satisfied.

The domestic routine
may look calm and orderly.

But underlying this all,

is the harsh reality
that every single hunt

may be the difference
between life and death for
the chicks.

The demand for food is
never-ending.

and it's only going
to get more urgent.

As chicks grow,
their need for food increases.

Unable to hunt for themselves
until after they molt into
their juvenile plumage,

they rely on their parents
to catch ever-larger meals
for them.

Eventually both their parents
have to go out to sea,

leaving the hungry chicks
to huddle together.

These makeshift nurseries
are a safe space for the chicks.

The parents are heading down the
slipway and turning due east

where the good hauls
of anchovies usually are.

Their chances are good.

Once, they had to compete
with human fishing fleets.

But now a 12-mile exclusion zone
around the islands

means that the penguins have
a shorter swim to larger
shoals of fish.

Still, it's a nine-mile trek
to their feeding grounds,

and fishing trips can last
anything between 2 hours
and 2 or 3 days.

Agile swimmers, they can
reach a top speed of around
12 miles an hour.

As clumsy as she is on land,
she's now in her element.

She dives, pumping her flippers
against the darkening water,

speeding down to over 200 feet
in a few seconds.

She's looking for where
the fish are gathered,

maneuvering herself
to be under her prey.

And once she's in position,
she attacks.

She gorges herself,
also eating for her chicks.

Once she's eaten what she
needs to sustain her until
the next hunt,

she slows her
digestive system down

so that anything she eats
will stay mostly undigested

and regurgitated almost fresh
when she gets back.

Outside of breeding season,

they can spend weeks
or even months away from land

During this time
they avoid making landfall,

preferring to sleep at sea.

Now though, there are
families to feed and
partners to be reunited with.

Usually these couples would
greet each other and then
swap places.

But today's catch has been good,

and tonight the family can
remain together for longer
than usual,

bonding and sharing
some quality time.

It's a rare moment
of togetherness.

The demands of survival

can wait a few hours tonight.

The calm is short-lived.

The next afternoon,
high tide pounds the island.

At the slipway,
the surf is a major challenge.

Those heading out to fish
have to time their dive.

Once they're in the water,
they still have to climb the
mountainous breakers.

For those returning from the
ocean, a trickier problem.

They've been swimming for many
hours, using their feet and legs
only as rudders.

Now, trying to stay standing
on those wobbly feet and legs
is a struggle.

Some play to their strengths:

too tired to fight the surf,

this penguin turns back into it
and lets it carry him ashore.

The surf is also causing a
problem for one young gannet.

Thousands of chicks are hatching
and learning to fly.

Not yet adept at
getting airborne,

this juvenile has spent too long
being drenched by the waves.

s feathers are soaked and heavy,

making flight even
more difficult than before.

Exhausted and disorientated
by the battering waves,

its chances of survival
are slim.

On land, without a breath of
wind, he heat is becoming
intolerable.

Penguins can drink seawater,

thanks to a special gland that
expels the salt out through
their nostrils.

They aren't thirsty,
but they are overheating,

stuck as they are
on their nests.

Covered in fat and feathers
evolved to keep them warm
in cold water,

their only strategy against
the heat is to turn their
backs to the sun

and to pant in an effort
to cool down.

Some parents try to shield
their chicks from the sun.

Other chicks have nowhere to
hide and pant alongside their
parents.

For some new parents, sitting
in the heat is unbearable.

An abandoned nest, evidence of
the brutal conditions in summer.

It's an unforgiving landscape
as the sun beats down on it,

but it wasn't always this way.

Once, the penguins of Algoa Bay

dug deep burrows in the guano
that covered Bird Island.

These shelters were
cool in summer,

warm in winter,
and free from flooding -

a perfect home
in which to raise chicks.

But in the mid-19th century,
everything changed.

An industrializing world
discovered that guano was
not only a superb fertilizer

but also a good source of
saltpeter, a key ingredient
in gunpowder,

and suddenly the race was
on to harvest as much guano
as possible.

The major powers scoured
the planet for deposits of
the white gold.

The U.S. Congress even passed
an act in 1856,

allowing American citizens to
take possession of any land
anywhere if it contained guano,

as long as it wasn't owned
by another country.

Soon, the Rush reached
southern Africa,

and on islands
right around the coast,

deposits of guano
dozens of feet thick,

built up over
thousands of years,

were hacked off and shipped
away, leaving only bare rock.

It was a blow to the
penguins of Africa,

but worse was to come.

As more people moved into
the new colonies, they needed
food and fuel -

and so they used
penguins as both.

Huge numbers of eggs
were collected to eat,

and thousands of adult birds
were incinerated as fuel,

their fat-laden bodies and
oily feathers making them
easier to burn

than damp coastal wood.

The Guano Rush collapsed
as quickly as it had started,

And the buildings on
these islands were abandoned to
the penguins - and the brutal
climate.

As temperatures soar and hungry
chicks endlessly beg for food,

the breeding colony becomes
a place of short tempers and
snapping beaks.

Suddenly, a commotion.

An intruder.

A young gannet has
managed to get airborne
in the windless sky,

but it has crash-landed
in the worst possible place:

in the middle of
the penguin colony.

It's bewildered, unsure
of where to go -

and unaware that
it's in mortal danger.

On all sides, angry penguins
snap at the outsider.

These parents are unwilling
to leave their nests.

The gannet can stay out of reach
of their beaks.

But its luck has run out.

In a cruel twist of timing,
the hunters have returned
from the bay.

They see the intruder,
dangerously close to their
nests, and attack.

Stunned, bleeding, and
overwhelmed by the vicious
onslaught of the penguins,

the juvenile doesn't try to flee
or defend itself.

The penguins will not relent.

This gannet's first flight
will also be its last.

A family waits anxiously.

At last, a familiar figure
makes its way towards the nest.

But something is wrong.

This parent has survived
an attack by a shark.

Neither makes a
recognition call.

The sitting parent looks away.

With one parent wounded,
they will not be able to
feed their chicks.

For this family,
breeding season is over.

Heat, hunger, and the
dangers of the deep have
all taken their toll.

But now another threat is
looming over the Indian Ocean:

bad weather is rolling in.

The temperature plunges.

A few hours ago, the islands
were baking in the heat.

As soon as the storm hits, they
become chilling expanses of mud.

The cold and the wet
are lethal for the chicks.

Water soaks the youngsters
that have not yet grown their
waterproof coats.

Older chicks are too big for
their parents to shelter them
from the weather.

Soaked to the skin
and exposed to the cold,

chicks begin to succumb
to hypothermia.

A small, weaker chick
hasn't survived the cold snap.

More cold fronts and
more baking hot days will follow

as the breeding season extends
through summer and into autumn.

Chicks will continue to die
in the extreme conditions.

But where they can,
conservationists are hand-
rearing starving or
abandoned chicks.

As numbers continue to decline
in other penguin colonies on the
African coast,

the penguin population of
Algoa Bay is keeping steady.

Chicks, however,
are not the main prize.

More valuable than chicks
are breeding pairs of adults.

A dead chick is a setback,

but a breeding pair can produce
many more in the years to come

if they are protected.

To help them, conservationists
have begun installing artificial
nests on Bird Island.

These cement half-pipes
don't flood,

and allow air to circulate
on hot days.

Chicks are protected
from the rain,

and eggs remain hidden
from predatory gulls.

The strategy is working.

The couples that nest in these
concrete homes have doubled
their breeding success.

The fishing exclusion zone
is also paying dividends
for the colony.

Evidence suggests that when
fishing fleets are kept further
away, there's more food.

And the more food there
is, the less stress there
is on families.

This means that more chicks
reach fledging age.

In fact, when food is plentiful,

scientists have observed
penguins having two
breeding attempts,

sometimes producing four chicks
in the year -

a priceless asset to a colony
that desperately needs to grow.

The next generation of penguins
is on its way.

When they put out to sea,

the colony as a whole will
have taken another small step
away from extinction.

They will learn to fish
and, hopefully, become
skilled hunters.

When they mature, they will
return here to find a mate and,

with luck, start a family
of their own.

The African penguin is one
of the continent's most
charismatic birds.

Its survival hangs
in the balance.

But here in Algoa Bay,

its island stronghold is
slowly tipping the odds
in its favor.

In time, the success
n stabilizing their numbers here

might be replicated in other
breeding colonies along the
African coast.

African penguins are
extraordinary characters
of a wild ocean.

Devoted parents, raising
their families in a harsh,
often hostile, environment.

But here, in the
protected expanse of Algoa Bay,

there is hope.

A refuge.

A stronghold.

A future for Africa's penguin.

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