All language subtitles for The Last Buffalo 2017

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the great plains--

for thousands of years
this sea of grass

has covered the center
of the North American continent.

Home to countless numbers
of American bison--

better known as buffalo.

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Up till the early 19th century,
around 30 million buffalo

roamed in great herds
over these vast prairies.

Then, in less
than a hundred years,

hunters exterminated
all but a few hundred.

And as buffalo stood
on the edge of extinction...

This man set out to hunt
the very last few animals.

His name,
William Temple Hornaday...

Chief taxidermist
at the Smithsonian institution

in Washington, DC.

He wanted them as specimens
for the u.S. National museum.

Yet this experience
would change his life forever.

Instead of a buffalo hunter,

he would become the savior
of these last buffalo.

This is the story
of the fall and rise

of an American icon.

As the wild frontier
was shrinking,

buffalo numbers fell.

They became symbols
of that lost frontier--

a world that defined
the American nation.

Buffalo appeared everywhere...

On the nickel...

On stamps...

And in 1910,
on the ten dollar bill.

These images of buffalo were
drawn from famous specimens,

like the big bull
that Hornaday brought back

to the u.S. National museum.

What is it about the buffalo

that makes it
such a potent symbol?

Even a single animal stands
for power and strength--

the bulls weigh in
at around 2,000 pounds...

Enough to shake the earth.

Buffalo were more than just
symbols of the wild prairie--

they help create it.

Even as buffalo
were disappearing,

William Hornaday realized
how important they were

to the prairie.

Hornaday put together

a display of the American bison

that is intended to represent

not only the specific species
of bison

but also the prairie ecology

and bison for all time,
past, present and future.

Time was there were
so many buffalo--

and so many mouths
grazing the land--

they shaped the nature
of life here.

They were a keystone species,
at the center of a complex web

connecting with other
prairie animals...

Like prairie dogs.

Prairie dogs like a home
with a view--

with no tall vegetation--

so they can keep watch
for predators.

And they often build their towns
in places

where the buffalo have already
eaten the grasses down.

Then the prairie dogs take over.

They get busy, clipping away any
vegetation around their Burrows,

keeping their sightlines open.

And they also eat the grass--

which stimulates
more grass to grow...

Fresh, new grass,
which buffalo love.

So buffaloes like to graze
around prairie dog towns.

And as they do, they fertilize
the grass with dung and urine,

which is good for the buffalo
and good for the prairie dogs.

Life on the prairies depends
on these intimate relationships,

and at their center
stands the buffalo.

But everything that lives here

is at the mercy
of the great plains climate.

When a drought comes,
the grass dies off--

and the buffalo have to move on,
to find better grazing.

These migrating herds
covered vast distances,

and there was a time
when they blackened the plains.

An army colonel in Kansas
wrote to Hornaday

of a herd that was
25 miles across

and took five days to pass.

On the plains,
droughts can last for decades,

making life hard
for the buffalo.

Then it all changes.

Rain comes to the prairies--

slaking the parched ground
and creating a sea of grass.

In the past, rain brought a time
of plenty for the buffalo...

And for the many tribes
of plains Indians

that depended
on the migrating herds.

There were no boundaries.

Where the buffalo went, we went.

And it provided for US
in so many ways.

They were the main source
of food,

and then the hides were used
for clothing, lodges.

The bones were tools, weapons.

We depended on this animal
so much

that it became
a spiritual connection.

There's something in your heart
that tells you

this is our brother,
this is our family.

That sacred relationship

was reinforced by dances
and ceremonies.

A painted buffalo skull
carried prayers,

to draw the wandering herds
close to the village

and offer thanks
for a successful hunt.

But this sacred bond
between buffalo and the Indians,

along with the world
they shared, was under threat.

Within a few decades

in the second half
of the 19th century,

the herds would be gone.

William Hornaday documented
this disaster

in a book published in 1889

called "the extermination
of the American bison,"

in which he wrote...

"The primary cause
of the buffalo's extermination

was the descent of civilization,

with all its elements
of destructiveness,

upon the whole of the country
inhabited by that animal."

That "descent of civilization"
onto the great plains

didn't really get going
until the 19th century.

And even then, colonizing
the plains wasn't easy.

The plains Indians fought hard

for their land
and their way of life.

They were more than a match
for settlers,

even for the u.S. Army.

Sure, the army won
a few skirmishes,

but they were losing
the war for the west.

Then everything changed.

The civil war ended,
and two key generals,

Philip Sheridan
and William Tecumseh sherman,

were now free to march
on the Indians.

They already waged
total war on the south--

a scorched earth campaign,

destroying crops
and food stores--

starving the enemy
into submission.

Why not use the same tactic
against the Indians?

Starvation.

So generals sherman and Sheridan
declared war on the buffalo.

They encouraged hunters to kill
as many buffalo as they could.

But another weapon was about
to be unleashed on the buffalo--

a weapon even more powerful--

capitalism.

The market economy.

There were lots of uses
for a dead buffalo.

Hides, dried meat--
called pemmican by the Indians--

to feed fur traders...

Leather to drive machinery
back east and in Europe.

Then, the railroads came...

Bringing hundreds
of buffalo hunters,

and they just kept on killing.

Mountains of skulls and bones

became raw material
for the bone China industry.

And the slaughter
went on and on.

General sherman wrote
to general Sheridan,

"invite all the sportsmen
of england and america this fall

for a great buffalo hunt

and make a grand sweep
of them all."

Hornaday reckoned that in the
three years from 1872 to 1874,

more than 3 million buffalo
were killed.

Years later, an assiniboine
chief called ochankugahe

recalled as a child he could
walk across the prairie,

jumping from buffalo carcass
to buffalo carcass,

they were lying so thickly
on the ground.

Mark azure is also assiniboine,
living under the vast skies

of the fort belknap reservation
in Northern Montana.

The extermination
of the great herds

changed his culture forever.

Well, it meant
our way of life was gone.

The things that we had known
and been taught and understood,

all of a sudden it was gone,
and then where do you go?

You're lost in every aspect
of your life

from the practical uses
to the spiritual, cultural uses,

those were just taken away,

and you were,
you were being told

now how you're going to live
without that,

something that's been a part
of you since your existence.

Hornaday had carefully
described the buffalo's decline

in his book.

Way back,
30 million animals roamed

over much of the North American
continent.

By 1867, Hornaday thought
only 1.5 million remained.

By the 1880s, there were likely
only a few hundred left

in the whole of North America.

Those still alive were hiding
in the most remote spots,

where they wouldn't be found.

Running for over 120 miles
through the Texas panhandle,

palo duro canyon is often called
the Grand Canyon of Texas.

No one came out here much,

and the canyon was big enough

to hide the last few buffalo
of the mighty herd

that once ruled
the southern plains.

Here they could breed
and raise their calves,

out of sight of hunters
and their guns.

Further north in Wyoming,

a few buffalo had found
another place to hide.

Back in 1872, an area
of hot springs and geysers

had been declared america's
first national park.

Yellowstone.

The park was created to protect
this unique scenery.

But there were also
buffalo here.

Beyond the spectacular geysers
and boiling pools

there were huge tracts
of rolling grassland,

grazed by buffalo.

But these scattered herds

in places like the Texas canyons
and Yellowstone were tiny.

It wouldn't take much

to push the whole species
into extinction.

And just as buffalo stood
on the brink of oblivion,

William t. Hornaday
came to the Smithsonian.

In 1882, he was appointed
chief taxidermist

to the u.S. National museum.

He was dismayed
by all the killing

happening out there
on the plains

and wrote to many people
in the west,

desperately trying to work out
how many buffalo were left.

He was stunned by what he found.

"I received a severe shock
as if by a blow on the head

from a well-directed mallet.

The bison millions were not only
going, but gone."

By his reckoning

there were only
a few hundred buffalo left.

But then he realized
the museum didn't have

any good specimens
of this icon of the west.

He was the chief taxidermist--

it was his job
to make sure they did.

He hated that there'd been
so much killing--

at how much wildlife
had been slaughtered

through the 19th century,

but he needed good buffalo
specimens for the museum

more than he needed to keep
the last ones alive.

He understood
people see it as ironic

that someone who is interested
in saving wildlife

would go and shoot
some of the last members

of a disappearing species.

Their mission was to go out
and get specimens to bring back,

so that the public in the cities

could appreciate
what was in nature.

The buffalo had become

such a powerful symbol
of america

that Hornaday wanted the museum
to have the best specimens,

before it vanished forever.

Such a memorial was so important
to the American nation,

the secretary of war gave him
some help--

the u.S. Army.

After a lot of asking around,

Hornaday heard that there might
be a few buffalo remaining

in eastern Montana.

So, on may 9, 1886,

Hornaday found himself
in miles city, Montana.

- How are you, sir?
- Mr. Hornaday.

He met
with a local rancher

who said he'd heard rumors

of a few buffalo
on the high divide

between the Yellowstone
and Missouri rivers.

This was harsh
and difficult backcountry,

but with an army escort
from the 5th infantry

from nearby fort keogh,
they set off.

They made camp
under a sheltering bluff

and rode out
to begin the search.

It seemed impossible,
to find a few tens of buffalo

in this vast landscape
of around 1,000 square miles,

and the signs didn't look good.

Hornaday encountered
a grim scene on the prairies,

and he describes it best
in his later publications:

"We were seldom out of sight
of bleaching skeletons,

and often 40 or 50
were in sight at one time.

This was once
a famous buffalo range;

now the bleaching skeletons

lie scattered thickly
all along the trail."

But then, Hornaday
stumbled across a cowboy camp.

Steady, sirs.

I'm looking for buffalo.
Have you seen any?

A good hour's ride
up the draw.

They said they'd seen
around 30 animals--

somewhere in the nearby
canyonlands.

The only thing Hornaday could do

was set off
on long scouting trips,

in the hope they'd come across
the buffalo.

But all they found was
one solitary calf, clearly lost.

So they captured it alive.

They kept searching
for another 10 days

and eventually found
an adult bull.

But it was shedding
its long winter coat

so looked too shabby
to represent its species

as part of a mounted display
back in Washington.

Hornaday prepared
its skeleton instead.

By now he'd realized
it was the wrong time of year

to find any beautiful specimens.

He'd have to wait until fall,

when they'd grown
their magnificent winter coats.

Hornaday decided to leave
and return later in the year--

hoping that some of the buffalo
would still be there.

Apart from a couple
of skeletons,

all he had was the calf,

that he called Sandy,
after its pale coat.

But this little animal
would play a big role

in saving its species,

because it inspired Hornaday to
change the way he was thinking.

At that time Hornaday
had designs on that small calf

becoming the nucleus
of a breeding herd of bison.

I think he saw the potential
in the calf

as a symbol for the future
of the bison.

Hornaday put Sandy on display

on the national mall
in Washington, DC,

and attracted huge crowds.

Seeing this perhaps
started him thinking more

about a living collection
for the museum.

This idea would eventually
blossom into the national zoo.

But for the moment,
fate put any such plans on hold.

Only a few months later,
Sandy died--

though he did become a specimen
in the museum.

The loss of the calf

deeply affected
William Hornaday.

I think it set him
on a trajectory

toward his later work
with living animals.

But for now, Hornaday
still needed specimens of cows

and hopefully a big mature bull
to complete his mission.

So, on September 24, 1886,
Hornaday was back in miles city,

planning for a longer
buffalo hunt.

Again they established
a base camp.

And again, they began to search
the high divide--with no luck.

Had the local cowboys

shot the last remaining buffalo
for sport?

We've seen buffalo!
Buffalo!

The answer didn't come
until October 13th,

when the resupply wagon arrived.

All right, you hear that?

The wagon team
had spotted seven buffalo

hiding out in a canyon.

Got ourselves a big old
herd of buffalo back over there.

Finally, the news
they'd been waiting for.

They soon found the buffalo...

But the first shots missed.

For hours,
they tracked the buffalo

and eventually caught up
with them.

This time the buffalo
wouldn't escape.

Several animals
fell to their guns.

And back at camp

Hornaday could practice
his art as a taxidermist

and prepare the skins.

But, even though he kept
searching for two months,

he was still missing
his centerpiece.

The expedition was nearly over

before Hornaday finally found
a magnificent bull.

He shot...

But he only
wounded the animal,

and when it couldn't run
anymore,

it turned and just stood,
exhausted, in front of him.

Not wasting the opportunity,

Hornaday took out his sketch pad
and drew the buffalo,

giving him a reference to use

to get his skin mounts
more accurate.

Once he'd finished,
he shot the animal dead.

It was the biggest buffalo
they'd found,

and it became the focal point
of his planned museum display.

This display was groundbreaking
for its time--

animals in natural poses
and in a natural setting.

It caused a sensation.

When the display
went public in march of 1888,

many people turned out to see it
on opening day,

there was a great to-do
in the newspapers.

The Washington star
on march 10, 1888, wrote--

"a bit of the wild west
reproduced

at the national museum--

real buffalo grass,
real Montana dirt,

and real buffalo.

It's as if they had been struck
motionless by some magic spell."

Part of its power

was in capturing a scene
from a lost world,

one that might never
be seen again.

But these dead specimens
were to play a crucial role

in saving the last few
living buffalo.

Creating this display
was to be the turning point

in Hornaday's life.

The impact of this hunt
on Hornaday himself, the man,

was profound.

I think that when he witnessed
the scale of the carnage...

He was shocked and dismayed
at the waste of the wildlife,

bison carcasses everywhere.

The heads left unskinned
with the hair drying down

and the skin drying down
on the bone.

He spent the rest of his life,
I believe,

trying to atone
for what had happened,

what had been allowed to happen
to the prairie species.

Seeing such wanton carnage,

Hornaday's career
changed direction.

And he was helped
in his new goal--

to save the buffalo
from extinction--

when his display
caught the attention

of a man that would become
his staunch ally.

While putting the finishing
touches on the display,

Hornaday had a visitor who asked
some very shrewd questions.

Hornaday asked him who he was.

He said, "my name is
Theodore...Theodore Roosevelt."

And they were friends
from that day.

The two worked together

throughout the remainder
of Hornaday's career

and did go on to do
great things together.

People like
Hornaday and Roosevelt

began to change the way
we saw nature.

By the end of the 19th century,

america's plains and forests
were nearly empty of wildlife,

but out of that carnage,
Hornaday, Roosevelt and others

began to forge a philosophy

that became the roots
of modern conservation.

The destruction was so shocking

that many people were receptive
to these new ideas,

even some very unlikely ones.

In 1882, general Sheridan
led an expedition

that blazed the trail from
Jackson hole to Yellowstone.

But when he got there,

to the only place where buffalo
were meant to be protected,

he found that poachers
were still slaughtering

the last remnants
of america's big game--

buffalo and elk.

Like buffalo,
elk had been reduced

to a fraction
of their former numbers.

Towards the end
of the 19th century,

this was one of the few places

which still echoed
to the bugling of rutting elk...

As bulls defended
their herds of cows...

And thrashed the vegetation,
showing off their virility.

But for how much longer?

Sheridan's enemy had been
the Indians, not the buffalo.

He was now disgusted
by the slaughter

of these great symbols
of American wilderness.

So in 1886 Sheridan sent
the army into Yellowstone--

this time on the side
of the buffalo!

The man who had helped push
the buffalo close to extinction

was now fighting to protect it.

Yet even protected by the army,

there were only 23 animals
left in Yellowstone.

They were right on the brink.

One bad winter
could wipe them out.

And these were the last
of the truly wild buffalo.

The future of the species
might depend on a few animals

that had survived elsewhere

in very different circumstances.

The vastness of palo duro canyon
in Texas

had protected a few buffalo

through the worst
of the great slaughter.

But even here
they were now threatened

by ranchers and hunters.

Yet it wouldn't be the army
that saved these buffalo,

but one woman.

These buffalo lived on the ranch
of Charles goodnight,

which sprawled over
the Texas canyonlands.

Charles' wife, Molly goodnight,

rescued some of the calves
and hand-reared them.

Charles goodnight realized
that buffalo adapted well

to this new
semi-domesticated life,

and before long the goodnights
had a captive buffalo herd.

Across the country, a few other
ranchers did the same.

But in the late 19th century,

goodnight's herd was one of only
five captive herds of buffalo,

along with the last wild animals
in Yellowstone.

The experience of ranchers
like Charles goodnight

showed Hornaday that buffalo
were easy to breed in captivity.

He decided to set up
his own captive breeding herd

so he could begin
to restock the great plains.

And that's how a few buffalo
ended up living

at the very heart
of the nation's capital.

His first animals were penned in
on the national mall,

just outside
the Smithsonian castle,

in what Hornaday called

the department
of living animals.

Just as Sandy the calf
had drawn crowds,

so these animals also caused
quite a sensation,

and the public flocked
to see them.

It showed how popular
these displays could be,

and Hornaday's department
of living animals

soon became the national zoo,

with Hornaday
as its first director.

The idea that began
with Sandy the buffalo calf

had finally been realized.

The buffalo were moved
from the mall to their new home,

and the zoo quickly acquired
other animals.

Today the national zoo is home
to over 400 species

and is a center
for global conservation.

But since it began
with a small group of buffalo,

to Mark its 125th anniversary
in 2014,

the zoo built
a new buffalo enclosure.

The first buffalo attracted
huge crowds,

and now this new buffalo exhibit
does the same.

This symbol of the west
is as powerful today

as it was a hundred years ago.

But Hornaday's plans
for a breeding herd

didn't get very far.

The strong, determined
personality

that had got him to this point
finally tripped him up.

He was
an extremely ambitious man,

a man of high energy,
of great determination,

of wonderful skills,

but what Hornaday gained
in personality

he lacked in tact.

He was known
as a rough, abrasive man,

and when he had an objective,
he went straight for it,

and if someone got in his way,

he went right through them
or over them.

But when that someone
was Samuel pierpont Langley,

secretary of
the Smithsonian institution,

Hornaday found himself
leaving the Smithsonian

in anger and frustration.

Later, Hornaday described this

as the best thing
that could have happened.

It marked the end of his career
as a taxidermist

and the beginning, as he put it,
of his "real life work"--

William t. Hornaday, one
of the first conservationists.

But that "real life work" didn't
start until a few years later.

His pioneering conservation work
had to wait until 1896,

when he was offered
the post of director

of the Bronx zoo in New York.

Here, the campaign to restock
the west with buffalo

really got under way.

In 1905 he and Roosevelt,
who was now president,

established
the American bison society

to promote the return
of the buffalo.

And in 1907, 15 animals
from the breeding project

were returned
to the southern plains--

to the Wichita mountains
wildlife preserve in Oklahoma.

This is now the Wichita
mountains wildlife refuge,

where stony mountains rise out
of forests and grassy plains.

These were the first buffalo
to graze these grasslands

for over 30 years.

Those original 15 animals bred,

and today the herd
is 650 strong.

After success
in the Wichita mountains,

buffalo were transported
across the nation,

starting new herds
across their original range.

Now there are perhaps
half a million

roaming the plains.

But this isn't enough.

We've yet to restore
the buffalo

to its true place
on the prairie.

These herds are all tiny

compared to the numbers recorded
in Hornaday's book.

The biggest problem
facing buffalo today is space.

Even Yellowstone is too small

for really large herds
of buffalo.

In the past, buffalo survived

by migrating huge distances
to find grazing--

much as the famous herds
of the serengeti still do today.

Now, only tiny fragments
of the prairies exist.

Where the buffalo's world
once knew no boundaries,

today it's bounded on all sides
by agriculture.

Their refuges might seem large
to US, but not to buffalo.

Custer state park in the
black hills of south Dakota

covers 71,000 acres.

It supports one of the largest
public herds in the country,

around 1,500 animals.

But this is all it can support.

Which means that each year
some animals must be removed

and sent to new herds elsewhere.

The only way to do that

is to round up the whole herd
into corrals,

in what has become
a spectacular public event.

Even before dawn, south Dakota's
roads, normally empty,

are already choked with traffic.

Just as thousands once visited

Hornaday's display
of mounted buffalo,

today thousands turn up
for this roundup.

The buffalo is still
an American icon.

This is a glimpse of the past
as the herd thunders

over the rolling hills
at full gallop--

"prairie thunder,"

as the pounding hooves
shake the earth itself.

But this is only 1,500 animals.

What must it have felt like

to see a hundred thousand
or more...

Or watch a herd that stretched
to the far horizon.

Even so, to see
this spectacle today,

you might think that Hornaday
had achieved his aim

to save the buffalo.

I believe that Hornaday
in his own day

felt that he had achieved
the salvation of the bison.

But we're still asking
the question today

about the future
of the American bison.

Certainly they have increased
numerically,

but only about 4 or 5%
of that number exists

in anything that approximates
a wild condition.

The only way to ensure
the long-term survival

of that important
grazing species

is by recovery of wild herds
of bison on a large scale.

But if even places
like Yellowstone

aren't big enough
for wild buffalo,

what can we do?

There is a solution--

reunite buffalo with the people

that shared their grassland home
for thousands of years.

Fort belknap Indian reservation,
in Northern Montana,

is home to the assiniboine
and gros ventre tribes,

one of many reservations

across the plains states

with vast expanses of grassland.

As part of the inter tribal
bison cooperative,

Mark azure has been working
to bring buffalo back

to these northern plains.

These particular animals
here came out of Yellowstone,

and then in August of 2013

they were brought back here
to fort belknap,

and the significance of bringing
them back to fort belknap

is up here in the northern
plains of the United States

was the last location
of the free-roaming herds.

So they've come full circle,
and now they're home again.

It's a first step

in bringing back
truly wild buffalo.

What we'd like to see

is this thing spread
all across Indian country

and every tribe

that had a history and a culture
with the buffalo,

to have it back.

If enough Indian nations

bring buffalo back
to their lands,

and grassland corridors
can be opened up

to connect them with each other,

buffalo can once again roam
freely over the prairie.

But this is much more
than a conservation project.

It's also re-forging an ancient
and deep spiritual connection

between Indians and buffalo.

It does bring
that sense of pride

and that sense of healing
of a people

and who we were,
who we are today,

and it feels good to see it

back out here
on the prairie again.

Hornaday never
understood that deep connection

between the plains Indians
and the buffalo.

Yet his groundbreaking display

captures something
of that spirit,

of the deep interconnections
of life on the prairie.

And this group standing
on its naturalistic pedestal

represents the prairie itself.

And Hornaday's
buffalo group still exists.

It was dismantled in 1957
and the specimens scattered,

until Doug coffman helped
to reunite them

at fort Benton, Montana,

in the museum
of the northern great plains.

And like the fort belknap
buffalo,

they, too, have come home.

They were collected
about 120 miles from here,

so I can't think
of a more fitting place.

These animals were some

of the last few buffalo alive
at the end of the 19th century,

yet putting together
this display inspired Hornaday

to devote his life
to saving the species.

And his display should still
inspire conservationists today.

These specimens were the last
of the truly wild buffalo,

roaming the boundless prairie.

The future for the buffalo
as a wild creature

is still very uncertain.

The bison need the prairie

to continue to be bison,

otherwise they become
something else,

and without the bison,

the prairie cannot truly be
the prairie.

Let's let them be
who they are--they're buffalo.

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