All language subtitles for Love.Nature.Big.Dry.Series.1.3of3.The.Coming.Of.The.Rains.1080p.HDTV.x264.AAC.MVGroup.org.eng

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The rains are late.

It's the most brutal time
of year.

Babies born into drought,
face starvation.

The weak and the injured
are weeded out.

Everything is desperate
for rain.

(Thunder rumbles)

When it finally arrives,
it's a downpour

on an enormous scale.

Alien creatures emerge
into a different world.

The wet season begins.

(♪♪♪)

It's the beginning of November
in the Luangwa Valley.

Six and a half rainless months
have parched the land,

sucking all moisture
from the grass.

For a young elephant,
the dry season

is the toughest time of year.

The herd must trek
for up to 80 kilometers each day

to find enough food.

The experienced matriarch
must ensure

her family's survival.

However far they travel,
she always leads them back

to the river.

(Elephant groans)

It's the last source of water
in the valley.

The only place to drink.

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)

They used their two-metre
trunks to siphon water,

10 litres at a time
before squirting it

into their mouths.

In this heat,
it's welcome relief.

Relief from above
seems imminent too.

Clouds begin to build
and the skies get heavy

with the promise of rain.

(wind blowing)

(♪♪♪)

But the sun burns them off

and they vanish as quickly
as they appear.

(Elephant groans)

(♪♪♪)

For the youngster, the rains
can't come soon enough.

(♪♪♪)

He's still suckling
and at this time of year,

it's much harder for his mother
to produce the rich milk

he needs to keep up his
strength.

Rain is desperately needed
to bring a fresh burst of life

to the valley.

The Luangwa Valley
is in the heart of Africa

cutting through
Zambia's eastern wilderness.

Each year, it floods and dries
in a natural cycle,

but this year is harsher
than most.

El Nino has affected
the weather worldwide

and in Zambia,
it's turned the dry season

into drought.

Rains here usually come
in late October.

They're two weeks late.

The Luangwa River
is at its lowest in two decades.

There's been no rain here
since April,

and if it doesn't come soon,
the river could stop flowing

completely.

When resources are scarce,
buffalos unite into mega herds

and descend
on a diminishing river to drink.

The resident hippos are forced
so close to each other

that up and down the river,
tempers flare

and fights erupt.

(Hippos growling)

The consequences
can be devastating.

(Hippo groans)

One fight has left this old
bull with a broken leg.

His instinct is to keep eating.

He's unable to move far to
graze.

He's losing weight fast.

Oxpeckers feast on his cuts.

They'll help clean his wounds,
but the pain is too much

for him to bare.

Forced out of his lagoon home
when it dried up,

and banished from the river,
he's managed to find

a last tiny pool
of stagnant water.

(♪♪♪)

He's reached the end
of his journey,

but at least
he has cool mud

to ease his last few hours.

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)

The midday sun beats down

pushing temperatures
to 48 degrees.

The earth baked solid.

Leadwood trees bleach white
in the glare.

Once grassy plains
turned to dust.

There's no respite
from the brutal sun.

But carmine bee-eaters
seem to thrive in it.

Every year,
tens of thousands of bee-eaters

come to the soft sand banks
of the Luangwa River to breed.

Holding their beaks open,
exposes their tongues

and helps them keep cool.

But they seem to go out
of their way to sunbathe.

(♪♪♪)

These beach bums aren't just
lounging around.

They're actually keeping clean.

One downside
of living in a colony

is that parasites spread fast.

To keep them under control,
carmines bask.

The heat of the sun
keeps lice and mites active

and moving around the feathers.

Dust bathing helps dislodge
them.

Letting grains of sand trickle
between their feathers

and reach the skin
is the bird's answer

to scrubbing their backs
with a luffa.

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)

Bee-eaters spend 10 percent
of their day doing pest control.

(♪♪♪)

In the stagnant pool,
quelea quench their thirst.

But the hippo has breathed
his last.

Scavengers soon find the
carcass.

At this time of year,
predators don't always need

to waste energy on a hunt.

These lions
had the hard work done for him

by the drought.

The hippo weighs well over a
ton even in his emaciated state.

But with the buoyancy
of the water,

the lion
has enough brute strength

to move his prize.

This lion is in his prime.

A six-year-old male

over 200 kilos of muscle.

The hippo's hide
is five centimetres thick

but the lion's K9s
are 10 centimetres long,

and make short work
of opening the carcass.

His tongue is barbed,
helping him scrape meat

from the bone.

The lion isn't alone.

These two are brothers.

A coalition
that together control a group

of females and young
known as the En Safu pride.

They're a team.

Their strengths and power
more than doubled

by their alliance.

But they're not equals.

The dominant brother
has the right to feed first

even though his sibling
found the meal.

News of the carcass travels
fast on the bush telegraph.

(Vulture squeals)

A hooded vulture is first
on the scene.

It's one of the smallest
African vultures,

easily able to maneuver
into prime position

to pick up scraps.

The rest of the clean-up crew
is quick to arrive.

White-backed vultures
are larger

and much more numerous.

The lion can eat a quarter
of his own weight

in one
seating,

but he's had his fill
and there's no need to gorge.

Dead animals are plentiful
during the drought.

It's the moment
the birds have been waiting for.

The white-backed vultures'
strong-curved beaks

are well adapted
to tearing flesh.

And just like lions,
vultures have rough tongues.

This cerations help them
scrape meat

from all the carcass's
nooks and crannies.

But the vultures turn
at the trough is interrupted

when the rest of the lions
come to feed.

Over the coming days,
the whole En Safu pride

gets a good meal.

Between lions and vultures,
every available scrap

is devoured
till there is nothing

but bones left to pick.

But not everyone
is prepared to share.

One lion trumps 80 vultures.

The vultures crops are crammed
with carrion.

These muscular pouches
in their throats

can hold up to 20 percent
of their body weight.

They'll need time
to digest

before they can
get airborne again.

The hippo is a casualty
of the valley's savage drought,

but his demise
has fed many mouths,

helping other animals survive.

Two weeks on
and there's still no rain.

Relief must surely come soon.

(Elephant growls)

The elephants keep on moving.

It's hard for the little one
to keep up,

but the herd is a close family.

His mother and aunts
would never leave him behind.

It's been months
since these elephants

have had a mud bath.

The closest thing
they've got now is dust.

Like the bee-eaters,
the sandy shower

helps remove parasites.

And also, gives them a bit
of protection from the sun.

As they move on,
the matriarch seems to sense

something.

Elephants can detect sounds
at much lower frequencies

than humans.

(Thunder rumbling)

She's heard distant thunder.

The secret behind
their super sense

lies in her feet.

Elephants effectively walk
on their tiptoes

and have spongy pads of fat
in their heels

which cushion their weight
as they walk.

Natural shock absorbers.

They also pick up vibrations
moving through the earth,

so the herd can detect
distant sounds.

Elephants sort of do have their
ears to the ground,

and they can hear thunder
over a 160 kilometers away.

(Elephant trumpets)

Another family eagerly awaits
the rains.

Vervet monkeys live in troupes
of up to 70 animals

led by an alpha male.

They have
one of the most varied diets

of any primate.

Eating anything they can find
from fruits and seeds

to birds' eggs and lizards.

Even so, the dry season offer
thin pickings.

They time their breeding,
so females give birth

at the start of the rains
when there's plenty of food

about.

But this year,
they've been caught out.

On top of the punishing
drought,

the rains are well overdue.

Food is hard to come by.

Newborn vervets
are totally dependent

on their mothers.

They spend the first week
of their lives

clinging to mom,
and won't venture

further than two meters away
until they're three months old.

But without rain
to revive their larder,

these new moms
are struggling to nurse

their babies.

This one is a first time mother.

Her inexperience means
her little one

is at even greater risk
of starvation.

(♪♪♪)

The drought
has the Luangwa Valley

locked in a cruel embrace.

(♪♪♪)

Every tributary has run dry.

Empty galleys crisscross
the parched land.

Their winding paths
are a hollow reminder

of the water they once held.

An experienced old leopard
known as Kamuti

uses the waterless ditches
to sneak close to prey.

The dry season often works
to predator's advantage.

The ground is now iron hard.

Every lagoon morphed
into an expansive fired earth.

In the wet season,
these water holes

are home to crocodiles.

As the land dries,
they get stranded

sometimes several kilometres
from water.

The only option
is to head for what's left

of the river.

The Luangwa River
has more crocodiles

than any other in Africa.

They bask on every bend.

The largest crocs are dominant
but they tolerate each other

safe in a knowledge
that they will all get a meal

sooner or later.

All kinds of prey come to drink
at the shrunken river.

These tiny birds are quelea.

Like most animals here,
they're drown to the last source

of water in the valley.

As the dry season progresses,

they coalesce into massive
flocks.

(Brids chirping loudly)

By November, they gather
in staggering numbers.

These super colonies
can hold several million birds.

Each one weighs
less than 30 grams,

but together
a giant flock

can tip a scales at over 50
tons.

A mouthful of that
is worth having.

Crocs ambush the drinking
throng from the shallows.

But the birds' reactions
are lightning fast.

(Water splashes)

In a split second,
each responds

to its neighbors' movements
and the whole mega flock

swerves as one.

(Water splashes)

(Thunder rumbles)

At long last,
the clouds are ready to do more

than tantalize.

Thunder heads swell
and blot out the sun.

(Thunder rumbles)

The rain is finally here.

(Lightening strikes)

(Water splashes)

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)

It's an enormous storm.

(Thunder rumbles)

Hour after hour,
the rain just keeps on coming.

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)

After 20 hours of rainfall,

the skies finally begin to
clear.

In the damp earth,
something stirs.

Giant velvet mites
make few visits to the surface.

They emerge for only a few
hours each year

after the first rains.

Their scarlet coats
of tiny fine hairs

warn predators to stay away.

They secrete foul tasting
anti-fungal oils

that keep them clean
underground.

At 12 millimetres long,

these are the largest mites
in the world.

They're arachnids.

And like their spider cousins,
have eight legs

and a pair of wicked fangs.

With no antennae,
they use their front legs

to feel their way around
this brave new world.

This is the only chance
they have to feed and mate

before disappearing
to their subterranean lairs

to wait out another year.

The rain has revitalized
the valley.

Ponds appear in ever hollow
in the ground.

(♪♪♪)

Water holes are everywhere.

(♪♪♪)

A terrapin takes his first look
at the world in six months.

He's been estivating.

Sitting out the drought
in a state of torpor.

A cold shower has woken him up.

Now, he needs a good long dip
in a pool.

(♪♪♪)

Water at last.

He will search the shallows
for mollusks and worms.

After such a long sleep,
he needs a big breakfast.

(♪♪♪)

The rains may have dampened
the ground,

but for some,
they've ignited a spark

of passion.

(Wings flapping)

Winged termites
take to the skies.

Thousands dance in the
moonlight.

The air is thick with
pheromones.

They're looking for mates.

Swarming is the only chance
the termites get to meet

and mix with members
of different colonies.

It shakes up the gene pool.

A few young males
and virgin queens will pair up

and start new colonies.

But for most of the termites,
this heady night of ecstasy

is their last.

(♪♪♪)

By morning, the new water holes
are clogged with drowned lovers.

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)

For the vervets,
the termite glut

is a feast.

The insects are packed
with protein.

(♪♪♪)

The young mom can't get enough
of them.

It's the best meal she's had
for months.

Now, she and the other
nursing mothers

will have plenty of reserves
to keep producing milk

for their babies.

Everyone gets in on the act.

In the parched mopane forest,
a transformation begins.

On every twig,
new leaves sprout.

The trees dormancy is over.

The woodland yawns
and stretches,

ready for a new season.

There are new shoots everywhere.

Seeds hidden in every crack
and crevice have been poised

for this moment.

One massive rainstorm
is all they needed.

In a matter of days,
the desiccated land is reborn.

A flash of green
sweeps across the valley,

and with new grass,
come new grazers.

Ninety percent of impala moms
give birth within two weeks

of each other
just when the rains begin.

The new shoots contain lots
of protein,

just what they need
to suckle their young.

This little one
is only about half an hour old.

His mom chose a secluded spot
deep in the bush to give birth.

But she didn't bank
on visitors so soon.

The faun's instinct is to stay
hidden in the shadows.

But the boisterous baboons
give him a fright.

It's as good a reason as any
to take your first steps.

But stay close to mom.

His gangly legs
take some getting used to.

He must build up his muscles.

One day these legs
will be able to power

three-metre leaps
that will help him escape

from predators.

New babies pop up everywhere.

This little giant
was born yesterday

and is already two metres tall.

Within a couple of weeks,
the valley is a different world.

The mopane wood is thick
with foliage.

The plains are being
replenished.

There's new grass everywhere.

And the river is no longer
the only source of water.

Just one day of rain
has rehydrated the valley.

But it's not good news
for the En Safu pride.

(♪♪♪)

Buffalo can now spread out
to forage and drink.

(♪♪♪)

The mega herd breakup
and buffalo disperse

over hundreds of kilometres
making it much harder

for the lions to hunt.

For the old leopard, Kamuti,
times are tough.

The gulley she once used
so ruthlessly to stalk her prey

is now full of water.

She has nowhere to hide.

Puku and impala can see her
from far away.

(♪♪♪)

For Kamuti,
the rains herald lean times.

(♪♪♪)

The tributaries are flowing
again,

swollen streams
rush to the river.

The Luangwa has been given
a new lease on life.

It's beginning to refill.

For the hippos,
the pressure is off.

With plenty of space,
pods can spread out

and the stresses of the drought
are forgotten.

The mood in the river relaxes.

But for the carmine bee-eaters,
the race is on.

Now, the valley's rainy season
has begun,

there'll be more storms coming.

They have about a month
before the river

rises high enough
to flood their burrows.

They must make sure their
chicks fledge

before they lose their homes.

To catch enough prey,
they venture further afield

to hunt.

They are quick to exploit
the valley's new water pools.

They're not fishing
but diving for aquatic insects.

Carmine bee-eaters
share a few skills

with their kingfisher cousins.

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)

At long last,
the elephants get their bath.

After one of the worst droughts
in living memory,

the cool mud is a soothing balm.

Mud is one of an elephant's
favorite things,

part sunscreen, part
moisturizer.

All pleasure.

Not a scrap of their bodies
is missed.

Trunks, toenails, tusks
and tails.

Everything gets a coating
of blissfully therapeutic mud.

(Water splashes)

The hamerkop takes advantage
of insects

dugged up
in the ploughed earth.

(Elephant trumpets)

(♪♪♪)

The matriarch's wisdom
has brought her family safely

through another year.

For the young one,
it's been the toughest year

of his life.

And he's made it.

He'll have plenty more
dry seasons to face,

but by next year,
he'll be a bit bigger

and a bit stronger.

He's ready to tackle
what lies ahead

in the extraordinary
Luangwa Valley.

(♪♪♪)

(♪♪♪)