All language subtitles for 1B738A6BB2EDA726B07FE8EB65ED5881_eng

Its animals and plants,
in isolation for millions of years,

have evolved in their own way,

so that now over 80% of them

are unlike any others
anywhere else in the world.

And by far, the greatest concentration
of its highly-specialised wildlife

is found here,

among the mountains and rainforests
of the east.

A journey down these eastern slopes,

from isolated mountain peaks
to tropical shorelines,

reveals the huge variety
of this island's wildlife.

160 million years ago,
Madagascar lay between Africa and India

within a much larger supercontinent
called Gondwana.

As this giant landmass
slowly broke apart,

the upheavals created
a 1,000-mile long range of mountains

that stretch the length of Madagascar.

Separating west from east,
the Andringitra highlands

are one of the high points
along this rocky backbone.

Over two and a half
thousand metres high,

they rise like inland islands
far above the surrounding plains.

Over an immense span of time,
these huge granite domes and plateaus

have been sculpted by the elements.

The climate on these isolated tops

is the most extreme
found on this tropical island.

The days are scorching hot,

the nights bitterly cold.

It appears deserted and yet,
there is life here.

Usually found in warm forests,
a few small troops of ring-tailed lemurs

make their home
in this desolate, windswept place.

To combat the cold

they've evolved larger bodies
and much thicker coats

than their lowland relatives.

And they have another trick
up their sleeves.

After spending the freezing nights
huddled together in a crevice,

they start the day
with a spot of sunbathing.

Only drought-loving plants
like aloe and cactus

can survive
in this high-altitude desert.

During the dry season,

these succulent plants
are the lemurs' only source of moisture.

It may be a tough,
hand-to-mouth existence

but they have few competitors up here.

Even so,

venturing out on these exposed summits
is not without its dangers.

Madagascar buzzards are quite capable
of snatching an unwary lemur.

A barked alarm call
sends them all scuttling for cover.

Ring-tailed lemurs are just as suited
to life on the ground

as up in the trees.

And that makes them far more adaptable
than most of Madagascar's lemurs.

Several troops of ring-tails manage
to make a living in these highlands.

Some of the luckier ones
occupy a more sheltered valley

where a few trees
have managed to take root.

Morning fog condensing on leaves
is an important source of water.

Although the mornings
still have a chill to them,

life here seems more relaxed.

But also more crowded.

Pied crows need to be moved on.

Not least because there are
some vulnerable arrivals in the troop.

Almost every female
is carrying an infant,

an indication that life
is comparatively easy up here.

With more protection from the elements
and a little more food,

this troop is particularly large

and can devote plenty of time
to their social lives.

One female even has twins,

a rare event amongst ring-tailed lemurs

and a direct result
of a good food supply.

But this valley troop
still has to work hard

to collect food
in this broken landscape.

Few lemurs are such good rock climbers.

There's a real bonanza
at this time of year.

While some gather canopy fruits,

the mother of the twins stays lower
and gathers fresh leaves.

The young are born
during the fruiting season

when demands on the mothers
are heaviest.

After such a heavy meal,

the troop head off
in search of their next course,

the daily dose of dirt.

Eating soil
is thought to help with digestion.

But it also provides minerals

and even helps the lemurs to cope
with troublesome gut parasites.

These troops
are becoming even more isolated

as farmers push up
into the high valleys.

Now, surrounded by rice paddies,

these highland lemurs are marooned
in their mountaintop islands.

Here, away from the rest of their kind,

they've had to adapt
in order to survive.

It's a story that's repeated
all across these eastern mountains.

Each peak is effectively an island.

And each is home to its own unique
collection of animals and plants.

This mountain range is home
to one of these rarities,

the Andringitra jeweled chameleon.

Swollen with eggs,
this female is on a mission.

As the rainy season approaches,
she begins to dig.

The only safe place for her clutch
is deep underground.

But her first attempt ends in disaster.

Unearthing an ants' nest
is not a good start.

She moves on and tries again.

She needs to find just the right spot.

Her eggs will remain hidden here
for several months.

It takes her a whole day
to excavate the nest.

Finally, she reverses in
and lays around a dozen eggs.

It becomes a race against time
to get the eggs under cover.

She carefully hides her tracks.

And then she abandons her eggs
to their fate.

Madagascar's mountainous spine

is the reason
the island's eastern side is so wet.

It blocks the tropical winds
blowing in from the Indian Ocean.

As the warm, moisture-laden air
hits this barrier,

rain condenses from the clouds
and drenches these slopes.

Over five metres can
fall here in a year.

Rain-swollen torrents pour
over giant steps towards the ocean.

They descend into a richer, greener,
more enclosed world.

The mist-shrouded Marojejy mountains
lie in the northeast of the island.

These cloud forests
are a rich many-layered world

that offers huge opportunities
for life to flourish.

One bird dominates the dark tangle
of the understorey.

It's another of Madagascar's
many oddities,

the Helmet vanga.

These wet, eastern forests
are its only home.

Why the Helmet vanga possesses
such a vivid blue bill is a mystery.

But it's certainly a lethal weapon.

Vangas are ambush hunters,
pouncing on ground-living millipedes

or snatching cicadas and lizards
from tree trunks.

Around 20 species of vanga
live on the island,

all descended
from a single ancestral species

that became isolated here
millions of years ago.

There's a much more ghostly presence
in these tangled forests, too.

The high canopy is home
to one of the world's rarest primates.

There may be only 200 silky sifakas
in existence.

Extremely sensitive to disturbance,
these large lemurs have retreated

to the region's
most inaccessible valleys.

Leaves and flowers
make up the bulk of their diet.

But such food is difficult to digest

and they take long rests
after each meal.

However, these essential halts
do give them time

to indulge their gentle,
playful natures.

The whole family
gets drawn into the games.

Even the older members,
distinguished by their paler faces.

As with most lemurs,

the female sifakas
are only sexually receptive

for just one or two days each year.

So it's crucial for the males
to keep a very close check on them.

The females leave scent marks
on the tree trunks.

And the dominant males
are quick to move in

and check the subtle messages.

They can't afford to miss
the one opportunity in the year

to father a baby.

The name "lemur" means
"spirits of the dead",

and with only a few hundred
of these brilliant white sifakas left,

the name here
could be only too prophetic.

Lower down the mountains,

cloud forest gives way to warmer,
wetter rainforests.

Great clumps of bamboo
thrive in the tropical heat and damp.

The tangle of bowed and broken poles

creates a natural climbing frame,
a playground

for one of Madagascar's
most specialised group of animals.

Bamboo lemurs are Madagascar's pandas,

depending almost entirely
on this overgrown grass for food.

Bamboo is tough and woody.
Hard to chew, let alone digest.

But hardest of all,

the leaves of some species
are packed full of cyanide.

Yet, three species of bamboo lemur
live here

eating these plants day in, day out.

Two of them favour parts of the plant
low in poison.

But the third, the golden bamboo lemur,
is the real specialist.

It eats the tips of new leaves
that are loaded with cyanide.

It's not known how they cope
with the poison

but they can tolerate up to 12 times
a normally lethal dose.

Only through these subtle differences
in diet

can all three species share
the same small patch of rainforest.

Bamboo thrives here
because this part of Madagascar

is very wet throughout the year.

And these lower eastern slopes

are exposed to the full fury
of the cyclone season.

For a few months each year,
these powerful tropical storms

sweep straight in from the Indian Ocean.

Lasting for days, they create
paths of destruction across the island

and pour huge amounts of water
onto these forests.

But for the bamboo lemurs,
these dark clouds have a silver lining.

In their wake, something peculiar starts
springing up all over the forest floor.

It's what the lemurs
have been waiting for all year,

bamboo shoots.

The greater bamboo lemurs in particular
find these spikes irresistible.

These new shoots are particularly rich
in sugary sap.

It might take half an hour or more
to consume a single shoot.

These bamboo-loving primates

are one of the most
highly-specialised animals

to have evolved
during Madagascar's long isolation.

But this has left them vulnerable
as their forest home disappears.

As few as 1,000 of them now live
in these dappled bamboo thickets.

The dense canopy means little light
reaches the forest floor.

To survive in this shadowy world,
animals need to blend in.

At just three centimetres long,
this brown leaf chameleon

is one of the smallest of its family.

Its long flattened body
gives it excellent camouflage

as it hunts among the debris
of the forest floor.

Today, it's also getting some help
from upon high.

This mess is being created by the
largest of Madagascar's 80-odd lemurs,

the indri,

an unlikely ally for the tiny chameleon.

The fallen fruit is the perfect bait,

attracting all sorts of insects,
including swarms of fruit flies.

But this tiny predator has its sight
set on something a little larger,

a cockroach.

As night falls, the forest floor
becomes a different world,

where smell and sound and touch
are the primary guides.

A family of striped tenrecs starts
truffling through the dead leaves.

They may look like hedgehogs,
but tenrecs are unique to Madagascar.

And these striped tenrecs are only
found here in these eastern rainforests.

One of the youngsters
has been distracted

by the discovery
of a particularly juicy worm.

A tenrec's teeth are small,
but needle-sharp

and well-suited to dealing
with this soft, slippery food.

By the time it's subdued
its struggling prey,

the rest of the family has moved on.

This is not a good place
to be out on your own in the dark.

It needs to get back to its family.

But how to find them
in the tangled undergrowth?

They have a unique solution.

Specialised quills on their backs.

As these quills rub together,
they create a high-pitched noise

that cuts through the din of the forest.

It acts like a homing beacon,

guiding wayward offspring back
into the fold.

These are the only mammals in the world
to communicate in this way.

Eastwards again
towards the coastal lowlands.

All that stands in the way

are the last cliffs and ravines
of the escarpments.

As the gradient slackens,
the rivers slow and spread.

Down here,
the forests are even more luxuriant.

It's so wet that some tree frogs
don't need to lay their eggs in water.

Instead, they stick them
to the underside of leaves,

well out of reach of hungry fish.

In less than a week,
they've already developed into tadpoles.

They mature very quickly.

But not quite fast enough in this case.

The most unlikely of predators
has stumbled

on these clumps of spawn.

The protective jelly merely slows down
the wasp's smash-and-grab tactics.

The wasps return again and again,

chewing up tadpoles before
taking them back to their own nest.

And yet,
the tadpoles aren't entirely helpless.

By the time they're only five days old,

they're already able to react

to the vibrations created
by the hunting wasps.

They hatch prematurely
when stressed like this

and, as the jelly liquefies,

the tadpoles dribble down to the
leaf tip and into the water below.

They may be underdeveloped,

but they can swim well enough

to give themselves
at least a fighting chance

away from the jaws
of the wasps circling above.

These lowland forests are full of
sinister and unlikely predators.

Some plants have become meat eaters.

The shores of Lac Ampitabe are thick
with pitcher plants.

Their closest relatives are found
in Indonesia,

a place last connected to Madagascar
18 million years ago.

The liquid-filled cups
are modified leaves.

Insects are attracted by the plant's
bright patterns and sweet nectar.

But it's a fatal attraction.

The rim of the pitchers
is very slippery.

And the sap appears
to have a narcotic effect.

Once trapped inside, there's no escape.

Prey is slowly dissolved

in the soup of enzymes secreted
by the plant.

On this island of specialists,

some creatures have even made
this unwelcome place home.

Ants live in and around the pitchers
collecting nectar from the rim.

Day geckos also sip at the sweet liquid,

and hunt the insects attracted
to the plants.

The ridged soles of their feet
make them super sticky,

able to grip on just about any surface.

But there are still dangers
around these pitchers.

Striped snakes love this tangle
of vegetation.

And eating geckos.

At the first hint of danger,
the geckos retreat to the nearest cover.

An old dried-up pitcher
is an excellent refuge.

In these forests, staying safe is often
best done by keeping a low profile.

But paradise flycatchers
are hard to miss.

And with their nest
just a metre off the ground,

the chicks are vulnerable to snakes
and other birds.

Flycatchers, like many birds,
have a trick

that reduces the chance of their nest
being discovered.

The chicks enclose their waste
in white faecal sacks.

Just dumped over the side of the nest,

these would attract a lot
of unwelcome attention.

So the adults collect
and dispose of them.

Others living in this forest

don't seem to mind
being the centre of attention.

This big, noisy bird is Madagascar's
very own cuckoo.

All these calls are directed
at its tiny foster parents.

Having disposed of their young long ago,

this supersized impostor
is monopolising their attention.

They seem unable to resist
its incessant demands.

But now that the cuckoo
is nearly full-grown,

their exhausting ordeal
will soon be over.

These lowland forests
also contain a curious throwback,

a plant that reveals a link

to a time when Madagascar
was still connected to mainland Africa.

The traveller's tree
is only found in Madagascar,

but its closest relatives
are the bird-of-paradise flowers

growing in southern Africa.

Over on the mainland, those plants
are pollinated by nectar-feeding birds.

But in Madagascar,
the traveller's tree has evolved

to attract another pollinator.

Not a bird,
but something altogether stranger.

The large flowers produce huge amounts
of sugary nectar.

And they are tough enough
to withstand rough handling.

And they need to be
when aye-ayes come calling.

They may not look much like one,
but the aye-aye is a lemur.

As it feeds,
its snout becomes coated with pollen,

which it then carries
to other traveller's trees

as it makes its nightly rounds
of the forest.

For the aye-aye,
nectar is just a passing fancy.

What's really shaped
their extraordinary appearance

is a love of beetle grubs.

Its large ears, gnawing teeth
and long thin fingers,

are all beautifully adapted
to detect and winkle out juicy larvae

from under the bark of rainforest trees.

In a few places, the rainforest extends
right down to the ocean.

The largest stretch left in Madagascar

grows on the remote Masoala Peninsula
in the north of the island.

Here, there are hundreds of
square miles of pristine jungle.

Growing right next to the ocean
brings its own particular challenges.

The forest trees must cope with
shifting sandy soils

and being regularly showered
with salty spray.

Nonetheless,
the forest is full of wildlife.

Standing water can be hard to find here

because the sandy soil
drains so quickly.

That makes life very difficult for frogs
looking for somewhere to lay their eggs.

But storm-damaged bamboo stalks
provide the solution.

These rain-filled reservoirs
are communal meeting places

for Madagascar's unique
golden bamboo frogs.

In the breeding season,
this community spirit breaks down

as individual males compete
for the water-filled stems,

and start calling to attract mates.

In response, females are drawn
to the males at their bamboo pools.

This female is a late arrival
on the scene,

and she needs to be very wary.

Another female has been here and
there's already a tadpole in residence.

There's very little food in these pools.

And the last thing she wants

is her valuable egg to end up
feeding another female's tadpole.

So she rejects the male's advances
and moves on.

Eventually,
she finds an unoccupied pool,

where she could be sure of laying
the first egg.

And she has a way of getting around
the shortage of food, too.

Once her egg is hatched,

she'll return repeatedly to lay
an infertile egg

on which her tadpole will feed.

This is a highly-competitive world.

Predatory birds like couas
and Madagascar coucals

have leaf geckos on their menu.

But, first, they have to find them.

These geckos are able to stay
absolutely motionless.

Some have evolved ragged fringes
around their bodies

to help break up
their tell-tale outline.

The largest, up to 30 centimetres long,

hide on favourite tree trunks that match
their particular skin colouration.

But, as night falls,
they're transformed.

The hunted become hunters.

Now it's not about camouflage,
but stealth and surprise.

Their huge eyes help them track prey
in the darkness.

Large mouths packed with sharp teeth
help them tackle difficult prey.

But not necessarily to deal with
smaller pests.

Their sight is 350 times more sensitive
than the human eye.

These geckos can see colour
even in the dimmest moonlight.

They have no eyelids,

so licking is the only way
to keep their eyes clean.

This caterpillar, apparently,
doesn't taste good.

But a bad taste doesn't stop the gecko
getting in a little retaliation.

The richness of these coastal forests
is unrivalled on the island.

Although the Masoala rainforest covers
only 2% of Madagascar's surface,

over half of all the species found
on the island are thought to live here.

The tallest trees of
the peninsula's most remote valleys

are home to one of its most
spectacular inhabitants.

Red-ruffed lemurs are big and noisy.

This troop has hit the jackpot.

Two trees, a fig and a harami,
practically next door to each other,

and both loaded with ripe fruit.

With so few seed-eating birds
on the island,

the trees rely on lemurs
like the red-ruffs,

to disperse their seeds
through the forest.

After gorging all morning,
the clan settles down nearby

to sleep off their lunch.

But while most doze,

one lemur stays behind.

It's his job to guard the trees
from fruit robbers.

And in such a rich forest,

a fruiting tree quickly becomes a magnet

for other interested parties.

Madagascar green-pigeons
are quickly seen off.

A vasa parrot has slipped in
under the lemur's guard.

But it makes little impact
on the supply of figs.

Others need to be watched
more carefully.

A gang of white-fronted brown lemurs

has spotted the fruiting trees
and want to share.

The males have striking white caps

and they lead the raid.

It takes the red-ruffed guardian a while
to catch on to what's happening.

The brown lemurs are quick and agile.

And with ten of them and one of him,

it's not that easy to get control
of the situation.

By the time he's finally seen them off,

the rest of the clan are on their way
back to feed in the harami tree.

With food just an arm's length away,

these particular lemurs
appear to be living the good life,

at least for the moment.

But red-ruffed lemurs are only found

in this one stretch
of coastal rainforest.

Their extreme specialisation,
developed over millions of years,

enables them to exploit
every opportunity

that this forest offers.

But it also comes at a heavy cost.

It leaves them vulnerable
if that opportunity disappears.

The few miles that separate
Madagascar's highest mountains

from these tropical shores

are crowded with animals and plants,

trapped in their own very narrow world.

And with these eastern forests
rapidly disappearing,

these unique worlds

and their extraordinary inhabitants

may soon be lost forever.

Working in Madagascar's most
isolated corners is a real challenge.

And this trip to film red-ruffed lemurs
proved to be one of the hardest.

For this shoot, cameraman John Brown
and producer Ian Gray,

have been joined by expert
tree climbers Tim and Pam Fogg.

They will be responsible for
getting John into the forest canopy,

where these rare lemurs live.

The easiest way onto
the Masoala Peninsula,

a four-hour ride in a fast boat.

The crew rendezvous
with their local guides

at a little-used research station
on this isolated coast.

They need to be entirely self-sufficient
while working here.

That's the toilet. N ice.

Luxurious, lovely.
Better than the huts outside.

Red-ruffed lemurs
are endangered,

and these forested mountains
are their last refuge.

It might seem like looking
for a needle in a haystack,

but the crew have a cunning plan.

Uphill all the way.

Red-ruffed lemurs love to eat fruit.

So, find a fruiting tree

and the red ruffs shouldn't be
too far behind.

Oh, this is a cruel hill.

You just look up and it just goes on.

On and on up, hundreds of metres.

It's a brute.

Then, on the second day
of searching, they get a lucky break.

That tree
looks like it's loaded with fruit.

Oh, yeah, yeah.

Can't see any lemurs, though.

No. It's a lovely tree, though.

Those are definitely red ruffs.
Aren't they?

Over there somewhere, I think.

This is encouraging.

It's only the second day and things
are looking distinctly promising.

But we've lucked out finally.
We found a big fruiting harami tree,

just over the ridge here.

And there are red ruffs
working in these trees.

And best thing is,
there's another tree next door to it

which we think
we can get the platform into.

We'll see what tomorrow brings.

Rain. Lots of it.

And this is supposed to be
the dry season.

The tropical paradise is suddenly
losing some of its glamour.

Hoping the rain will soon pass,

the crew heads off into the forest
to rig the filming platform

so that it's ready
when the weather improves.

But, if anything,
the rain is getting worse.

The hardest part is getting a line up
into the tree.

This will be used to pull up a rope.

Yes!

And then
haul up the filming platform

and fix it in place.

30 metres up,

this will put John level with the lemurs
as they feed.

By the end of a very wet day,

the only camera still working
is on a mobile phone.

It's a bedraggled team
that arrives back at camp.

Oh, dear.

Everything has been
thoroughly soaked.

The crucial thing now is to try
and get the cameras dried out.

What's really annoying is
you kind of know

that the animal that you've come halfway
around the world to film

is probably doing exactly
what we would want them to be doing,

looking fantastic somewhere up a tree.

All anyone can do
is to be patient

and hope for a change in the weather.

After eight long days,

there's a small break in the clouds,

so it's quickly back up the hill
once again

and onto the platform.

Well, this is day eight of the shoot

and so far I've shot about
two minutes of film,

and it looks like there's another storm
coming in across the bay that I can see.

As the storm breaks,

being up a tree on a metal platform
doesn't seem to be a good idea.

Time for another hasty retreat.

So far, I'm not sure
we're gonna get what we need.

But we'll just keep trying cause,

well, what else can we do?

Desperate times
call for desperate measures.

The key thing is to get rid
of the condensation

without melting the lens.

Day nine.

It's stopped raining.

No, it hasn't.

Still raining, and it rained all night,

and we're all going
absolutely stir crazy.

I see why you married him.

I think all of us could do with
seeing the sun

and getting dry underwear on.

That would make life a lot better.

Finally,
the storm fronts blow through.

It's time for one last slog
back up to the platform.

So, after 10 days of trials
and tribulations, and a lot of rain,

we finally got John up in the tree,

so now all we need are the red ruffs
to come and do their stuff.

I can hear them calling already,
so, hopefully, that's a good sign.

We're having a very strange

meteorological phenomenon
known as blue sky,

and the lemurs have been in and feeding

and sunbathing,
and it's been just such a relief.

So, yeah, it's amazing what difference
the weather makes.

In the next episode,
we cross Madagascar's mountains

into the southwest of the island,

a land that is gripped by dryness
for most of the year.

Among these dramatic landscapes,

lives some of the strangest
wildlife of all.