All language subtitles for EE53D589B91BBCF29576C6C9AC0446B4_eng

Nestled in the northeastern corner of
Argentina, the Ibarra wetlands.

This is a diverse water world,
teeming with wildlife.

Hundreds of animal
species and over a thousand

different plants flourish
in this tropical Eden.

But this strange paradise is not without
its perils.

Stalking the shadows of the riverboughs
and lurking beneath the surface of the

tranquil waters, hidden killers lie in
wait.

Above the hunters, monkeys haunt pockets
of forest.

Giant birds adorn the tops of the trees and
the smallest creatures glitter and dance.

But even in Eden, beauty can be deceiving.

The Ibarra wetlands of northern Argentina
are still one of Earth's secret wonders.

Secluded swamps, grassy
marshes and deep sunlit

lagoons spill out across
13,000 square kilometers.

Such an expanse that this
kingdom of water covers

an area over 16 times
the size of New York City.

Long, hot, sunny days make Ibarra a riot
of vibrant colors.

In the language of Ibarra's first
inhabitants, its name means brilliant waters.

And it's easy to see why.

Over 20% of Argentina's biodiversity can
be found in this patch of paradise.

Underneath the glassy
waters and sandy soils is one of

the most important freshwater
reservoirs on the continent.

In rare periods of drought,
the reservoir feeds the wetlands,

ensuring the leaves never
brown and the flowers never wilt.

But not all is as it seems in this water
wonderland.

Amongst the color, the wetlands' most
dangerous residents are hard to find.

But as the dry season
nears its peak, stifling

humidity heralds their
sudden appearance.

It's July.

At this time of year, the water level of
the wetlands is at its lowest.

The stagnant pools have shrunk and grown
warm in the daily 30-degree heat.

In the middle of the day, Ibarra is quiet.

All of the wetland wildlife seek silence
and shade.

Except for one resident.

Yakari caiman, a member
of the crocodilian family,

have been forced together
by the ever-dwindling pools.

Though these caiman are relatively small
for their species, with males averaging

over two meters long, it's still an
uncomfortable crush.

And tensions are running high.

It's now that the normally
silent inhabitants of

these water worlds draw
attention to themselves.

A female senses her moment.

And with a grunt indicates her presence to
the males around her.

Initiating a strange ritual.

Lifting his head and arching his tail,
this male inflates his throat.

And the water dances with an infrasonic
boom.

Other males respond in turn.

This mysterious ceremony is thought to
indicate strength.

Only the toughest will earn the right to
father the next generation.

For a creature so often the
villain of the wetlands, this

is an oddly democratic
way to assert one's authority.

As the water falls still once again,
the hierarchy has been established.

When the dry season draws to a close,
this female will know who to mate with.

But while the water levels are low,
there are more pressing matters at hand.

It isn't only the caiman who have been
marooned by the shallows.

Fish too flounder in the warm waters.

As vegetation in the
water rots, it consumes

oxygen, stagnating and
starving the small pools.

It's now that the wetland gives up its
treasure.

In their desperation for
oxygen, fish are driven

to the surface of the
water, into hungry beaks.

Over 300 different species of wetland
birds are waiting for them.

Herons, storks and egrets
share the bounty, wading their

way through the shallows,
easily picking off victims.

In the Ibera wetlands of Argentina,
isolated in a treetop fortress,

hides a bird so large and so strange that
it appears to be from the age of dinosaurs.

This is a jabiru, the
tallest flying bird in South

America, standing at
around one and a half meters.

Despite their colossal
size, these are shy animals,

and raise their chicks
in relative privacy.

Their name means swollen neck.

This band of brightly colored skin acts as
an indicator for the jabiru's mood.

The more scarlet the coloration,
the more irritated the bird.

Despite their shyness, they won't hesitate
to aggressively defend their nest.

It will be another two months before the
chicks are ready to fledge.

By then, they will be almost fully grown.

Life in a jabiru nest can get very
crowded.

If the nest wasn't already busy enough,
monk parakeets have moved in underneath,

and seem intent on undoing the jabiru's
construction.

They make for extremely noisy neighbors.

It's a smart move for the parakeets.

The jabiru will fend off any potential
predator from their nests too.

Others haven't been so lucky.

This lone male parakeet has just returned
to find his nest totally devastated.

It becomes clear who the culprit is.

A caracara is enjoying a post-meal preen.

The normally busy home is empty.

His whole family are gone.

But there isn't time to mourn.

Dark clouds are gathering.

As October approaches, huge electrical
storms appear on the horizon.

The rainy season has arrived.

Rivers swell and burst over floodplains.

As much as 20 centimeters falls in the
space of 24 hours.

The wildlife of the wetlands takes cover.

In the weeks that follow
the downpour, Ibera's

marshes and lagoons
become a riot of color.

Water hibiscus envelops the wetlands with
purple blooms.

And dry yellow grasses flush green.

In November, with the
wetlands finally refreshed

by the rains, Ibera
becomes a hive of activity.

The rainy season sparks a baby boom in the
wetlands.

It's the busiest time of year for the
largest rodent in the world.

Capybara.

These water beasts can weigh up to 79
kilos.

They're well adapted to an aquatic
existence.

Their body density is only slightly higher
than water, giving them perfect buoyancy.

And partially webbed feet make them
incredible swimmers.

A capybara's eyes, ears and nostrils are
also positioned high on their heads,

so they can stay submerged as long as they
want.

Normally, they're pretty lazy creatures.

But the rains ignite a sudden burst of
energy.

Capybara aren't fussy when it comes to
choosing a mate.

Males and females will mate with numerous
partners.

But the females don't just give it up.

The attention of a male isn't always
welcome.

Fortune hasn't been kind to this male.

He's smaller than most.

But luckily, for a capybara, it's all about
being in the right place at the right time.

But it doesn't mean the female is going to
make it easy for him.

The thrill is in the chase.

These games could go on all day.

But he's determined to win her over.

When he finally catches up, the reward is
brief.

In 150 days, she'll give birth to his
legacy.

And if he's really lucky, so will many
others.

In Argentina, there's a baby boom for the
largest rodent in the world.

The capybara.

In Ibarra's capybara
society, the responsibilities of

parenting are shared amongst
other females in the group.

Most mothers seem neither to know nor care
which baby is her own.

But the young capybara learn fast.

They learn to graze after one week,
are fully weaned at three months,

and travel in groups together for safety.

But they get tired very easily at this
age, which makes them vulnerable.

Life is perilous for a little capybara.

As night draws in, capybara
leave the water to sleep

in the grassy islands
dotted around the wetlands.

But the night brings terrors.

There are monsters lurking.

Caiman do most of their hunting when the
sun goes down.

A baby capybara has fallen victim to
Ibarra's very own villain.

But then, a caiman has to eat too.

Caiman aren't immune to the hidden dangers
of the wetlands.

Even an armored giant has enemies.

Like most reptiles, caiman are
cold-blooded.

They rely on the hot Argentine sun to
raise their body temperature.

This early in the morning, they're out in
force, soaking up the sun.

But their daily warm-up leaves them
exposed.

The caiman has reason to fear.

The jaguar is the top predator of
neotropical forests.

But now they are more often found in the
continent's legends than the landscape.

Humans have hunted jaguar to prevent them
stealing their livestock.

Now they are only occasionally seen in
Argentina.

But they still roam the Atlantic forest
and waterways not far from Ibarra.

Relative to weight,
jaguars have one of the

strongest bites of all
big cats in the world.

This male could easily chew through a
turtle's shell.

So a caiman would pose no problem.

He's the king and he's hungry.

Hiding in the long grass won't help the
caiman now.

The jaguar's incredible jaws easily
puncture the caiman's armor.

It's a rare payback for the greediest
hunters of the wetlands.

No one seems to notice the drama.

Routines resume.

As soon as they are warm enough,
the caimans slink back to the shallows.

A safer distance from the lethal jaws of
the jaguar.

In Ibarra, Argentina's wetlands,
with water levels at their highest of the

year, fishing becomes an art form for
yakari caiman.

But they've been doing it since the
dinosaurs.

They float just below the surface of the
water, with their legs spaced wide apart.

Staying perfectly still, they pick up the
vibrations of passing fish.

They bide their time.

They'll only expend precious energy for a
big enough fish.

And when it comes, their reactions are
lightning fast.

Any fish could become an unlucky victim.

But a yakari caiman's favorite meal is the
piranha.

The piranha is the best food in the world.

In the brilliant waters
of the wetlands, piranha

steal the show with
their glittering scales.

These fish are ancient inhabitants of
Ibarra.

Their ancestors were freshwater residents
of the continent over 25 million years ago.

These are social fish and travel together
in shoals.

Despite their ferocious
reputation and scary teeth,

piranhas aren't known to attack
large mammals unprovoked.

But if another fish
strays too close, it only

takes one piranha to
make the first move.

Nipping the fin of a parserby before the
others follow and a frenzy begins.

The piranha strip the meat from the bones.

Their tooth enamel structure is similar to
a shark's.

Interlocking teeth make light work of
shredding their meal.

It's over in minutes.

These voracious fish can be found all over
South America.

Linked by the great river systems that
still weave their way across the continent.

The Ibarra wetlands cover what was once the
meandering channels of the Paraná River.

After the Amazon, this is the largest
river in South America.

It once flowed freely across these lands.

But tectonic activity forced it to carve
its course westwards.

Its ancient tracks are still evident
today.

Lakes have formed in the place of ancient
eddies.

And shallow rivers
follow the deepest grooves

inflicted by the fierce
currents of the old river.

Now the wetlands behave like a dam.

Trapping rain in the depressions of the
ancient riverbed.

And filtering water down into one of the
largest underground reservoirs in the world.

Cut off from much of Argentina,
these wetlands are pristine.

Wildlife has flourished.

Small pockets of subtropical forest are
dotted all over the wetlands.

They are a reminder of Ibarra's past.

These forests once stood on islands in the
Paraná River basin.

Today, they remain disconnected.

And are still occupied by an old resident.

In the early morning, a strange call
sounds out from one of the islands.

This ghostly noise is from Ibarra's only
primates.

Howler monkeys.

Every morning, they howl to let other
troops in the area know their position.

These pockets of forest are prime real
estate for howler monkeys.

It's important they keep their distance.

The males have specialised vocal chambers
to help them project their calls.

Their voices carry up to five kilometres
away.

Males are jet black.

But the females and young are gold.

This is thought to help
the males know who to

fight with and the
females who to mate with.

After their morning
ritual, they lazily forage

for food and nap
during the hottest hours.

It might seem like
an easy life now, but

dangers await the youngest
members of the group.

When they reach adolescence, they will
have to cross the wetlands.

Under the cover of darkness, to join a new
group.

It's a daunting initiation into adulthood.

The stretches between patches of forest
can be several kilometres wide.

And there's no guarantee of being accepted
once they arrive.

The howler monkeys aren't the only
residents of this northern corner of

Argentina who have to contend with
perilous journeys.

A tiny creature has a way of making its
mark on Ibera's landscape.

Their tracks signal their presence all
over the wetland.

These tracks have been worn into the ground
by up to eight million leafcutter ants.

And the nest could be over five metres
deep.

These ants are highly organised little
creatures.

Like all ant societies,
every leafcutter has

a role that they are
specially adapted to.

These ants are one of the largest in the
colony.

They shear off pieces of leaf by vibrating
their jaws a thousand times a second.

And drop the goods
down to a waiting convoy of

smaller ants who then
transport it back to the nest.

Back in the nest, these tiny
pieces of vegetation are broken

down and turned into a fungus
garden for the ants to eat.

They're Ibera's very own underground
farmers.

But not everyone here has the ability to
cultivate food.

Some meals are salvaged from an unsavoury
source.

A capybara has died making the crossing
between lagoons.

Capybara can live to around six years in
the wild.

But they rarely get to die of old age.

This male might have
been attacked by another

or simply fallen victim
to the midday sun.

The corpse is several days old and is
rotting quickly in the humid wetland.

In a frenzy, the flies feed and lay eggs
which hatch into maggots.

Other visitors follow.

Caracaras have a poor sense of smell but
they are extremely clever birds.

They rely on visual cues to find their
food and the flies have shown them the way.

In the pecking order of the wetlands,
the caracara is fairly low down the list.

An Argentine grey fox has also tracked the
capybara down.

But she has company.

Her mate follows her lead.

She lets him know to wait his turn.

She needs more food than him.

She's producing milk for their pups hidden
in a den nearby.

Until they're weaned, they are totally
dependent on her milk.

Many in the wetland benefit from the
capybara's misfortune.

And nearly everyone here is a scavenger.

In the middle of December,
summer in the wetlands

drives the midday temperatures
to almost 40 degrees.

Some of the wetlands' most notorious
scavengers are starting to feel the heat.

American black vultures are carrion
feeders.

They know all too well the hunting skills
of caiman.

And they have an understandable fear of
the water.

But birds don't have sweat glands, so the
searing heat forces them into the shallows.

This bank is a popular spot, and with
everyone wanting a dip, squabbles are common.

The water provides some relief,
but they don't hang around.

They dry off on the bank, holding their
wings out in the heat.

This is thought to help sear off bacteria.

Even reptiles spend the hottest part of
the day in the shade.

The black and white
Argentine tegu is a giant among

lizards, with the males
growing over a metre long.

These beasts spend most of their time
patrolling their territory in search of food.

Tegus use their long, forked tongues to
smell the air around them.

The tongue collects scent
particles in the air and transfers

them to a special organ
on the roof of their mouth.

They're not fussy.

Anything small enough to fit in their
mouths is eaten.

And anything besides is worth a try.

He's found an abandoned rhea egg.

Some rhea eggs are used as decoys for
predators and are then left behind.

It's a fantastic find, and it'll be a
delicious feast.

If he can ever crack it open.

His attempts are nothing short of
embarrassing.

On the bank of a marshy
lagoon in northern Argentina, an

unusual nest sees the first
sign of movement for months.

The rhea egg.

The nest is well disguised.

A heap of rotting leaf
litter, twigs and mud, rests

just above the high
water level of the wetlands.

Strategically placed for a getaway.

With determined force, the first of the
miniature mysteries breaks through.

The rhea egg is the first of its kind.

Baby caiman are surprisingly cute.

Though they'll grow up to
be fierce and unforgiving

hunters, at this age
they are defenseless.

Unusually for a reptile, their mother is
very protective.

She waits in the wings for the rest of her
offspring to make a break for it.

Within minutes, there's a mass exodus of
baby caiman.

Their survival instinct begins at birth.

They head straight for the water.

But even the water isn't safe at this
size.

The hatchlings spend the first year of
their life hiding.

Staying close to their mother's territory
to avoid predators.

But some don't even make it this far.

A curious caracara has picked up an
unopened egg from the nest.

This little guy didn't stand a chance.

Those that do survive stay together in
little rafts for several years.

There's safety in numbers.

But it won't be long before the tables
will turn.

Many of the creatures that hunt young
caiman will in the future become their prey.

Northern Argentina's wetlands are an
emerald jewel in South America's crown.

A pristine Eden.

Rich in color and creatures.

In Ibera, the jaguar is a seldom seen
king.

And every animal and plant has its place
in his domain.

In these lush and fertile lands wildlife
thrives even in death.

Whether beneath the surface or...