All language subtitles for Great.Migrations.S01E01.Born.to.Move.720p.BluRay.x264-Pahe.in

They are born to move.

To move...or die.

Forging ahead,
against terrifying odds.

Navigating the first
of millions of miles.

Spanning continents
on fledgling wings.

Clattering ever onward.

Right now our planet
is on the march...

on the wing...

on the run.

And these are the tales
of its creatures...

born into the most moving
stories on Earth...

the stories of the great migrations.

Life on Earth is hard.

Perhaps nowhere harder
than here...and now.

Every year, a timeless drama
plays out on the Mara River.

The elders have been
through this many times.

They must remember
what awaits them.

Their young know only
the pervasive smell of fear...

and the instinct to stay close.

But they must press on.

What on Earth could drive
this headlong rush to slaughter?

Only Earth herself,
with her insistent clocks.

This story begins
in the Great Rift Valley--

where the continent
is tearing itself apart...

and being reborn.

The plains in the shadow of the rift--
the Serengeti--

are threaded with the paths
of the millions on the move...

in a constant burning search
for fresh grass.

Every year, more than
a million wildebeest and 200,000 zebras

must chase the seasonal rains,

in a 300-mile loop
around Tanzania and Kenya.

But here in the Serengeti,
they pause...

for an avalanche of young...

the most migration-ready
newborns on Earth.

The wildebeest have
a scant three weeks

to deliver half a million calves...

who have only minutes
to get up on their feet.

Because the predators--
and the scavengers--

have the migration clock etched
in their genes as well.

For them, this is a weak
and moveable feast.

For the newborns,
it's get going...

or get eaten.

Apprentice killers wait
for their first taste of the chase.

But they're about to learn...

that hell hath no fury
like a zebra protecting her foal.

Older cheetahs know
the value of patience.

Soon the herd will move on.

Hungry eyes turn to one
of the last-born wildebeest,

just learning to kick up its heels.

[calf bleating]

Serengeti vultures have timed
their breeding cycles

so their young can share
this bounty.

[vultures squawking]

Five out of six wildebeest calves
won't make it through their first year.

Only the fit--and the lucky--
will inherit the relay race of their lives.

lt is a race that is
increasingly endangered,

like many of the world's
great migrations.

Climate change disrupts
weather patterns...

and exploding human populations
encroach on their ancient paths.

But today they take up
their relentless legacy.

To move...chasing the rains.

[thunder]

Rain.

Wherever it falls,
life waits for it, yearns for it--

and above all, moves
according to its whims.

Water from the skies is a reminder
to all land-dwelling species

that their origins
were in the seas.

And nowhere is this
more remarkably played out

than on a tiny island
in the lndian Ocean

called Christmas lsland.

Deep in the forests--

far from the shores where
any sensible crustacean should be--

red crabs the size of dinner plates
hear the call of the monsoon.

lt's time to return
to the seas of their birth.

With the humidity soaring,
their moisture-dependent lungs

can now function beyond
the damp confines of the forest.

The males go first.

Like generals at the head
of a red tank division,

they begin their clicking,
yearly march to breed.

Millions of generations have
engineered these crabs for life on land--

but their young
must hatch in the ocean.

lt's a brutal, month-long migration--
up to five miles--

an ultra-marathon for a crab.

The cruel sun makes its appearance,
threatening them with dehydration.

And they face a gauntlet of roads
crisscrossing the island.

They stop only to nourish
themselves wherever--

and however--they can.

For those who have made it this far,
a more horrible fate awaits.

Yellow crazy ants.

Aliens accidentally introduced
by cargo ships.

Now super-colonies of billions
terrorize the migrating crabs.

The ants attack...spraying acid
into their mouths and eyes.

Blinding them...

leaving them helpless.

ln the 1990s, the crazy ants slashed
the crab population by a third,

from 80 million to 50 million.

Beyond the ants
lies a dizzying descent.

40 feet straight down
to the beach.

Now the males face
the waters of their birth.

They dip into the ocean to restore
their bodies with salts and moisture.

But these land crabs
are air-breathers...

and the lndian Ocean
plays no favorites

with her prodigal sons.

Ravenous triggerfish
seize the luckless.

An unceremonious end
to an epic quest.

For the surviving males,
the odyssey has just begun.

The females will arrive within days--

urged on by celestial forces,

demanding they reach the males
and the sea in time.

Like the crabs, creatures around the globe
are moving to the music of the spheres.

They register the sun, the moon,
the earth's magnetic field...

and move at their bidding.

Even the navigational feats
of the most delicate of creatures

beggar the imagination...

and confound our understanding.

And in tiny slices
of endangered Mexican forest--

hundreds of millions of the world's
most astounding navigators are stirring.

These monarch butterflies
have waited patiently through the winter,

barely moving, for the sun
to tell them it's time.

They stream to water
to slake a winter-long thirst.

Water that will bring
spring's sexual awakening.

Males pluck females from the trees
like reluctant flowers.

And they mate.

Then, the brilliant masses
take to the wing,

heading to a place
they've never been.

Their only map--
imprinted on their genes.

A mysterious interplay of sun
on eyes and antennae--

an uncanny sense of magnetic north
guides the way.

lt will take five months
for three generations

to get the species
as far north as Canada...

and a fourth super-generation
to get them back to Mexico.

Such a multi-generational migration
is incredibly rare.

lt takes the leading generation
three weeks

to fly 500 miles
into the southern U.S.

These intrepid elders sense
that death is approaching fast.

There is urgency now
to pass on the migratory baton.

The female, having carried
her eggs from Mexico,

now searches for the monarch's
life-giving grail:

The milkweed sprouting all around.

Her offspring will be laid on it,
hatch on it, nurse on its toxic milk,

and become toxic themselves...

a defense they will flaunt
with their singular beauty.

She is dying--

but with luck, her children,
grandchildren and great-grandchildren

will carry on the journey
as far north as Canada...

and then an astounding 2,000 miles
back to Mexico.

For the delicate monarch,
it may as well be a trip to the moon.

And yet somehow they do it,

their tiny bodies attuned
to a seasonal sundial

and resonating to the invisible signature
of the earth's core--

its magnetic field.

Around the planet,
animals large and small

are responding to these forces,

as palpable to them as they are
indecipherable to us.

And far out to sea,
the largest brains on Earth

fix on these mysterious cues.

The male sperm whale--
a creature of superlatives.

lt is the largest toothed predator
alive today--

weighing up to 50 tons.

lt dives deeper and faster
than any other whale.

And it undertakes some
of the greatest journeys.

ln a lifetime, this whale
may log a million nautical miles.

The males often circle
the Arctic to feast.

But for the species to survive,
their paths must intersect

with the females' own
astounding journeys--

coursing warmer waters.

Many will meet in the Azores...

nine tiny islands where clashing currents
create an explosion of life.

A mother ushers her newborn calf
into coastal waters...

guided by sun, sea currents

and perhaps even magnetic sensors
in her brain.

She also navigates by sonar,

bouncing her clicks and creaks
off the sea floor.

[clicking]

Some of the loudest sounds
made by any creature on Earth.

Females travel in family groups,
sometimes leading their young

on yearly wanderings
of up to 20,000 miles.

Each day, they gather
to reaffirm their bonds.

They seem to crave
physical contact.

Finally, the mothers disperse--
to feed in shifts.

They leave their calves
for up to 40 minutes of every hour.

They may dive up to two miles

for a daily catch of 300 pounds
of octopus and squid.

[whale clicking]

This calf, too young to dive,
tracks his mother closely from above,

listening intently
for her signature clicks.

[clicking]

Chunks of octopus rise to the surface
from the matriarchs hunting below,

like breadcrumbs
leading back to safety.

From the depths,
mother finally returns.

All of his young life, the calf
has been on the move.

Now his mother and aunts
seem to be waiting for something big.

Unknown to the calf,

he's about to be welcomed
into a world of giants--

a world rarely seen
and little understood.

Migrations are journeys of attrition--

Darwinian in the extreme.

A quarter of a million wildebeest
will die in their yearly odyssey.

ln the sun burnt Serengeti,

hunger keeps the wildebeests
thundering northward,

following the rain.

A collective intelligence
keeps the herd on track.

Neighbor leading neighbor
along ancestral paths.

Testosterone drives young males

to flaunt their strength,
fleetness and stamina.

The plain is awash in hormones...

and young male ostriches
gyrate in outlandish displays.

[crickets chirping]

But most of the march
is a blistering slog...

with patient scavengers and predators
knowing some will falter.

[wildebeest snorting]

One of the last born,

his young body exhausted
beyond measure,

simply cannot carry on.

His mother, caught between
the pull of maternity

and the need to survive,

waits, urges...

and gives up.

lt's a grim end to a short life.

But many of the surviving calves
will face a more terrifying death.

ln the Mara River,
another migration is culminating.

Crocodiles have memorized

when and where the wildebeest
will try to cross.

They have gathered
in massive numbers--

waiting, watching...

and hungering for what's to come.

While the wildebeest migration
has converged

on a small crossroad
of terror versus hunger...

the monarch butterfly migration
has spread to fill a continent.

The second and third
generations of monarchs

have been moving
progressively north.

They have fanned out
across North America--

and the migration has reached
its tipping point.

lt's August--

time for the super-generation
to be born--

and to take the species
all the way back to Mexico.

Tattered females alight,

their brilliance dimmed
by the arduous flight.

One by one, the female
lays her 200 eggs.

She deposits them
on the leaves of milkweed,

ensuring the hatchlings
will have a ready supply of food

to fuel the marathon ahead.

These new travelers
will be different,

living ten times longer
than their parents.

Only longevity and uncanny endurance
can take them back to Mexico--

this time in a single generation.

lt takes four days
for the larva to emerge.

lt gorges on its own egg case...

before turning to tender milkweed.

lt must grow fat,
build up its reserves

for the long migration ahead.

After two weeks of manic feasting,

its body mass now 2,000 times
what it was at birth,

the caterpillar is ready.

Anchored by silk...
it begins its miracle.

Over the next two weeks,

the caterpillar literally dissolves
into a bag of rich fluid.

lts cells sprout anew,

giving rise to wings, legs, antennae.

And then...

After a scant few hours,
it's ready to fly.

This is a creature
truly born to move.

Born to outstrip its parents'
and grandparents' heroic efforts--

carrying aloft the genetic hopes
of a species.

lncredibly, more than a billion
super-monarchs are now taking off.

And for the first time
in four generations...

they are heading south...

heading for their winter home.

[loon wails]

On Christmas lsland,

a different kind of homecoming
preparation has begun.

The males, though exhausted
by their long pilgrimage,

are readying snug burrows

before the demanding females arrive
in search of nursery-ready homes.

Having dipped in the ocean
to renew themselves,

the bright-red would-be mothers
seek out the males.

Once entwined, the tangle
may last half an hour.

When she's ready,
the female disengages

and descends into her den.

The male, duty done, begins
the long trek back to the forest.

But for the female,
the odyssey has just begun.

ln darkness, she produces
up to 100,000 glistening eggs--

and broods them
for 12 or 13 days...

waiting for the cue
that drives her entire migration:

The waning moon...

and the resulting mild tides.

Eggs stowed in abdominal sacs,

the females make
a clattering dash to the sea.

Here, on the moonlit beaches
of their own birth,

they brace themselves
at the water's edge

and release their offspring...

in an antic dance
born of instinct and desperation.

Many will drown in their frenzy
to launch their eggs seaward.

Most years, only a handful
of their offspring survive.

But sometimes, if wind and sea
and luck are with them...

a tidal wave of tiny crablings
will return to these shores.

There's no way to predict
if this will be...

the year of the crab.

Far out in the Atlantic Ocean,

a cacophony of clicks
announces the return of titans.

[whales clicking]

Mother and calf listen intently.

Only she knows
what these clicks mean.

The males have arrived...

stupendous, battle-scarred bulls--

back from epic wanderings.

The oldest may be 70 years old

and have traveled 60 times
the circumference of the earth.

Most of the time, utterly alone.

Now gentle greetings take place.

The whales seem to revel
in displays of affection.

Young males bounce sounds
off each other,

sizing up the competition...

in more ways than one.

The curious calfjoins in.

Soon there may be violence--
as males joust to win female affections.

But for now, everyone
enjoys a touching reunion.

The calf, out of his depth
among these goliaths,

returns to the mentoring eye
of his mother.

He may not leave her
for another ten years,

to join other young males
in wandering bachelor groups.

And he may be 40

before he masters
the global oceans on his own.

lt's September in North America--

and over one billion monarchs
have been winging their way south,

racing to get to Mexico
before the first frost.

By soaring on wind currents,

they save enormous
amounts of energy,

and about half will survive
the 2,000-mile journey.

Their flashy coloration
signals their toxic nature.

But some predators
can withstand the toxins...

like the praying mantis.

After more than two months
and up to 900 hours of flying,

the survivors begin to flutter
into their wintering grounds

in late October.

Hundreds of millions of them
now alight

on this threatened patch
of Mexican forest.

They cluster in the same grove,
sometimes even the same tree,

as the great-grandparents
who started this strange odyssey.

Finally...they can rest.

For another five months,
they will cling to this winter refuge...

entering a sort of waking trance
of energy conservation...

until the longer days of spring
awaken them again to mate...

and pass along to the young
their migratory imperative...

to fill the skies with
a sun-spangled yearning to move...

to start the whole glorious,
impossible journey...once again.

On the other side of the world,

another spectacular generation
of nomads is about to hatch.

Over the next three weeks,
the red crab eggs will drift

in the perilous nursery
of the lndian Ocean...

and morph into larvae.

Most years, the larvae
never make it home,

swept away by ocean currents...

or devoured by fish.

But once or twice every decade,

a confluence of mild weather
and scarce predators

gives birth to a moving miracle.

By the millions, they pour
over the beaches of their birth

like a living pink tide.

They shed their larval casing--
becoming air breathers.

And retrace their parents'
tortuous course--

guided only by instincts
encoded deep in their DNA.

From this moment on,
they are migrants.

Compelled to move.

No matter what.

The merciless yellow crazy ants
take a terrible toll.

But by sheer force of numbers--
and the inexorable will of their genes--

they prevail.

That is the fierce logic
of migrations.

But what is logical for the many...

can be madness for the few.

At the Mara River...
the madness has begun.

The crocodiles, from long experience,
know who to target...

the young.

Calves strain to stay
by their mothers' sides...

to no avail.

[wildebeest bellowing]

Powerful, sharp hooves descend
on the reptiles again and again.

On the far banks, wrenching scenes
of those who almost made it...

watched helplessly
by distraught mothers.

[calf bellowing]

But there is desperation here
for the crocs as well.

Eat well now, and they may survive
leaner times for months, even a year.

lt's easy to forget that death
is as vital to the herd as life.

The young emerge from this brutal baptism
stronger and wiser.

Battered but unbroken,
they exude the will to live.

They will continue
to chase the rains

and face down the crocs
for the rest of their lives.

Moving in masses...

Every year, new generations are born
into lives of perpetual motion...

maiden flights fine-tuned
by sunlit antennae...

young giants resonating
to the earth's cues...

red battalions of moon-dancing mothers
and skittering pink spirits...

compelled by the courage
of numbers...

and the guts of the one...

led most of all by the earth herself,
who whispers to all:

Move...

move...

and live.