All language subtitles for wild1

In my long life,

I've been lucky enough to travel
to almost every part of the globe

and gaze upon some of its most
beautiful and dramatic sights.

But I can assure you that
nature in these islands,

if you know where to look,
can be just as dramatic

and spectacular as anything
that I've seen elsewhere.

The British Isles are globally
important for nature.

In this series, we'll show you
why that is so...

...and celebrate the wonders
of these islands

that we call home.

This is Wild Isles.

Muckle Flugga.

The very far north
of the British Isles.

170 miles from mainland Scotland,

at the northern tip
of the Shetland Islands,

it's home to some of our richest
marine and birdlife.

These rough waters are patrolled
by our largest marine predator.

Orca - killer whales.

Three pods of them, having spent
the winter fishing for herring

off Iceland, regularly return
to Shetland's waters each spring.

They do so for one
particular reason.

Thousands of common and grey seals
live here.

The waters are full of food

and there are plenty of gullies
and channels that offer safety...

...most of the time.

The orca that come here have
a particular taste for seals.

And they have developed
a unique way of catching them.

Their strategy is one of surprise.

They have discovered how to travel
up channels in the kelp

to reach the shallow water
where seals often hide.

No gully is left unchecked.

The orca turn on their side,
so that their dorsal fin

doesn't break the surface
and reveal their presence.

A seal.

It stays close to the rocks,

where a large orca would
find swimming difficult.

It hides and waits for the danger
to pass.

The orca bide their time.

Their best chance is to find
a seal asleep in the water...

...like this one.

It wakes up and flees,
but there's a pup here, too.

The orca takes its catch
out into open water

and there shows younger members
of the pod how to drown it.

The whole group now share the catch.

Nothing will be wasted.

Shetland is the only place
in Britain and Ireland

where orca breed.

Just one of the many remarkable
creatures that inhabit our seas,

lands and skies.

One reason why our natural world
is so rich comes from its geology -

amongst the most varied to be
found anywhere on the planet...

...from the chalk cliffs and downs
of southern England

to the limestone pavements
of Yorkshire...

...from the rugged whinstone cliffs
of Durham

to the volcanic basalt
of the Giant's Causeway

in Northern Ireland.

Each kind of rock creates
its own landscape

with its own community
of animals and plants.

Another reason our nature is
so diverse is our varied climate.

In the north,
it can be very cold indeed.

A thousand metres up in Scotland's
Cairngorm Mountains.

Winter here can be truly arctic...

...with temperatures dropping
to -27 degrees centigrade.

These peaks in the Highlands
are patrolled

by one of our most spectacular
birds of prey...

...the golden eagle.

They were once widespread
across Britain and Ireland,

but today almost all
of our 500 or so pairs

nest here in Scotland.

Now, however, after years
of persecution,

golden eagle numbers
are on the rise.

Within their territory,
there is clear evidence

of how precious our few remaining
wild places are.

There are now only remnants
of the vast ancient forest

that once covered
most of the Highlands.

The Caledonian Forest is the only
native coniferous woodland

left in Britain.

It's less than 1%
of its original extent.

Only 13% of Britain as a whole
is covered by trees.

That's one of the lowest proportions
in the whole of Europe.

Our oak trees, however,
are globally important.

England alone has more ancient oaks

than the whole of Europe
put together.

And over three-quarters of them
are more than 500 years old.

In the grounds of Blenheim Palace
in Oxfordshire

stands the oldest oak tree
in Britain.

It's 1,046 years old

and began its life
before the Norman Conquest.

Oak trees, throughout their long
lives, provide food and shelter

for over 2,300 different species
of plants and animals.

As the sun sets, the oak tree's
night shift appears.

Among them, one of the most
charming animals in Britain...

...a dormouse.

She assesses the light levels
outside her nest.

The full moon could be a problem.

But after sleeping all day,
she needs to get out and about.

She has four growing babies
who all depend on her for milk.

But fortunately,
higher up in the oak,

there is a particularly energy-rich
food waiting to be collected.

For us, it would be like climbing
to the top of a skyscraper.

Left alone, the babies begin to
explore the dangerous world

beyond their nest-hole.

Their mother is getting closer
to what she's looking for.

But tawny owls also nest
in oak trees.

She freezes...

...and can stay motionless for
over an hour to avoid detection.

At last, she decides it's safe
to continue her climb.

Now she can smell the plant
that she's looking for...

...honeysuckle.

This is worth the climb.

The flowers are loaded
with sugar-rich nectar.

She bites off the petals to get
to the sweet liquid at their base.

Her young are getting impatient.

One ventures out...

...and starts to explore.

Mother decides that
she's eaten enough.

The baby dormice scuttle back home.

Safe at last.

But for how long?

Dormice were once widespread...

...but now they are largely
restricted to Wales

and southern England.

Spring brings with it one of the
woodlands' greatest spectacles...

...bluebells.

Within only a few days,
the ground is flooded with colour.

More than half the world's
common bluebells

flower in Britain and Ireland.

The peak of their display
coincides with an important event

in the lives of one of
the woodlands' bigger inhabitants.

With a sense of smell that's
much more acute than ours,

a badger in East Sussex
checks that the coast is clear.

Once they're sure that it's safe,

the adults allow their cubs above
ground for the very first time.

Badger clans are tightly knit -

and these young cubs are linked
by scent,

not just to their mother
but to the whole extended family.

Britain is home to over a quarter
of Europe's badgers

and their digging and foraging
has been a major factor

in shaping the forest floor.

Woodlands are complex communities
containing great numbers of species

of plants and mammals,
birds and insects.

But over the decades,
they've been greatly diminished.

In just the last 20 years, 60% of
our flying insects have vanished.

Insects play a crucial role
in pollinating

both our wild flowers and our crops

and they do so in a variety
of remarkable ways.

The flowers of red valerian,
for instance,

store their nectar at the base
of their elongated blooms,

so only a pollinator with very
special mouthparts can drink it.

The hummingbird hawk-moth has just
the right equipment for the job...

...a long tubular proboscis.

These summer visitors can beat
their wings 85 times a second

and need lots of nectar
to fuel the effort of doing so.

Other flowers, like bittersweet,
offer a different reward -

not nectar but pollen,
which is produced

within its tightly-sealed
yellow anthers.

And one insect knows
how to reach it -

a bumblebee.

This female has developed a very
clever way to get at the pollen.

She vibrates her body at exactly
the right frequency

to make the pollen pour out.

The pollen will feed her young,

but some will rub off when she
visits other flowers on her way home

and so fertilise them...

...a win for both flower and bee.

Perhaps the most complicated
pollination technique of all

is that used by a common woodland
plant known as lords-and-ladies.

It produces a very
odd-looking flower...

...with a large purple spike
called a spadix.

In the late afternoon,
the spadix heats up

until it becomes 20 degrees
centigrade hotter

than its surroundings
and releases a foul-smelling scent.

Tiny owl midge-flies,
looking for rotting matter

on which to lay their eggs, find
the stink irresistibly attractive.

But the inner side of the hooded
leaf that surrounds the spadix

is very slippery.

The flies tumble down
into a dungeon...

...the bulbous chamber
at the base of the plant.

The female parts
that need pollinating

are at the bottom of this chamber.

Above them, the male parts
that produce the pollen.

And at the very top, spikey,
slippery, downward-pointing hairs.

These act like the bars of a prison,
trapping the owl-flies below...

...and holding them there overnight.

Trapped, the flies get glued to
the flower's sticky female parts,

transferring any pollen
they may have brought

from other lords-and-ladies.

The flies then eat the now-dried
sweet secretion

and then try to leave,

but the flower will not
release them just yet.

The male flowers above are now ripe
and their pollen bursts out,

showering the flies below.

The prison bars now wilt...

...and the flies are free to go.

For this extraordinary pollination
to be successful,

a fly must escape
this prison twice -

first to be loaded with pollen

and then, once again,
to deliver the pollen

to another lords-and-ladies flower.

Nowhere here is richer in
wild flowers and insect pollinators

than our traditional hay meadows.

Sadly, in the last 60 years,

we've lost 97%
of this precious habitat.

But with nature-friendly farming,

meadows can be restored
to provide a haven for wildlife.

It's all about the timing.

Delaying mowing until mid-July

allows birds and insects
to complete their breeding

and flowers to set their seed.

It also creates opportunities

for those that are ready
to exploit them.

The local foxes
here in Gloucestershire

know these fields very well.

Every year, they follow the farmers
from field to field

as they make hay.

And sometimes the cubs
come with them.

These cubs are only
three months old

and mostly interested in play.

Summer chafers emerging from
the grass are worth eating.

If you can catch them!

But the cubs need to be taught
how to hunt properly.

By September,
they will be on their own,

so their mother shows them how.

Her acute sense of hearing
enables her to detect

even the slightest rustle
in the grass.

By moving her head,

she can pin-point exactly
where the noise is coming from.

And then, silently, she leaps.

At least the cubs will have
something to eat this evening.

Britain and Ireland's position
on the globe

gives us a special importance
for wildlife internationally.

We are in just the right place
to welcome migrants

from the south in summer
and from the north in winter.

Each autumn, around 30,000
barnacle geese arrive

on the Hebridean island of Islay.

They have all come from Greenland,
where they spent the summer.

Some years, half the world
population arrive here,

all attracted by the same food...

...grass.

They feed in groups.

That way, there will always
be some eyes keeping watch.

White-tailed eagles -
our biggest bird of prey.

Once extinct in Britain,

today, up to a dozen
now spend winter on Islay.

But they've been spotted.

The eagles must select
a particular bird as a target.

They're testing the geese,
trying to identify a weak one.

After a journey
of almost 2,000 miles,

some will be particularly exhausted.

But the eagles haven't
chosen one yet.

At low tide, out on the estuary,
the geese come down.

Even here, the eagles don't
let them rest for long.

A young, inexperienced eagle
tries his luck...

...driving them on again.

The youngster keeps the flock
on the move.

One exhausted goose, however,
gets left behind.

Another young eagle swoops in.

In the confusion,
the goose manages to fly off.

But neither of the eagles
is going to give up now.

As the goose turns,

it loses one of its pursuers.

Now it's just a one-on-one.

The goose is so heavy, the young
eagle has to struggle to hold on.

This young bird and all the other
white-tailed eagles here on Islay

have only learnt
how to hunt barnacle geese

in the last ten years.

Across Britain and Ireland,

our mild climate attracts more than
half a million geese each winter...

...making us a vital refuge for
these long-distance travellers.

Here in Britain, we have one of
the rarest habitats on Earth -

chalk streams.

There are only about 200
chalk streams in the world

and 85% of them flow
through southern England.

Their waters, rising through chalk
and flowing over it,

are rich in minerals and oxygen.

This creates the right conditions
for water-crowfoot

that each summer produces
floating carpets of white flowers.

Above them fly
banded demoiselle damselflies -

slimmer relatives of dragonflies.

These, with dark patches
on their wings, are the males,

and they are an iridescent blue.

The more metallic-green ones
with plain, unmarked wings

are the females.

To attract a female,
a male must secure a patch

of healthy floating leaves
on which she can lay her eggs.

The male declares his ownership of
a patch by flaunting his wings...

...before returning
to a nearby perch.

But other males want both
his territory and the female,

and they are willing to fight.

He's outnumbered.

In the chaos, he returns
to his perch,

watched closely by the female.

This time, he invites her down
to view his patch of leaves...

...and settles on the water surface,

showing her that the oxygen-rich
waters are flowing well,

which will be vital for her eggs.

She's impressed.

Mating, however,
is a complicated business.

First, he grasps her firmly
by the neck

and carefully removes
any rival's sperm.

Then he collects his own sperm
from an opening near his head

and transfers it to her.

Once mated, the female flies to his
patch of leaves to lay her eggs.

And the male joins her
to guard her from his rivals.

They barge in and try
and pull the couple apart,

for it's still not too late for them
to mate with this female themselves.

But she has an escape route...

...under the water.

A silver layer of bubbles
allows her to breathe

while she's beneath the surface.

She cuts into the plant stems
with her sharp ovipositor

and starts to inject her eggs,

producing more than 400
in under an hour.

Mission accomplished.

To breed in this way,
the damsels require clean,

free-flowing fresh water...

...as do other animals
that live in chalk streams...

...our native brown trout
and minnows.

These small fish are preyed upon
by one of our loveliest birds.

We often hear them...

...but usually get only a glimpse,
a flash of electric blue.

Kingfishers speed along rivers
at 30mph.

Each claims a particular
stretch of river

which can be over two miles long.

Fishing territories
are vigorously defended

and a male will only share one
with his partner.

Just to stay alive,

this female must eat over half
her body weight each day.

If they have chicks,
a pair of kingfishers

must catch a further
70 fish every day.

The coastline of Britain and Ireland
is over 22,000 miles long

and our seas are amongst
the richest in Europe.

Because of this, our sea bird
colonies are among the biggest

and most spectacular to be found
anywhere on the planet.

Bass Rock in Scotland's
Firth of Forth

is the largest gannet colony
in the world...

...with 75,000 pairs
returning here each year.

Our waters, in fact,
support nearly 70%

of the northern gannet's
global population.

At the height of summer, the whole
of Bass Rock is jam-packed,

with two nests
to every square metre.

Male and female spend the
winter apart, far out at sea.

But in spring, they return
to their breeding grounds,

and each couple re-establish
their partnership

with a delicate courtship display.

It takes over three months
to rear a chick

and, during that time, both parents
will make hundreds of trips

to collect food.

On average, each feeding trip
is over 140 miles long...

...but, on occasion,
they may travel as far as 600 miles.

The gannet's immense journeys
are only possible

because they bring their catch home
in their stomachs.

Mackerel and herring are
the gannet's favourite food...

...though the size of a portion
can be a bit of a problem for some.

Another much smaller fish is also
very important to our sea birds.

Sand eels are only 30cm long,

but they occur in vast shoals.

They're a critical link
in the food chains

of a whole range
of different sea birds.

Lesser sand eels are
the favourite prey of puffins.

Almost half a million
of these lovable birds

come to our coast each summer,
mostly to islands such as these -

the Farnes off Northumberland.

Puffins mate for life and pairs
use the same burrow every year.

Here, they raise a single chick
called a puffling.

Unlike gannets, the journeys
they make for food

are usually shorter.

Their broad bills
enable them to carry

remarkably large numbers
of sand eels.

But their catch is always
temptingly visible.

Herring gulls are twice
the size of a puffin.

But the greatest threat
to puffins on this island

comes from a smaller gull...

...the black-headed gull.

They are not strong enough
to grab a puffin in the air.

They have to use another technique.

They try to snatch the sand eels
right out of the puffin's beak.

This puffin escapes.

But the problem is that
this burrow is not his.

And the gulls seem to know that.

He can't stay down there for long.

This little puffin is determined
that these sand eels

are for his chick and nobody else.

Made it!

Here off the coast of Pembrokeshire,

puffin numbers have been
steadily increasing.

Today, nearly 40,000 return to
this tiny island every summer.

But Skomer is an exception.

Most of our puffin colonies
are in decline.

Over-fishing and climate change
mean the sand eels

they depend on
are increasingly hard to find.

It's a clear example of just
how fragile and fragmented

our nature is.

Though rich in places,
Britain as a whole

is one of the most nature depleted
countries in the world.

Never has there been
a more important time

to invest in our own wildlife,

to try and set an example
for the rest of the world

and restore our once wild isles
for future generation.

To film orca hunting seals,

the Wild Isles team
travelled to Shetland.

The plan was to find and follow
one particular pod...

...a family of eight individuals
known as the 27s.

As Shetland's biggest pod,
they were the team's best chance

to film a hunt.

They had a fast boat, modified to
carry a stabilised camera system...

...and drones to give them
a far-reaching eye in the sky.

But finding the pod in this vast
territory was not going to be easy.

So the crew enlisted
local knowledge.

I just messaged my wife
and asked her the, erm...

How big is Shetland's coastline?

And she wrote back to me
and said it's 2,700km.

And we're looking for basically
a pod of eight animals

in 2,700km of coast.

It suddenly dawned on me...

...the enormity of what
we're trying to do.

Richard has vital extra help,

a WhatsApp group of 250 islanders

who regularly update each other
on their sightings.

Without all these eyes
looking and picking up

and posting on social media,
I think it would be very difficult

to follow these killer whales.

Orca can travel 100 miles a day
in their search for food.

They can appear anywhere
on Shetland's coast at any time.

So the strategy was to spend
as much time at sea as possible

to be able to react quickly
to any sightings.

Three weeks,
they haven't been anywhere...

...seen anywhere in Shetland,
this pod.

It's quite difficult to film
a killer whale sequence

without killer whales.

There's literally nothing more
we can do

than go out, search every day,
hope that the phone rings

and someone else has seen it
or we find them.

And the challenge was made
even greater

when thick fog made navigating
the islands near impossible.

Well, the weather changes
pretty quickly up here.

We were in glorious, becalmed,
blue sky, flat water conditions

about two hours ago.

We've just started our journey back
and we've come into this bank of fog

and it's completely
surrounded the boat.

There are no reference points
out here now.

Time was running out.

With just a few days left,
Richard finally got a call

from one of the islanders.

Right. Cheers, cheers.

What's just happened?

They've got two bulls
coming down Bluemull Sound,

heading south towards Fetlar.

The team raced to catch up
with the orca.

Oh, they're there!
To the right, to the right.

They've gone under us.
They're right behind you.

Oh, one's in front. They've split.
One either side of the boat.

They got in position ahead of the
bulls and waited for them to pass.

Look at the size of that dorsal fin!

Sadly, the excitement
was short lived.

It's not the 27s,
which is the family group

we were hoping to catch up with,
but it is killer whales.

After a month of effort,
they had run out of time that year.

And the following year saw a new
team, a new boat and a new plan.

Basing themselves on land,
the team could be more reactive.

When the orca do turn up,
we need to drop everything

and go and try and find them,

and the quickest way to do that
on this island

is to tow the boat to where
we think they're about to be

based on the last sightings.

That means that we have to
know our slipways,

but quite a few of them are covered
in this green slimy weed.

For the crew, this meant
regular cleaning duty.

With the slipways weed-free, they
could test the new camera set-up.

This time, they mounted
the camera on a jib

to move it more quickly
into position.

After two weeks with no sightings,
it felt like a replay

of last year's bad luck.

But, once again, the network
of islanders came to the rescue.

Second-hand information,
but some orca were seen

about 10km from here
at 8:00pm last night.

We just got the text this morning
at 7:00am.

Tipped off that a pod of orcas
was close,

the team could quickly
catch up with them.

But it wasn't the 27s.

It's the 19 pod with an individual
in it called Mousa,

which is quite
a well-known individual.

But she was last seen on Friday

with the 27 pod in Orkney.

So we're now on Sunday
and she's here,

so does that mean
the 27 pod is here?

The team stuck around, hoping
the pods were travelling together.

There they are! There they are,
there they are, in the bay.

In the bay here. Yeah,
the other side of the skerries.

Can we just spin round, please?

It's took patience
and determination,

but after two years of effort,

the crew finally caught up
with the 27 pod.

We are here right now on the 27s,
which is our best pod,

because one of the guys
working on the ferry saw them,

posted it on WhatsApp.

We were five minutes away
and we were straight onto it.

The pod soon lived up
to their promise

and began to hunt along the coast.

Using the drone, the team could
follow as the pod spread out,

searching every inch
of the shoreline.

From the boat,
the stabilised camera rig

allowed them to film
the action close-up.

That was carnage. All so fast.

It just goes crazy.

Yeah, a really crazy hunt. Just...

...bonkers. Just, like, chaos.

After two years of filming and
thanks to the network of islanders

and Richard's expertise,
the team were finally able

to capture this extraordinary
hunting behaviour.

Three months after returning from
Shetland, there was some sad news.

A young male orca from the 27 pod
was found dead, washed up onshore.

A postmortem revealed
he had drowned

after becoming entangled
in fishing gear.

Each year, dozens of whales
and dolphins die in this way.

But since filming,
three new calves have been spotted,

the youngest belonging to the 27s.

We must do everything we can
to ensure that our waters

are safe and welcoming for these
rare and special visitors.

Next time...

...woodland -
ruled by the seasons...

...home to dramatic battles...

...and hitherto unseen spectacles.

The Open University
has produced a free poster

exploring our wild isles and
their diverse habitat and species.

Order your copy by calling

or go to bbc.co.uk/wildisles

and follow the links
to the Open University.

If you'd like to play your part
in restoring our wild isles

and learn more about
what you can do to help,

just search Wild Isles
on the BBC website.