All language subtitles for The Crowns Ancient Forest [2021] [1080p] ENG

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Hi, I'm Hugh Bonneville.

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I'm about to take you on
a journey into the heart

of southern England
to an ancient forest

that's changed little
since the last ice age.

Its woodlands and heaths
are full of wildlife,

among them, five
different species of deer.

That's why back in the 11th
century, William the Conqueror,

then king of England,
claimed these lands

as his own private
hunting ground.

I can remember coming here
as a child and marveling

at the sight of wild ponies
galloping across the heath.

You're about to witness
one of Britain's treasures.

The real magic of a
year in the New Forest.

This is a special land.

A place of gentle mists
alive with the atmosphere

of days gone by.

Where the dragon-eyed
goshawk rules

the evergreen canopy
from its lofty nest.

And the understory below
is home to bold fox cubs

and fighting fallow deer.

It's a special
place to grow up in.

But old England can
spring many a surprise

for these children
of the New Forest.

Weather is fickle and
can change in an instant.

Like wild creatures everywhere,

these animals will
need more than luck

to see them through
this one magical year

in the Crown's ancient forest.

Sometimes March can
bring a breath of spring,

but not this year.

A freezing blast
from the east forces

the wild ponies into a huddle.

These compact little horses
embody the spirit of the forest.

They're all mares and most
are expecting spring foals.

Ponies have lived here
for thousands of years.

They're a distinct breed
native to southern England.

They shaped the
landscape by grazing,

keeping the clearings open
and the trees in check.

The ponies await
the return of spring

and a reawakening
of the heathland.

April is just around
the corner.

A chestnut mare pulls away
from the herd seeking solitude.

Heavy with foal, she's
heading into the heart of the wood.

In the quiet secret
hours of the morning

her foal is born.

Just hours old, the newborn
shivers in the chill

of this special morning.

He's vulnerable lying
like this.

He rises shakily.

And first touch seals
their special bond.

This young pony is
one of a lucky band.

Not many foals get to run
wild in a rich place like this.

His home, the New
Forest National Park,

nestles in southern England
not far from London.

It's a patchwork of
ancient woodland,

boggy areas known as mires,

and the largest area
of rare lowland heath

in all of Western Europe.

Covering over 150 square
miles it stretches

from Salisbury Plain
to the Solent strait

which joins the English Channel.

It was originally established
as a royal hunting ground

by the 11th century
Kings of England.

There's no hunting here anymore,

but the land remains
unplowed and unfenced,

enabling all animals
to roam freely.

People make a living here, too.

They're called the commoners.

Locals who've inherited
an ancient right to graze

their livestock in the forest.

3,000 head of cattle
are in their charge.

They also own the
free-ranging ponies.

More than 5,000 of them.

Most male ponies have just
one year to run wild and free

before being rounded up
and taken off the forest.

Only a handful of stallions
will be selected to run

with the mares and sire
foals of their own,

but that's a long
way off for now.

As the rising sun breeds
much needed warmth

into the wild wood, it's
time for mother and foal

to meet the herd,
their close kin.

How the colt develops now
will determine his future.

The early signs are good.

He seems confident,
walking and trotting well.

In William the Conqueror's
day,

he would have needed this
pace to outrun predators

like wolves and lynx,
but they're long gone.

There's peace in
the forest today.

Spring is still proving cold
in the New Forest this year,

but nothing can halt the
advance of the breeding season.

Hidden in a towering stand
of conifers, a rare goshawk,

the bird with dragon red eyes,

warms her three
newly hatched chicks.

In the cool air their
soft down isn't enough

to protect them for
long without her.

Piercing calls alert her
to her partner's return.

The New Forest is a
goshawk stronghold,

close to 5% of the entire
UK population lives here.

For the first two weeks
of the chicks' lives,

the burden of hunting
falls entirely

on the much smaller male.

His territory spans more
than 14 square miles

of conifer forest and
ancient oak woods.

His every moment is focused
on providing for his family.

A favorite of falconers, his
ancestors would have flown

with royal hunting
parties here.

It's his second kill
of the day.

Just days old, the chicks
aren't strong enough

to feed themselves.

But even now they're in
a serious competition

with each other.

If the food supply decreases,
the smallest will perish.

Already the first
born dominates.

The male must keep hunting
to keep all three alive.

The foal is now two days old.

Still stiff from 11
months in the womb,

he's finding his legs.

There's a whole new world
out there to explore.

A character is already emerging.

He's bright and curious.

Good signs.

Young horses eat
solid food early,

almost as soon as they
can walk,

but learning what's good is
a matter of trial and error.

Not every plant tastes
as good as it smells.

Pine needles are aromatic,

but too spiky for a
young mouth.

Foxglove is deadly,
best to avoid.

These days of fun and
games won't last long.

His time under his mother's
protection is limited.

To ensure his
place in the forest

he needs to build
strength and spirit fast.

The heady smell of wild
garlic signals warmer days.

A herd of female fallow
deer and their yearlings

hide deep in the wild wood.

They're a tight family
unit generations strong.

For now they keep their
distance from the bucks.

Many will soon give birth.

Hunted here for over
a thousand years,

they still need to be cautious.

Nearby a dog fox has
hungry mouths to feed.

He's no threat to the does,

but a fox can take
a new born fawn.

Playing in the shadow
of their oak tree den,

his seven week old
cubs are just beginning

to make sense of their world.

With five youngsters, the
challenge for this family

is finding enough
food to go round.

Like the goshawks,
these siblings are in

a fight for survival.

Already one cub
dominates and has earned

the right to eat first.

As storm clouds build,
the fickle spring weather

makes raising a family
all the more difficult.

Prolonged cold and wet can
kill vulnerable youngsters.

The chestnut mare leads her
foal into the lee of the woods

trying to protect him from
the approaching storm.

Winds lash the forest
with brutal gusts

40 miles an hour strong.

Rocking in their
large tree nursery,

there's real danger
for the goshawk chicks.

Nests are lost every year in
spring storms like this one.

With dawn, calm returns
to the New Forest.

The goshawks'
choice of nest site,

protected by the
encircling canopy,

has seen the chicks through
the overnight storm.

For these rare hawks
once persecuted almost

to extinction by 19th
century game keepers,

each youngster is precious.

But at the forest's edge,
the storm has claimed a victim.

A bereaved mother calls
for her lost young.

Just a few feathers are all
that remain of her brood.

But one family's tragedy
is another's good fortune.

This scavenged meal
could offer a lifeline

to the fox family.

In May the wild
woods transform with

a carpet of sweet bluebells.

The bracken growls tall,

giving cover to a
newly born fallow deer.

The fawn will stay
here almost motionless

for at least a week.

The mother keeps her distance,

ensuring the hiding
place remains secret.

Her bark warns the
newborn: danger.

Hidden in the bracken
the fallow deer fawn

is down wind of the fox, so
can't be detected by smell.

She must simply lay low.

The dog fox's struggle to hunt

is having serious consequences.

Five cubs have now
become three.

Now nine weeks old, the
cubs will soon be weaned.

The dominant cub's
natural tenacity

is already forging his destiny.

He'll be the first
to feed if his father

finds success elsewhere.

The dog fox may have
failed in the forest,

but perhaps the open heath
will yield better results.

For a few months
ground nesting birds

are easy pickings here.

The New Forest is one of
the few places in the south

of England where
curlews come to breed.

Their nests no more than a
depression on the ground.

But as their numbers
decline due to habitat loss

and human disturbance, it's
getting harder for the fox.

Curlews aren't
the only rarity here.

The lowland heath is a
sanctuary for many creatures

that depend on this habitat.

A rare sand lizard hides
in a miniature forest

of early flowering heather.

Fresh from his spring
molt and adorned

with a smartly burnished
skim of vivid green,

this male is hoping
to impress a female.

A wiggle of her tail
signals she's ready

and their courtship begins
with a rapid pursuit.

He bites her, a signal
he's ready to mate.

As their name suggests,
the lizards lay their eggs

in patches of sandy soil.

She'll bury them there to
be warmed by the sun's rays

in the first leg of their
cold blooded journey through life.

By June, the foal is
looking less like a baby.

Now two months old and
increasingly independent,

he's learning to socialize.

In a foretaste of
what's to come,

he tries to dominate
a young filly.

They may be reunited
in the future,

but only if the young
male makes the grade.

Each year, the commoners
pick just a handful of colts

to raise as breeding
stock to maintain

the pure New Forest bloodline.

These adult stallions are
let loose in the forest

for nine weeks only to
sire the next generation.

The young foal's future
will be decided long before

his first birthday.

100 feet up in their
conifer nursery

the three goshawk
chicks are doing well.

So far food supplies
have been good this year.

They're all a decent
size and adult feathers

are now peeping
through their down.

The demands are
growing on the parents.

Both adults now
hunt round the clock

from the farthest limits
of their territory.

The male brings
in a young robin,

then heads straight
back out to hunt

in the distant oak woods.

Hunting further afield
ensures that when the chicks

finally fledge they'll
have a ready supply

of prey close to the nest.

The summer solstice
is fast approaching.

With the forest at
its most verdant,

the rule of light is
now in the ascendant.

After weeks of concealment,

the fallow deer fawn finally
emerges from the bracken.

In a woodland clearing
the sisterhood of does

welcomes her into the herd.

Gathered with the other
youngsters in a forest creche,

many eyes will watch over her.

These days will be the most
carefree of the fawns' lives.

It's early July and the
forest is drying out.

No rain has fallen
for nearly a month.

As the sun sucks
moisture from the earth

the mare's herd gathers
at one of the last

reliable water sources: a
valley bog known as a mire.

These lowland mires formed at
the end of the last ice age.

They're some of the last
of their kind in Europe.

The lifeblood of the New Forest,

this primeval world stays
waterlogged year round.

In the acidic water here,
organic matter no longer breaks

down and over time forms peat.

The mires offer rich
hunting grounds for waders

like snipe and they're home
to almost 30 different species

of damsel and dragonflies.

As temperatures soar, the
mare and foal seek out shade

in the conifer forest.

Lethargic in the heat, the
colt has barely enough energy

to wipe away the flies.

Nearby the goshawk
family has continued

to prosper despite the heat.

All three chicks
are still thriving.

Their white down has now been
almost completely replaced

with flight feathers.

Wing muscles are
getting stronger

and the nest edge wobbles
have turned into longer hops

with a more assured
sense of balance.

All three are starting to
make short practice flights.

At this age, their
sexes become clearer.

The single smaller male
carefully keeps his distance

from his larger, more
aggressive sisters.

To encourage their brood to fly

the parents now limit
their food drops.

But they'll keep a
close watch on them

even once they've fledged

and still bring them
an occasional meal.

This squirrel may be one
of the last offerings

given at the nest.

The bickering continues with
the biggest female chick

claiming the prize.

The little male loses
out again,

but his days of being
picked on are almost over.

Soon he'll try
hunting for himself.

It's now midsummer's day and
the sun endures for 16 hours.

It's time to go.

A new generation of
dragon eyed hawks

stakes its claim to the
hunting ground of kings.

Their parents have
done exceptionally well

to raise three chicks
this year.

A welcome addition for a
species once on the brink.

After weeks of intense heat,

the drought finally breaks.

Quenching the earth's thirst.

The foal seems to
frolic in sheer joy,

reveling at the sensation
of sweet cooling rain.

The stallion in him is
really emerging now.

Headstrong, powerful.

It's time for the mare to
slowly wean him off her milk.

The carefree playtime of
summer is nearly over.

He's just two months
away from the roundup

that will decide his future.

The rain triggers one
of the national park's

most spectacular transformations.

The blooming of the heather.

It offers a rich source
of nectar for insects

like the rare silver
studded blue butterfly.

The ponies graze here, too,

helping to keep the heathland
open and the forest at bay.

Finally free of his sisters,
the male goshawk fledgling

is already confidently
hunting here.

Tiny, newly hatched sand
lizards need to keep

their wits about them.

But it's likely the
young hawk's future

lies far from the New Forest.

The thriving goshawk
population here means

he will almost certainly
seek out a realm

of his own elsewhere,
possibly hundreds of miles away.

The thunder of hooves
brings summer to an end.

It's September and the
commoners have returned

for the annual roundup.

Called The Drift, more than
30 take place across the forest.

It's a tradition started
five centuries ago

when Tudor England faced
the threat of invasion.

With extra horses needed, New
Forest ponies were rounded up

by Royal command and
pressed into service

for the defense of the realm.

Today, the drifts enable
the commoners to check

their ponies' health
and to remove some

of the colts from the forest.

Many will become riding ponies.

For now, the foal escapes,

but his time in the
forest is running out.

As days shorten,
temperatures fall.

The forest transforms
into a sea of gold.

It's a time of plenty
in the ancient woods.

Beech, hazel and oak
shed fruit to offer up

a forest floor banquet.

But too many green acorns
can poison the ponies.

Fortunately, help is at hand.

Pigs have much
stronger stomachs.

Across the forest the
commoners release hundreds

of them every September in a
tradition known as the pannage.

Pigs and ponies aren't
the best of friends,

but the horses have to live
with these piggy neighbors

for 60 days.

Wise to the acorn's
poison, pigs gobble up

the nutritious nuts but
spit out their toxic skins.

The foal has never
seen a pig before

and he's not at all
sure about them,

but it seems the pigs
are in a playful mood

so the ponies will need to
get used to their antics,

for the next few
weeks, at least.

Concealed in the
fading bracken,

a young fox gives both pigs
and ponies a wide berth.

In search of earthworms,
he hunts alone,

likely the sole survivor
of the litter born in

the oak wood
earlier in the year.

The biggest challenge for
this youngster lies ahead:

to find a home of his own.

Woodland territories
are fiercely contested

in the New Forest, but as the
strongest cub of the litter,

hopefully his tenacity
will see him through.

As the days shorten
one of the New Forest's

greatest natural
spectacles begins.

The fallow deer rut.

Roaring and strutting,
the mature bucks march

to their rutting stands
just as they have

since the days of
the medieval kings.

Fawns need to be wary.

A collision with 170
pound buck could be fatal.

The bucks, surging
with hormones,

try desperately to
claim the prime patch

of the lekking ground.

Battle commences.

A bout like this can
last for over an hour.

Sheer attrition has worn
the challenger down.

The victor holds firm,
marking the ground with his scent,

staking his claim to the
forest rutting stand.

The old buck has
barely slept for days.

Each female is only in
season for 24 hours.

Over the coming weeks
he will attempt to mate

with as many does as he can.

Starving himself,
there's no time to feed.

By the end of the rut the
bucks are utterly spent.

Many are injured.

It will take them
months to recover.

As winter descends,

another rich year in the
New Forest draws to a close.

The fallow deer have
separated once again.

Many of the does now carrying
the old buck's bloodline

into the future.

The goshawks with
the dragon red eyes

will soon reclaim
their canopy nest

to prepare for another brood.

Perhaps one day their
fledglings will return

to claim these
forests as their own.

Out on the heath, a stallion
colt awaits his destiny.

Independent, brave, and strong,

his days in the New Forest
will soon come to an end.

But he may yet return
as a proud stallion

galloping freely in this
exquisite, timeless forest.

The ancient hunting
ground of kings.

We've had a glimpse
into the secret lives of

so many animals
here in the forest.

It really is a wonderful
haven for British wildlife.

But increasingly this
landscape is under pressure.

The New Forest is one of
Britain's most popular

national parks
with an astonishing

15 million visitors each year.

These numbers can
disturb the animals

and damage their
ancient habitats.

So please let's all play
our part in protecting

this magical place for
future generations to enjoy.