Satoyama: Japan's Secret Water Garden (2004) - full transcript

Imagine a realm where

the seasons' rhythms rule

where centuries of agriculture

and fishing have re-shaped the land

yet where people and nature

remain in harmony.

Sangoro Tanaka lives in just such a paradise.

At 83, he's a guardian of

one of Japan's secret water gardens.

Over a thousand years

towns and villages

have developed a unique system

to make springs and water

part of their homes.

From inside their houses

the stream pours into

Japan's largest freshwater lake

near the ancient capital of Kyoto.

This is a habitat so precious

the Japanese have a special word for it.

"Satoyama" villages

where mountains give way to plains.

They are exceptional environments essential

to both the people who maintain them

and to the wildlife that now share them.

Late February at Lake Biwa

an area 5 times the size of Paris.

Its year has 4 distinct seasons.

Reeds desiccated by winter winds

feel the heat of spring.

They are all that remain.

The rest have gone to make roots or screens.

Flames consume both pest and weed.

The ash will prove a powerful fertilizer.

Destruction creates the very conditions

in which a wide range of species

will eventually flourish.

By April, new shoots sprout.

The tire and smoke have provoked new growth.

Spring puts on its new coat.

Melt water cascades from the mountains

swelling the lake till it brims over.

Parched earth soaks into wetland.

Sudden sounds split the still of the day.

A chain of male carp dance after a female.

Some are longer than a man's arm

but she's bigger still, heavy with eggs.

She releases her eggs up to 200,000 of them

and the males race to fertilize them.

For the rest of the year

these carp inhabit the chill depths of the lake

but to spawn

they must seek warm shallows.

Spring's rising energy is released.

Over 200 carp crowd here today.

The conditions created

by the firing of the marsh

offer an ideal site for breeding.

There are only a few days a year

when so many fish throng here.

Sangoro the fisherman won't miss his chance.

His methods, his 20 year-old boat,

his bamboo pole

all are tried and tested.

It takes years

to really master the art of punting.

The river courses with fresh mountain torrents

but here and there, natural springs

well up from the bottom.

The marsh is a maze

but to Sangoro, it is as familiar as his garden.

He has some 50 traps set in various corners.

The carp are Lake Biwa's spring gift.

Sangoro only fishes from March to June

when the shoals retreat to the lake.

He uses a simple snare,

of traditional materials.

There is not even any bait.

He just sinks the trap

for the fish to swim into.

Where he places it depends on the weather

and where he thinks the fish

will swim that day.

Intuition springs from long experience.

His haul includes other fish as well as carp

as they all flock to spawn in the shallows.

This trap is full of carp called crucians.

With a single trap,

he may net a dozen fish to take home.

As soon Sangoro returns,

he prepares the fish for the table.

The catch is usually sold

or cooked for supper that evening.

But today he is preparing Funazushi.

Funazushi is believed to be how sushi first started

perhaps a thousand years ago.

It's salted and fermented crucian carp and rice.

It smells sour,

and takes a long time to make...

First salt your fish. Stand for 3 months;

mix with boiled rice to ferment.

Leave another six months.

The ingredients, rice and fish,

are the key items of the Japanese diet.

Sangoro's home lies about

2 km inland from the lakeshore.

Water from boreholes under the village

is piped into the houses.

After it's been used,

the water passes into a man-made stream.

What could be a barren canal

teems with hidden life.

As spring gives way to early summer

aquatic plants reach for the sun.

This one takes its name

from the tree- flower it resembles

the plum-flower underwater buttercup.

This little stickleback has no scales

and can only live in the clearest of fresh water.

It normally prefers cold northern currents.

This is the furthest South it is found.

The channel also harbors

some strange-looking creatures.

Brook lampreys - primitive, jaw less fish

that resemble eels.

A river crab discovers

just how slippery lampreys are.

The channel through the village is home

to creatures large and small.

The water sustains people too

and in turn they use it sustainably.

Each home has a built-in pool or water tank

that lies partly inside

partly outside its walls.

In the pool lounge friendly ornamental carp.

A continuous stream of spring water

is piped right into a basin.

So fresh water is always available.

The carp are not purely ornamental.

Nor are they to be eaten.

People rinse out pots in the tanks,

and clean their freshly-picked vegetables.

If they simply pour the food scraps

back in the water

they risk polluting the whole village supply.

However;

carp can scour out even greasy or burnt pans.

They do the washing-up in Satoyama villages.

This traditional arrangement

is called the"riverside" method.

It's used all over Japan.

Cleaned up by the carp,

the tank water eventually rejoins the channel.

For some wildlife

the man-made creek provides

an ideal place to raise young.

Like this variety of freshwater goby

a small fish about as long as a little finger.

The villagers call it"the tiny mud-crawler".

A male is busy excavating a breeding site.

The even bottom supplies a perfect hidey-hole.

As always,

the best locations are highly sought-after.

Here comes another male.

He'd like to move in.

And he's prepared to fight for it.

Both do all they can to look threatening...

Opening their mouths and

erecting their dorsal fins to look bigger.

It's a victory for the sitting tenant.

There's another goby behind him.

She's hanging upside down,

and she's laying eggs.

The victory over the den

gave her a place to spawn in safety.

The old, simple life of Satoyama communities

is attracting some young Japanese

back from the cities.

It's June.

4 months after hungry flames licked the air.

Reeds that rose from the ashes

now reach overhead.

The marshy landscape

takes on its summer look.

The dense growth is almost like a jungle.

A world filled with tiny lives.

Each single reed stem is a microcosm.

Tiny organisms called pseudo plankton

live on their surface.

Forests of tentacles reach out

to seize organic material.

Earlier, in spring,

young carp hatched in the flooded fields.

They stay there tor about 3 months.

The reed beds are their nurseries

where they have plenty to eat

and are concealed from predatory birds.

An infant fish meets a sudden end

...it's been grabbed.

The attacker is the larva

of Japan's largest dragonfly.

This aggressive ambusher

hides in sand or gravel.

Only its head protrudes,

as it lies in wait for its prey.

Its correct name is

the golden-ringed dragonfly.

But to the Japanese, and to Sangoro

in its adult form, it's the king of dragonflies.

Chicks accompany a parent coot.

Now is the best time to find food.

An adult calls in warning.

The cause the coots' number one enemy

a weasel

egg-thief and baby-coot-snatcher.

A narrow escape.

Waterfowl have to guard

against foxes and snakes too.

For safety, grebes make floating fortresses

anchored to firmly-rooted plants.

An adult bird is particularly alert

while the eggs are hatching

Each grebe has its own territory.

And each nests at the same place every year.

Here comes Sangoro.

The birds know him already.

This is his regular route.

He spends two hours

checking all the traps he set yesterday.

His work done,

Sangoro returns to the landing stage.

You should see the ones that got away!

Turning muddy banks

into reed beds has paid dividends.

He has nearly 50 fish in all, of 8 different types.

Carp, carp, catfish, catfish...

Sangoro won't eat the smallest fish.

He puts them aside.

He will share his good fortune.

The grey heron knows what will happen next.

Sangoro finishes cleaning out his boat.

And another pair of eyes

watches his every move.

Each fishing season

this kite pays Sangoro a visit.

When Sangoro leaves

the grey heron doesn't wait any longer.

It's happy to clear up.

Sangoro left the tiddlers for the birds.

It's his way of sharing nature's riches

with those around him.

And they are only too pleased to take part.

The kite will take the fish

back to hungry chicks.

Where the village houses

crowd most closely together

above a garden a lone pine towers.

On a branch is a large nest.

There are 2 chicks there.

They are developing steadily,

under the watchful eyes of the villagers.

Sangoro's gift is a token of

the village's close ties with wildlife.

For Sangoro fishing is not just a job.

Fishing is fun.

It's exciting to see them caught in the trap.

The traps capture relatively

small numbers of fish

but this means stocks aren't depleted.

It's a battle of wits.

I have to trick the fish.

When I don't catch one

I think:"The fish was just too smart".

But you live and learn.

Taking from nature without

exhausting its supply is practiced

throughout Satoyama.

Reeds will make blinds

indispensable in the glare of

the Japanese summer.

The stems are left for a year to season.

Then each is straightened.

Local materials find a use locally.

It is 5 days since the gobies first laid eggs

in the village channel.

The male is still around.

He's very protective, keeping predators away

and taking great care of his offspring.

Golden eyes peer out of the egg capsules.

They are ready to break out.

The anxious father tans them,

keeping them oxygenated.

The newly-hatched young are barely

the size of a match head.

Tiny as they are,

they are about to embark on a journey.

They will ride the current

the two kilometers to Lake Biwa.

There they will feed on the abundant plankton.

At the same time, another new life

is about to undergo a striking change.

The larva of a golden-ringed dragonfly.

In the dark, hidden from predators

it quietly begins its metamorphosis.

The larva is now a fully-winged dragonfly.

In ten days

it will be sexually mature

and ready to trigger the next generation.

In the sticky heat of mid-July villagers gather.

Overgrown banks block the stream.

Time to clear the water plants.

20 families band together

for their part of the channel.

For the villagers

it's a welcome task their ancestors

carried out for hundreds of years.

For the fish in the creek, it's a huge nuisance!

Flushed out of the shady vegetation

they seek refuge elsewhere.

It's the children's big moment.

"It's a huge carp! Wow, amazing!"

"It's enormous! Well done! Well done!"

With wild creatures are so close,

children experience nature directly.

Fish and birds are an everyday part of their lives.

3 months have elapsed at Sangoro's house.

Sangoro's wife Chikano

washes the fish salted in Spring.

Next she will bury them in rice.

Sangoro's job is the backbreaking bit!

First they lay out the fish evenly.

Then they cover them.

They build up several layers.

The rice starch feeds microorganisms

that cause fermentation.

"Can I add one more layer?"

"Yes, another layer should be fine?"

With nature's blessing

the Funazushi will be good again this year.

After the clean-up

the channel runs smooth and clear.

Small fry are encouraged to return.

The young gobies

are now the size of a fingernail

ten times as big as they were.

The hatchlings from the village

have spent 2 months feeding

on Lake Biwa's plankton.

They press on upstream.

No obstacle deters them;

not even vertical walls.

Inland, the channel narrows.

And ahead lies something

only too keen to greet them.

It's a Japanese keelback.

It feeds on fish,

which is unusual for terrestrial snakes.

The quick brown keelback

catches the lazy goby...

Those who escape continue

their travels upstream.

They must avoid herons

and carnivorous fish too.

The little gobies must find

somewhere safe from ambushes.

They bump into a row of fence posts.

Inside are carp, which won't attack them.

It's the channel that carries away

the household's used water.

Sangoro's pool offers

the young goby sanctuary

even if he will have to do the dishes!

The villagers endure

the humid days of late summer

with their natural neighbors.

It's a drowsy afternoon.

The moist air drains everyone's energy.

The temperature of the spring water

in the house pools

remains a constant pleasure.

"Oh, it's lovely and cool."

At last the fiery summer burns itself out.

Autumn brings welcome fresh breezes.

It is time to gather rice

the staple food of the Japanese.

As the rice dries in the autumn sun

the smell of hay spreads across the fields.

With the harvest in, it's the time to give thanks.

Sangoro picks 2 live fish from the house-pool.

They will survive.

But tomorrow is the day

the God of the rice paddy

goes back to the mountains.

He won't depart without being given offerings

rice cakes, sake, white radishes,

and the fresh fish.

Sangoro believes that the God of

his rice paddy will eat before leaving.

The god will return next spring,

when rice is sown again.

Each element in nature has its own god

every tree, rock and stream

8 million gods of nature in all.

Prayer and ritual express Sangoro's gratitude.

He is almost totally self sufficient

thanks to the gifts of nature.

It's December. Winter's harshness looms.

Bitter winds start to gust from the lake;

sturdy green gives way to brittle gold.

9 months have passed

since the scorched earth sent out shoots.

Now the reeds soar above.

The slender stems

will make screens and thatch.

The farmers cut carefully:

They don't snap or bend the long stalks.

Practice has made them perfect.

They heap the bundles into a tent-like shape

called a Round Stand.

The stands will be left to dry

all through the winter.

The stands are visible reminders

of the close connection

between the farmers and the environment

they have created.

Winter grips the North of Lake Biwa.

The reed beds show no sign of life.

But

even snow can't totally erase

the traces of spring.

In Sangoro's house the local delicacy

is finally ready.

He caught the carp in his trap in Spring.

He and his wife salted them

and when summer came,

covered them in rice to ferment.

Now a further 6 months have passed.

They will eat both fish and rice.

Inside is more evidence of nature's bounty

orange eggs.

Sangoro invites his neighbors

to share the Funazushi.

After half a year of maturing

the fish has the sour taste of cheese.

Slow food that is endlessly satisfying.

Preparation, preservation

and finally appreciation

and finally appreciation

the precious pleasures

of people living close to nature.

Right next to their dining room,

there is the basin full to the brim.

It's cool in summer, warm in winter.

The Japanese describe tight-knit relationships

as being"as close as water and fish".

Intimate and inseparable.

Like the pool and its little refugee.

The goby sits in a quiet corner

waiting for spring.

March finally comes round again.

The reed beds have slept throughout the winter.

Now the first rays of sun

coax warmth into them.

Once more the silence yields to sounds of life.

As the rhythm of the year picks up,

so do lives, human and animal.

The Japanese have another saying

"Water comes, the fish live."

They mean that when the right time comes

everything will be fine.

Sangoro knows that

in the way of Satoyama,

everything has its season.

Together Satoyama people and nature

weave life into a seamless fabric

blessed by water circling

on its journey without end.

A new season, a new year, a new cycle

all begin in Japan's Secret Watergarden.