America the Beautiful: Mighty Northwest (2018): Season 1, Episode 2 - Rise of the Redwood Giants - full transcript

(birds chirping)

in a realm of titans,

one giant stands above them all.



Redwoods are
nature's skyscrapers.



Now, meet the tenants.

Secretive...

Strange...

...And deadly.





Swim among sprawling roots.

And scale the dizzying heights.

To discover an extraordinary
tree of life.



In a land...

...Of giants.

(playing america the beautiful)





If coastal california has
a king, it's the redwood.



These trees have reigned
over america's west coast

for 20 million years.

And their crowns are
the tallest in the world,



up to 370 feet high.



Taller than an apollo rocket.



Future redwood heirs
may start small.

But saplings develop fast.



In peak conditions,

they can grow to a regal
50 feet in just 20 years.



As their branches
reach for the heavens,

their roots stretch
into rivers and streams.



Every tall structure needs
a solid foundation.





Redwood roots only go 10 to 13
feet deep into the soil,

but they spread out
up to 80 feet wide,

giant, thirst-driven tentacles.

And down here with them,
something extraordinary.



For millions of years

redwood roots have shared
this freshwater

with another
prehistoric life-form...

The lamprey.

It may look like
an alien species,

but its time on earth stretches
back further than most.

They are a fish that formed
before the world knew gills.

They survive instead
on primitive breathing holes

along the sides of their bodies.

And their mouths, they have
to be seen to be believed.



Rings of rasping teeth
inside a round mouth.

It's all designed to
lock onto another fish

and suck its blood.

Most of their feeding
is done in the ocean,

but their lives are bookended

with a year or so in freshwater.

In the shadows of the redwoods

is where pacific lampreys
are born and where they die.



Returning to freshwater
is an epic journey.



Think your drive home is tough?

You ain't seen nothing yet.

His commute begins
with a headfirst battle

against a fast-flowing stream.

He is your average joe lamprey,

doing what his
life cycle demands.

(birds chirping)

he works the night shift,

sometimes covering
five miles at a time.

Even the smallest waterfalls
become enormous speed bumps.

That's when the mild-mannered
pacific lamprey

does something extraordinary.

He reveals a superpower.

Suction.

He uses it to inch
his way upstream

from one smooth rock
to the next.

It's still a struggle.

And it requires
a 'try, try again' attitude.





Then, a major roadblock.

A man-made dam looks
insurmountable.

But on the side, a
toll booth of sorts.





It's heavy traffic
with no e-zpass.



And no guarantee of success.



The cost is high.

An entire night's work.





Finally...

Triumph.





Exhausted, he makes it into
the heart of redwood country...



...Where roots of the giant
trees stretch into the water.

But his commute from hell
was just the beginning.

He's worked hard to reach
a suitable mate.

And now, together, they must
build a nest for their young.

How they do this
is truly remarkable.



They dig some with their tails.

But it's not enough.

Again, super suction
to the rescue.





The collection of rocks
they make is called a redd,

and it will go some way
to protecting their eggs

from being washed downstream.

When their home is complete

they each secure themselves
to a rock and embrace.

The male fertilizes the eggs
as they leave the female.

And just like that, their
greatest life's work is done.

A one-time deal.

The pair part ways
and, all alone, start to die.







Above the water, vultures know
the lamprey's life cycle well,

and relish its end.





(screeching)



When the lamprey embryos hatch,

they move downstream until
they find a sandy bottom

they can dig into for safety.



They'll stay here,
mostly underground,

for at least a couple of years,

developing eyes and teeth
and growing fat on algae.

For now, these baby lamprey
are filter feeders.



Just like the redwoods above.



Coast redwoods span
more than 500 miles

along california's
pacific coast.

From big sur all the way
up to southern oregon.

They follow
the california fog belt.

A strip of coast where
miles of marine fog

regularly move inland.





And where it hugs the coast

is where redwoods thrive.



Redwood needles specialize
in catching fog.



And some plants below
depend on it.

The understory may get as much
as 13 inches of moisture

from a redwood
on a single foggy day.

Here, to cash in on
all that wonderful wetness,

another giant... Of sorts.

The banana slug is the largest
slug in north america.

It can grow more than
seven inches long.

He's guided by his tentacles.

The top two detect light,

and the lower two smell
what's before him.

They lead this california native

from one meal to the next.

And that's vital for the health
of the redwoods.

The slug's recycled feces is
a primary fertilizer

for the forest floor.

From little things,
big things grow.



Other creatures slink around
the base of these woods, too.



Dangerous ones.



The garter snake specializes

in the redwood's
cool and dark climate.



The giant banana slug
is an easy grab.



Too slow to get away.





Down the hatch it goes.

But not so fast.



There's a catch.

And the garter snake
is only just starting

to realize his mistake.

Among california's
giant redwoods,

this garter snake
has gotten himself

into a sticky situation.



At the time, banana slug
for breakfast

seemed like a good idea.

But the slug's mucus
is an anesthetic

that numbs the snake's mouth.

He chokes on the slime.







The slug may be dead,

but the garter snake
has learned a lesson.



Scratch big yellow bananas
from the menu.

Such defenses exist
throughout the animal world,

and the tree world
has some of its own, too.

There's a reason why
these giants live so long.

Each redwood has three
major lines of defense.

First, it's fireproof.

An old redwood has bark
thick enough

to survive the hottest
of wildfires.



Second, they can regenerate.

A fallen redwood
will sprout new trees

along the toppled trunk.



And finally, tannins.

The chemical responsible
for the red color of the bark

is a weed killer and
an insect repellent.

The redwoods drive away
most insects.

But one is drawn to them.



They're here to use the bark
as shelter, not food.



And they set
the redwoods buzzing

with a low, vibrating chorus.



Ladybugs by the thousands.

(buzzing)

there are almost 6,000 species
of ladybugs worldwide,

but convergent ladybugs are
the only ones in this area.

And they're one
of only two species

known to swarm like this.

These beetles are
usually loners.

But every winter, they gather
in the heart of the redwoods,

sheltering in the tree bark
and on the ground.

Come spring, they begin some
very important bug business.



You see, not all ladybugs
are ladies.







It's a risqué business.

Females often mate
with several males.

And males can be
a tough bug to bear.





Once the fun is over,
they'll split up,

beat their wings around
85 times a second...

(buzzing)

...And fly out to the fields
and meadows to their lay eggs.

The tiniest of creatures,

hiding out here with the giants.







Roosevelt elk are the largest
of all the elk subspecies

in north america.

They grow fat on
the ferns and leaves

that thrive in
the redwood rain forest.

The males can always do
with extra vittles,

especially those that
help them make keratin.

Every year they use this
protein to grow giant antlers

at an astounding rate,
as fast as an inch a day.



They shed them
in February or March,

and then grow them again
from scratch.

All so the males can fight
over females in the fall.

And win the right
to become dads.

(bugling)

(bugling)

calves are born
away from the herd

and stay separated among the
redwoods for around two weeks.

Once big enough,

they join their mothers
in the nursery herd.

Here they learn to live
out in the open.

Plenty of time to play
and to feed.

They spend up to 12 hours
a day nursing and grazing.

These young also attract
some unwanted attention.



This coyote could
take out a fawn.



(bugling)



Especially one that's all alone.



At the edge
of california's redwoods,

chances like this
don't happen often.



No nearby adult means
an easier kill.



(bugling)

but the fawn runs back to mom.



Female elk will charge a coyote.



He's missed his chance.



Best to get while
the getting's good.







Out here, where the redwoods
hit the coast,

they mix it up with
a patchwork of meadows

and offer up
bouquets of flowers.







Next to the land of giants,
a domain of mini miracles.







Some of these hummingbirds are
no bigger than a ping-pong ball

and no heavier than a nickel.



And they are all suckers
for some nectar.



They beat their wings too fast
to see without special cameras.



More than 70 flaps a second.

That's around 10 times faster

than the spin of
a helicopter blade.

But the effect is similar.





They can fly forward
or backward at will,

dive at speeds
of 50 miles an hour,

and hover with ease.



(buzzing)

while their wings
purr like a motor,

their heads stay still enough

to dive into a tubular flower
for a drink.

(buzzing)



Hummingbirds are
so reliant on flight

that their legs barely work.

They can neither walk nor hop.

They can scoot sideways
a little,

which is enough to help them
come bath time.



Close to dusk is a good time
to freshen up.

The toughest part of this
bird's day is about to begin.

(buzzing)

these are anna's hummingbirds,

among the most common
on the pacific coast.

Life would be sweet
here for them,

except for an incoming rival.

(buzzing)

the allen's hummingbirds
move in once a year

for their breeding season.

They are fiercely territorial.

And they'll do whatever it
takes to get the best flowers.

Get ready... For a duel.

It's a battle for the skies

on the fringes
of california's redwoods.

Two hummingbird species
duke it out mid-flight.

Their beaks become weapons
of aerial warfare.

Male allen's will
chase out the anna's,

and even other allen's,

to claim territory
close to nesting females.



And the winner stakes its claim
over the best flowers.



This is important because
the flowers close at night.







As the sun sets, mom heads back
to the cover of the redwoods.

Bringing her hard-earned food
to share with her family.



The nest is a little more
than an inch wide.

It will stretch
as her chicks grow.

But it'll never reach the size
of some spectacular digs

just a little farther up.



Don't let its messy exterior
fool you.

This tree house is the pinnacle
of modern architecture.

An eight-square-foot loft
in a remote neighborhood,

a nest 50 feet high.

The architect has big plans
for this penthouse.

The dusky-footed woodrat

is one of the animal kingdom's
best builders.

And a redwood is
her hardware store.

She may use other trees
for food,

but for construction,

a redwood provides
all the materials she needs.

First, the foundation.

Redwood branches
make a solid frame.

She cements them together
with a layer of urine.

Now to work in
some pest control.

She chews on bay laurel leaves

to release a chemical
insect repellent.

She'll use this as wallpaper.

Finally, the interior.

Every house needs a kitchen
and a place for the kids.

She digs out multiple rooms

and stocks the pantry full

with enough food to last
more than 200 days.

The thick branches of a redwood
are ready-made real estate.

But interior decorations call
for some late-night shopping.



Woodrats are also
called pack rats.



And they've been known to adorn
their nests at night

with everything from bones
to bottle caps.





But retail therapy
has its risks.





Down below, a prowling fox
catches her scent.







The décor will just
have to wait.



She scampers back
to her fortress

where no fox can follow.



But she's not in the clear yet.



Daylight brings
another predator,

and it's one of the most
extraordinary tree climbers

in all america.

The fisher is made for life
among california's redwoods.

They often den
high up in the trees.

Fishers are whoppers
of the weasel family.

Full-grown males can reach
more than two feet in length,

plus a tail.

This female is only
about half that size,

but still a deadly predator.



She keeps her nose
to the ground,

and sniffs out trails
used by her prey.



A woodrat was here.

And not that long ago.





Her semi-retractable claws
dig into the bark,

and she travels up and down
with ease.

Her tracking skills lead her

right to the woodrat's
front door.



She digs in.



But the crafty woodrat
has an emergency exit.



She escapes into the upper
reaches of the redwood canopy...

no ordinary canopy,

but one with
many places to hide.

On the surface
of these massive limbs,

rough bark and crevices
trap falling needles

that break down into a soil
called arboreal humus.



This humus absorbs rainfall
like a sponge.

In short, it becomes earth;

a planet above the planet.

And from this earth
sprouts new life.

A hidden forest
unseen from below.



There's a commander in chief
up here,

the leader of the tree world.

Even though he weighs
a tenth of an ounce,

the wandering salamander
is a permanent resident

in this canopy.

He has no lungs.

Instead he breathes
through his skin.

It's a nifty trick
that's possible

only if his skin stays wet.

Up here, that's not a problem.

Enough moisture stays trapped

in the sky-high foliage
year-round.

These salamanders are only
found in north america,

where they've become
expert climbers.



A prehensile tail can
grab ahold of twigs,

and gripped toe pads allow them
to easily scale these giants.





They tunnel under moss,
find mates, eat insects,

and jump from limb to limb
with confidence.





Year after year,

the wandering salamander
thrives in the clouds,

100 feet high plus,

and may never touch the ground.



A luxury high-rise
in a city of branches.

Climb higher,

and you reach
the crown of the redwoods.



Best have wings to get here.





The northern spotted owl
moves up and down

to find the ideal temperature
on any given day.





Agile, maneuverable,
and his wings, near silent.





Night and day, from
ground to crown...

...His prey is never safe.







It's dinnertime.



In california's redwoods,

'silent but deadly'
is a badge of honor.

And it's worn by
the spotted owl.

His soundless approach
goes completely unnoticed.









He'll catch as much as he can.

Once he's had his fill,

he stashes the rest
in cool tree limbs for later.



Spotted owls live
almost exclusively

in old growth forest.

As the big old trees fall,
so do they.

Despite federal protection,

less than 10,000
northern spotted owls remain,

and there are fewer each year.



One thing more precious
than a spotted owl...

Is two.

This breeding pair
has bonded for life.



Under their powerful gaze...

...Spotted owl junior.



Just two months old

and already acting
like a famished teenager.





Mom and dad prefer
to hunt by night.



But junior's insatiable hunger
doesn't allow for a day off.











Junior catches on slowly.



But within a couple of months,

he, too, will be
dispatching mice

by snapping their necks
and downing them whole.



Live and learn, little one.

It takes practice to become
a phantom of the redwoods.





The hunt of the owls brings us
back down to earth.

But what defines this space

is still the rise
of the ancient redwoods.

Some of them are
more than 2,000 years old.



Among the longest-living
organisms on the planet.



Each is like
a high-rise building

for an incredible
range of tenants.

From the ancient swimmers
around their sprawling roots...

To the salamander living
in the heights of the canopy...

And from america's
biggest slug... ♪

to its biggest elk... ♪

...This is a kingdom of giants.

And it's the redwood
that wears the crown.