America the Beautiful: Wild Frontier (2018–…): Season 1, Episode 5 - Into the Appalachians - full transcript

Look over
the Appalachian mountains

and into the valley below

to find a special slice
of America.

Birthplace of frontier heroes...

And a challenge for
some iconic critters.

Now, spring in down south,

from Tennessee
to Pennsylvania...

...Where the pace of life
is closely followed

by the shadow of death.

(snake rattling)











If you're a crayfish, hanging
out in a babbling brook,

there's one thing
you really don't want to see.

And this is it.



The paw of death.



It belongs to a bandit.

This is trouble.

How did any self-respecting,
crepuscular crustacean

get into this mess?

To find out...



You have to go back a few steps.

First, the location.

The Appalachian mountains.

They are world famous, thought
to be the oldest mountain range

in America, maybe the world.

But what's less known
is what lies among them:

A chain of secluded valleys,
more than 1,000 miles long.

Together, they are known as
the great Appalachian valley.



Its southern half holds wildlife

that is quintessentially
american.

Life is not always easy
for these creatures.





Towards the end of summer,
and into the fall,

where water levels in the
great valley's streams drop,

life becomes perilous
for crayfish.



They need clear, flowing water
to survive.

But the shallower it gets,
the more they are exposed.

In some places
the water stops...

And streams become pools.

(insects chirping)

the cover of darkness
helps protect crayfish

from many predators...

But not all.







When it comes
to fishing for food,

raccoons don't rely so much
on sight or smell.

They're a touchy-feely
kind of critter.

The most important sense
for a raccoon is touch.

Its front paws have
a leathery layer

that becomes more pliable
and sensitive when wet.

And that's how a hapless
crustacean becomes the target

of a tactile tormentor.





Raccoon paws have
refined nerve endings.

Sensitive, like whiskers
on a cat.

They tell her
if an object is edible.



Raccoons have more
of their brains

dedicated to the sense of touch
than a cat or a dog.









She may risk getting
a pinch or two.

But a good seafood dinner
is worth it.





(chittering)







For part of the year,

up to a third of a raccoon's
diet can be shellfish.





Raccoons roam the full length

of the great valley's
southern section.

Sandwiched between the
Appalachian plateau to the west

and the blue ridge mountains
to the east,

the great Appalachian valley
southern section

cuts through Tennessee and
stretches up to Pennsylvania.



As summer winds down,
the weather cools.

This is a cue for some
creatures in the valley

to up their game.





This old possum usually prefers
after-dark activities.

He roams like a ghost
in the night.

His work is to stock up
on calories.

Fat will help keep him warm
in the cooler months ahead.

So he haunts the valley floor,
scrounging for food,

a lone wanderer.





Fruit and grains are nutritious,

and insects are a favorite.

But he's not fussy.



He'll kill a rodent
or a frog if he can.

He's also happy to eat
just about any animal

that's already dead.

He has the chompers
to handle it.

There are 50 teeth crammed
into that slender snout,

more than any other mammal
in north America.

He is unique in many ways.

The possum is the only
marsupial in the united states.

The females have two vaginas

and the males have a
double-headed penis to match.

When he was younger, he could
hang from a branch by his tail.

Now, he's too big for that.

There are more opportunities
on the ground.

But also more danger.



(hiss)

the timber rattlesnake is
the most venomous snake

to live in
the great Appalachian valley.

He is well-camouflaged
in the leaf litter.

And he also has
an impressive mouth.



This ambush hunter
kills with venom

that destroys blood cells.





Pregnant females prefer
the warmth of rocky outcrops.

But this male hides
in the shadows.

Today that means a face-off
with Mr. Possum.

(rattling)

it's a bold battle beneath
the Appalachian mountains.

The timber rattlesnake's
vertical pupils

adjust for daylight,

and pits under those eyes
sense the possum's body heat.

But in a strange twist
of nature,

it's the snake
who feels threatened.

It puts out the warning:
Stay back.

(rattling)

(rattling)

the possum knows
the snake is there now.

But he's not alarmed.

It's an even match-up.

(rattling)

possums have a protein
in their blood

that makes them highly
resistant to snake venom.

A bite would not kill him,

but it would still hurt.

Best to move on.

(rattling)

they both head off,
through the great valley,

to inflict their carnage
elsewhere.

(rattling)





The weak don't last long.

This old raccoon
couldn't go any farther.

(flies buzzing)

death in the valley is closely
followed by its clean-up crew.



Here they stand tall
and at the ready.





Turkey vultures gather to
work out their pecking order.







Their squabbles are
full of grunts and hisses.

(hissing, grunting)

they're the only noises
they can make.

Turkey vultures lack a syrinx,

meaning they don't have
a vocal organ.

(hiss)

no songbirds here.

But the dead don't
need a serenade.











They have no qualms
about digging into the guts,

but are surprisingly hygienic.

They have no feathers on
their heads to catch bacteria.

And they regularly use
their giant, six-foot wingspan

to soak up the sun.

It's a drying out of sorts.

And it's a reminder
for all who can see,

no matter how long you live in
the great Appalachian valley,

it's the turkey vulture
that'll have the final word.

When early settlers first
came to the Appalachians,

they dined on the same critters
as the turkey vulture,

even some that would
seem most unsavory.



Skunks are said
to be better-tasting

than coons or possums...

Just a little bony.



He digs around for
insects, larvae, worms;

Even lizards and rodents
are on the menu.



There's plenty of wilderness
in the great valley for him.

But it's interspersed
with human habitat.

Clashes are inevitable.



One of the skunk's enemies:
The domestic dog.



(whines)



(panting)

it's early spring,
and the trees are still bare.

That makes a streak of white
easy to spot.

(sniffing)

(panting)



(panting)

(panting)









(squeak)



He can run, but nowhere near as
fast as this German shepherd...

...Who finds him
quite fascinating.

(sniffing)

you know what's coming, right?

It's another face-off
in the great valley.

(sniffing)



Only the skunk isn't
using his face.

Curiosity may kill the cat.

The domestic dog...

It just makes really stinky.

(dog whines)

the yellow spray from
a couple of glands in his butt

is the ultimate defense
for this skunk.





He can hit a target
from 10 feet away

and shoot five to eight times
in a row

to really drive
that message home.





(barking)

too pungent for this pooch.







No need to feel too bad
for a skunk on the run.

He's quite a formidable
predator himself.



One of his favorite meals
can be found hiding

throughout the Appalachians:
Wild turkey.

Wild turkey chicks
to be precise.

But that skunk delicacy
is still weeks away.

Right now, chicks are just
a twinkle in mom's eye.



In April, these valley girls
are more interested

in finding places to fatten up
on seeds and insects.



And maybe checking out
possible partners.



This male does his best to
attract the ladies with a show.



A strut...

A fan...

A shimmy.

(gobbles)

(clucking)

(gobbles)

come on, girls;
Someone's got to notice.





He homes in on
a good-looking gobbler.

(gobbles)

and shows off his best spread.



(gobbling)

(gobbling)

the response:

Back off, buddy,
I'm not a tammy, I'm a tom.

(gobbling)

(gobbling)



While many of the creatures here

read like that
frontier restaurant menu,

it's not all prey.

There are predators, too.





One of the most formidable
hunters in the great valley

is the coyote.

This one searches the
grasslands for his next meal.

He may look like a loner,
but he's not.

Coyotes are monogamous.

He'll eat some of what he finds

and bring some back
for his pregnant mate.

He's hunting for two,

but the pickings here
are particularly good.

The great valley's soft,
alluvial soil is a favorite

for small burrowing mammals.

He listens carefully

for anything digging
through the earth and grass.

Voles, moles, groundhogs,

shrews, rats, mice.

Something has to be here.







Then, he smells it.





Time for his signature move.



Tennessee's section of
the great Appalachian valley

is fertile,

lots of rodents on offer
for a persistent coyote.





Each jump is a surprise attack.



It's a lot of hit and miss.



But he only needs one hit
to make it mealtime.





He's on to a vole,
but doesn't have a good grip.

A hasty move and he may lose it.

He holds firm, head in a hole,
and waits...



...Until his victim weakens.



Down in a couple of gulps.

Coyotes have been known to eat
more than a dozen voles

in a single morning.





He moves on with confidence

the great Appalachian valley
will provide.





To travel the great valley

is to take a walk
on the wild side.

The tree-covered
Appalachian mountains

shadow it from above.

And fast-flowing streams
cut through its core.





There's a rugged edge here...

An element of hidden danger.



It has long been home
to wild critters

and some wild men.



Davy Crockett trapped and
hunted all around Tennessee.

Pioneer Daniel Boone
was born right here,

near reading, Pennsylvania, in
the heart of the Appalachians.

The legends are long gone.

But the wildlife they knew
so well still thrives.

Like some of the creatures here,

some of those frontier folk
didn't always get along.



In the 1800s, the Hatfields and
the McCoys attacked each other

along the Kentucky
and west Virginia border.

They crisscrossed
the Appalachians

to kill family members
on both sides...

in total, a dozen dead.

(moo)

the Hatfields left another
memorable mark on the land.

The Hatfield timber company
cut swaths of Appalachia bare.



Today's timber
and mining interests

leave their own marks.



But when allowed to recover,

areas of regrowth include
flower-filled meadows.

This is welcome habitat
for the humble bumblebee,

a native pollinator
vital for our survival.



They fly from flower to flower,

sucking nectar and incidentally
pollinating the plants

so new generations
of vegetation can grow.

With the bumblebee now
is the honeybee from Europe.



They aren't as good
at pollinating,

but they are outstanding
at producing honey.

(buzzing)

every box has a queen inside,

and just a few male drones
with which she'll breed.

The rest are female.

Thousands of working daughters
care and defend the hive

like amazon warriors.

These females return
from their floral escapades

with their legs caked
in yellow grain: Pollen.

It's the honeybees'
main source of protein.

Sometimes in here,
it gets hot...

Too hot.

So these lady bees use
the power of their numbers

to do something extraordinary.

(buzzing)

to beat the heat in
the great Appalachian valley,

these bees must create
their own air conditioning.



They position themselves by
the hive and beat their wings,

extracting the hot air
from inside

and letting fresh, cooler
Appalachian air flow through.



Honeybee numbers have
fluctuated in recent years.

But in the Appalachians,

there's enough to support
a sweet little business.





Logging and industry pepper
the great Appalachian valley.

But the animals persist.



Forests intersperse
with grass-filled meadows

that attract deer
by the thousands.





Less than a century ago,

deer were nearly hunted
to extinction

throughout large areas
of the valley,

including all but a few hundred
in Pennsylvania.

It took an intensive
conservation effort

to bring them back.

And now it's like
they were never gone.









(thunder)

this part of Appalachia has
the highest annual rainfall

in the southeast of the country.

(distant thunder)

the critters are used to it.

Even these black bear cubs know

there's no sense
in hiding from it.

It can rain while
mom stretches...

While the young'uns practice
their tree-climbing skills.





Yep, easy to grip...

Even when wet.



(squawking)



(roar)





(cub squawking)





These two cubs
will be done with mom

a few months after
their first birthday.



Then they'll head out
to stake their own claim

in the great valley.





That water they're shaking off
keeps moving, too.





Not all of it makes it
to a stream.



Some of it gathers
in the valley's low points.

These calm, temporary pools
are crucial habitat

for spotted salamanders.



On just one night each year,

a majority of these speckled
beauties come out, all at once,

and use the exact same pool
of water they were born in

for a spectacular ritual.



When the temperature in
the great Appalachian valley

is just right,

salamanders lay
thousands of eggs

in the stagnant pools.



There are no fish here
to eat them.



A month later, they hatch.

After just a couple of months
in the water,

the young will lose their gills

and join the adults
for a life in the woods.

Most of their time
is spent underground,

hunting for worms and insects.

But at night,
when the humidity is high,

they can come up
into the moist air.

But these are the little guys.

(rushing water)

the big daddy of salamanders
prefers hiding out

almost exclusively

in the great valley's
faster-moving waters.





This is the hellbender.



He's built to blend in
with sandy bottoms,

where he depends on clean,
moving water for oxygen.

He absorbs it through his skin.





Another hellbender
encroaches on his territory.



They're loners,

so fight for land rights.









Now he's secured his claim.

He can hunt for food like
fish, crayfish, and worms.







With a good diet,

he can grow to more than
two feet in length

and live up to 30 years old.











His eyesight is poor.

But he has light sensors
all over his body.

Lateral lines that detect
movement in the water,

and most importantly, a
remarkably keen sense of smell.









That makes a dead fish
easy to find.





And down the hatch.













Most of the fish species
in the great valley

are not going to wind up
on your dinner plate

or break any size records,

but the scaled fish
share this waterway

with those freshwater crayfish,
or crawfish.

Of the 600 species
of crayfish worldwide,

close to half live here,
in the Appalachians.

Most, like this
spiny wrist crayfish,

only grow to about
three inches long.

Then, there are the giants.

The Tennessee bottlebrush
crayfish is new to science,

only identified
less than ten years ago.

And there are more on the way.

This female carries
more than a hundred eggs,

and after three to four weeks
of growing on her tail,

they're close to hatching.

Unlike her saltwater cousins,

this freshwater mom will
spend at least some time

trying to protect her young.



And just as well.



There are many threats
from in the water and above.





That's part of the nature
of the great valley.

A sense of mortality
seems to hang here,

like mist in the morning.



Like the Appalachian leaves
that give the valley

a famous burst of color
every fall

before fading and dying.



The struggle of life
and the finality of death

are deeply woven into the land.

This is what animals and people
have found here

for thousands of years.

But they wouldn't have it
any other way; It's home.

Traveling through
the great Appalachian valley

is like stepping back in time.

It's still an experience
that is rugged and raw

and uniquely american.

(snake rattles)