Nature (1982–…): Season 33, Episode 13 - Animal Homes: Location, Location, Location - full transcript

They're our
planet's first builders,

nature's architects
and engineers,

crafting homes of
spectacular design

in every corner of the globe.

Some are elegantly simple,
others surprisingly complex.

So it looks like a teenager's
bedroom from the outside,

but if you were to cut this

right down the middle
and look inside...

Whether they were
made by beaks or paws,

these homes have
a universal purpose...

To keep their owners safe



from a dangerous world

as they give birth
and raise a family.

It makes it a perfect bear home.

It's secure, it's dry.

And it turns out that the
quest for real estate in the wild

is all about the same
three things we value most...

Location, location, location.

A strategic location in space...

At a precise location in time...

These are the
essential must-haves

of just the right home.

It looks like an ideal
place to live, doesn't it?

The valley of the Snake River...

Jackson Hole, Wyoming.



T features beautiful
Rocky Mountain views,

plenty of running water,

and a good mix of
trees and shrubbery.

It's the perfect spot to
build your dream house

and to commune with nature.

The surprising thing is,

much of what you see
here isn't exactly natural.

It was shaped and
crafted by a rodent...

The beaver.

This is where a family of
beavers is making its home.

The dad has been homesteading
here for nearly a decade,

and he and his mate
have a couple of kits.

Their ancestors have been

working this area for
thousands of years.

For this family,
like all homeowners,

location is crucial.

For once they chose
this spot, they set about

giving it a complete makeover

to meet their
exacting specifications.

I'm Chris Morgan.

I'm an ecologist
and I'm fascinated by

how animals
construct their homes

and why they decide
to live where they do.

There he is.

There's our inhabitant.

Beavers are very choosy
about where they build.

There's one thing no
beaver can do without.

It's top of the list in their
real-estate requirements,

and that's a stream.

When beavers hear the
sound of running water,

they feel compelled to build.

But before they start
work on their house,

they first build a dam.

And check out this dam.

It's amazing! It's huge!

Beavers are the only
mammals besides humans

that construct dams

to block water.

And they build big ones.

A beaver dam can be
hundreds of feet long,

and it's strong
enough to support me.

It is such an
impressive construction.

I mean, look at
this. It's packed with

big logs down to
these tiny twigs,

and every single
one of them... Look...

Has been chewed off by a beaver.

These are all different
building materials,

and one of the most
impressive to me is the fact that

these beavers will swim
with and push and hoist

these giants rocks...
Look at the size of that...

Right onto the top of the dam.

And they use these
big rocks as anchors,

along with the giant logs,

and then they intersperse
it with mud and grass

and other debris...
Look at that, perfect...

And create this
watertight system

with one idea in
mind, and that is to

bring the water level
up behind this dam.

And the difference between

this water level
and that water level

is approaching, I'd
guess, three feet.

It's quite something.

These beavers are not
only designers and architects,

but stonemasons,
woodworkers, builders.

They do it all.

The dam converts
a stream into a pond.

Wow.

That's just the place to
live if you're a water-loving,

web-footed beaver

who's much better at
swimming than walking.

Now that the pond's
nice and deep,

the beaver family
instinctively shift gears

to start working on
their house... the lodge.

With all this construction
work, they need a lot of wood.

Fortunately, their ancestors
evolved into lumberjacks,

and they work the night shift.

Since the tender

inner bark of trees is a
beaver's favorite food,

they can harvest a crop
while they gather lumber.

Watch out!

But there is a limit to
how much they can drag,

so our clever beavers
let the water do the work.

When you think about
it, it's really not a stretch

to call these guys
hydro-engineers.

So they'll excavate
these channels.

Look at this. They've
actually dug the mud

out of this with
their front paws.

They'll float
these big logs out,

back to where the dam
is and where the lodge is,

and it allows them
as an aquatic mammal

to swim up these channels
and access the new trees.

What an awesome system.

By damming the stream
so it floods its banks

and then digging a
network of canals,

the beavers have devised a
way to swim right into the forest

to reach more trees.

It's a watery world.

And through their efforts,

they've also reshaped
the entire neighborhood,

transforming a
woodland into a wetland.

Of course, beavers don't
work from a blueprint,

but they certainly seem
to have one in mind.

And since this pair has
built dams and lodges before,

their instincts are
bolstered by experience.

This is the heart of it all,

the heart of the
beaver neighborhood.

Look at the size of this.

This is the lodge.

My goodness.

It looks like a total
jumbled mess of logs,

kind of like a volcano of logs.

They've stripped off the
bark and eaten the inner bark.

Look at those teeth marks.

And then they use their
food, the food waste,

as building material,
so it looks like

a teenager's bedroom
from the outside,

but if you were to cut
this right down the middle

and look inside...

You'd see just
how complex it is.

This lodge is build up
against the pond's shore,

but the entrances are
underwater for security.

Above is a suite of rooms.

Amazingly, the beavers actually
carve them from the inside,

chewing and clawing
their way through

that solid mound
of wood and earth.

There's a kind of a mud
room, where they can dry off,

and a family room,
where they eat and sleep.

They left the domed
roof a little loose

to vent out CO2
and to let in fresh air.

And as a finishing touch,
they'll excavate the mud

on the shore side
to create a moat

so their home will be
completely surrounded by water.

Beaver lodges are all built
around the same general lines,

but each one is unique,

a designer home that's perfectly
matched to its surroundings.

The goal is to have a
house that's cozy and warm,

safe and secure,
where they can raise

their young ones... In
fact, the same things

that motivate every
house-building animal.

But finding just the
right location to build in,

that's the challenge.

Most animals can't
do what beavers do.

They can't alter
their neighborhood

to meet their needs.

So they have to make
the best use of their habitat,

taking advantage of
whatever nature offers.

This red-faced warbler
has found a convenient spot

to raise her family...

Right on the ground,

tucked away under
a fallen branch.

The warbler's neighbor,
a brown creeper,

takes an entirely
different approach.

It climbs straight
up a tree trunk

to hide its nest
inside the bark.

And these house finches

make their home among
the spines of a cholla cactus.

That's like putting up
a barbed-wire fence

to keep out trespassers.

Of course,

the conditions where
you live help determine

where you put your home.

A great desert skink
escapes the searing heat

of the Australian Outback

by digging a network
of underground tunnels.

Down here, it can be
nearly 40 degrees cooler

than up on the surface.

A gopher tortoise makes
its home underground too

because the pine forest
it lives in is prone to fire.

No matter where
you make your home,

your surroundings
are bound to present

both challenges
and opportunities.

A good homemaker
knows how to deal with both.

The salt marsh
sparrow makes its nest,

not surprisingly,

in coastal salt marshes
from Maine to Virginia.

A house near the shore
offers a lot of attractions,

but it also harbors risks.

This is a place where
ocean and land collide,

a place of constant
change and powerful forces.

As a home site, it
has its drawbacks.

You see, the female sparrow

builds her nest on the ground,

and the marsh
floods with the tide.

Twice each day,
the pull of the moon

draws the sea into the marsh.

And twice each month,
when the moon is full,

and again when it's new,
the tides are especially high.

Nesting here is certainly risky.

But on the other hand,
there's less competition

for space and food, so
this is where the sparrow

has carved out a niche.

She's in a race against
time and the rising tide.

The sparrow weaves her
nest under the top layer of grass

so it's hidden from predators

but high enough so it
should stay above water.

It takes 24 to 26 days

from the time she
begins laying her eggs

until her last chicks fledge...

Almost the exact
length of the lunar cycle.

There's no margin for error.

For most of the sparrow nests,

flooding is inevitable.

It can be a disaster.

A female sparrow has
no way to get her eggs

back into the nest
if they float away.

That's why the nest
is constructed with

an overhanging dome to
make sure the eggs stay put.

As long as they remain
within the confines of the nest,

they can bob around for an
hour or two until the tide recedes.

When mom returns,
she'll warm them up,

and they'll
continue to incubate.

After the eggs
hatch, the chicks have

no protective shell
to float around in,

so they're more
vulnerable than ever.

Young chicks can't swim.

They're defenseless
against the rising water.

But once they're
about five days old,

they're strong enough
to climb up above

a flooded nest and
wait out the tide.

This chick has made
it through the night.

She was just big
enough to reach safety.

Her siblings weren't so lucky.

A few inches can
make all the difference

between a successful nest
and a catastrophic failure.

But enough sparrows survive

to keep the little birds
coming back to these marshes

year after year.

One creature that
lives on the water

but avoids the problems
of a flooded nest

is the hooded merganser.

Mergansers are
striking little ducks,

especially the males,

with their
black-and-white crests.

In the spring, they puff
them up to attract a mate.

Once courtship is over,

house-hunting and child-rearing
are left up to the female.

Most water fowl build
their nests on the ground

or on floating
mats of vegetation,

but hooded mergansers
are rare ducks.

They seek out the
shelter of a hollow tree.

Out of the thousands
of trees in this forest,

this one is perfect.

Struck by lightning years
ago, it still stands tall,

with a convenient entrance

50 feet up.

A woodpecker probably
drilled out that hole

while it foraged for insects.

Over time, the hole's been
widened and rubbed smooth,

perhaps by squirrels
or raccoons...

And by generations of
hooded merganser moms.

At the bottom of the cavity,

she lines her nest
with soft down features

plucked from her own breast,

and here she lays
a clutch of eggs,

up to a dozen or so.

Mergansers can afford
to lay so many eggs

because they nest in a location

that's safe from the
elements and from predators.

After four or five weeks,

the eggs begin to open.

Once hatching is underway,

the nest is a busy place,

and noisy.

All that vocalizing promotes

a family bond, as the
ducklings get used to

the sound of their
mother's voice.

She won't stay in the
nest for long, though.

Within hours of the
last egg hatching,

the ducklings are home alone.

Their mother's not far away,

and her calls

are the only thing
that could entice them

to abandon their cozy nest.

Barely a day old, they can't

fly up to the
entrance, so instead,

they climb.

They're equipped with strong
claws just for this purpose.

When they reach the
opening, their first view

of the outside world must
come as quite a shock.

It's a five-story drop.

But somewhere down below,

their mom is urging them

to leave the only home they know

so they can live the
life they were born for,

and that persuades
them to do something

that seems a little crazy.

Some ducklings aren't
as bold as others...

And he who
hesitates gets a push.

Finally,

driven by instinct and joined

to one another by
an inseparable bond,

they all take the plunge.

Once they've
assembled on the ground,

still following their
mother's voice,

they will make their way
together through the woods

to their new home on the water.

As for the tree, it won't
stand empty for long.

Some other creature will
take over the lease soon,

perhaps a squirrel

or a wild turkey,

and our hooded merganser will
be back in residence next year

to bring another
family into the world.

Few animal homes
could be simpler

than the hooded merganser's.

But here in this oak forest

in the Ozark hills
of southern Illinois,

you'll find homes that are
almost absurdly complicated.

The builder uses
whatever is at hand,

and his tower of sticks
and leaves is a reflection

of the place where he lives.

The architect behind this house

is a little rodent with a
good reason to build big.

He's an eastern woodrat.

He works nights,

gathering building materials

and fitting them
into his grand edifice.

It's a work in progress.

As time goes on,

it'll just keep getting
bigger and bigger.

Over the course of a
lifetime, this woodrat's den

will grow to an enormous size,

with multiple chambers
and plenty of storage space.

So why does he need
such a big house?

Because the woodrat

is an avid collector,
which is why he's

also known as a pack rat.

He collects food,
for instance...

Seeds and nuts,

fruit and leaves.

What he doesn't eat

he stores for the
winter inside the den.

But woodrats are looking
for more than just food.

They have a natural inclination,
bordering on obsession,

to scavenge their tiny territory

for anything they
find interesting

and cart it all home.

They seem especially attracted
to the things we throw away...

Toys,

used shotgun shells,

and anything shiny.

They just love metal.

But here's the mystery...

We have no idea why
they're drawn to all this stuff.

Most of it is of no
practical use to them.

It's not warm.
They can't eat it.

No matter.

They're inveterate hoarders.

It all gets incorporated
into the walls of the house

or socked away in
a storage chamber.

All this is a far cry

from the compact

and purely functional
homes of most animals,

but then, most animals lack

the woodrat's
predilection for junk.

Sometimes, living
in the right location

is really all about having
the right kind of neighbors.

Here in the Chiricahua
Mountains of southeast Arizona,

there lives a little hummingbird

that's taken that
lesson to heart.

I've come to learn more about
it from biologist Harold Greeney.

God, this is just
beautiful. Wow.

He's a hummingbird expert,

and he knows how to find
them by sight or by sound.

One strategy is to
just walk fairly directly

from one spot to another
and then just stop and listen.

Harold has probably found
more hummingbird nests

than anyone on the planet.

I think she kept on going.

He has a special interest

in the hummingbird
that lives around here.

It's called the black-chinned.

- She's coming in.
- Is she?

She's gonna go.

Now she's off to the
right. Here she goes.

And she just sat on the nest.

- Is she on the nest?
- She just went to the nest.

Oh, no way. You spotted it.

Yeah. Oh, there,

she just came
off the nest again.

You don't even think
the nest could fit there...

Oh, that's so cool.

Wow, it's wrapped
right around the branch.

You would walk right past that.

It's no bigger than
a golf ball, really.

Yeah.

A bird so small making
such a tiny, fragile home,

it's easy to see how
vulnerable it can be.

And in fact, the
black-chinned falls victim

to an array of predators...

Squirrels, snakes, and
especially other birds.

One of the worst
offenders is the Mexican jay,

which makes its own
nest in these woods.

Harold's good at
spotting them, too.

Do you see the nest right
there in the fork of that tree?

Oh, yes.

She's on the nest right now.

Yeah. Very nice.

I'm distracted 'cause there's
one there and there's one there,

and they're both
looking right down here,

seeing exactly what's going on.

Yeah, we're kind of
close to their nest here,

and, you know, they're coming
to check us out and make sure

we're not posing a threat.

They're just like any other
bird, when you get down to it.

Right, right,

but they are the enemy
of the hummingbird.

They are, in this case,

the enemy of the hummingbird.

And it's not hard
to understand why.

The jays have their
own young to feed,

and a hummingbird
nest is so convenient.

Harold himself
shot this rare view

of a jay feasting on a
black-chinned's eggs.

But some hummingbird
nests are safer than others,

and Harold has discovered why.

Not too far away
here is the hawk nest.

It turns out the hummingbird

doesn't build her
nest just anywhere.

Way easier to spot
this one probably, eh?

Yes, it's slightly larger.

She often chooses a
neighborhood where

she can get help
from her neighbors.

Either Cooper's hawks

or their close
cousins, the goshawks,

will serve the purpose.

Oh, I see.

This one's difficult to
miss, that one. Wow.

You could probably fit

a hundred hummingbird
nests inside there.

And it's sort of, you know,

at the upper
level of this forest,

watching over this whole area.

Now, you'd think that
a big killer like a hawk

would make short
work of a hummingbird.

In fact, they don't bother
with such small prey.

For a bird this size,
the morsel is so small.

The challenge is so great.

You burn more calories
chasing a hummingbird

than you get from eating it.

You know, if you
had to run up this hill

to eat a Tic Tac
and then go down

and come back up
to get a second one...

I'd probably only do
it seven or eight times.

Jays, on the other
hand, are perfect

meal-sized prey for hawks,
who attack them from above.

The jays have
only one defense...

Being annoying.

When a jay finds a
hawk, it sounds the alarm.

That alerts the other jays,

and they all gather round
to give the hawk what for,

trying to drive it away.

And sometimes it works.

Because the hawks are
such a big threat to jays,

they've become the
hummingbird's protector.

As the old saying goes,

the enemy of my
enemy is my friend.

Should we go up the
hill and get a closer look?

Oh, yeah, look at this.

Spectacular.

Whoa! Beautiful.

Oh, fantastic! A
great vantage point.

And that's the vantage point

that instills fear in the jays.

So they normally forage
at all levels in the forest...

On the ground, up
into the canopy...

But when they know
that hawk's there,

they don't want to be underneath
her because the way she hunts

is to swoop down upon them.

So from the hawk's
position on high,

you can imagine a kind
of cone stretching down,

taking in everything in
the hawk's target area.

For the jays,
it's a no-fly zone.

But for the hummingbirds,
it's a safe haven,

and their nests tend to be
clustered inside that zone.

The question is,

do the hummingbirds really
understand what's going on here?

Do they seek out hawks when
they look for a place to nest?

Well, probably not.

We know that the
hummingbirds are

very faithful to
successful nest sites,

so they build a nest,
and if they are successful

in fledging a brood,

they'll come back and
re-use that same site.

They may have no idea

that they're under the
watchful eye of the hawks.

That's actually my guess, yeah.

For a black-chinned hummingbird,

the trick is finding just
the right place to live

and the right
neighbors to live near.

But there's more to location
than being in the right place.

You also have to be
there at the right time.

Winter seems like the
worst possible season

for a bird to build a nest,

but the cold doesn't
stop these little songbirds.

Gray jays maintain their
territories all year round

in the northernmost
forests of North America

and they breed

in the dead of winter.

Here in Canada's
Algonquin Provincial Park,

a pair of jays is working
together on their nest.

They've picked a spot

that's exposed on the south
side to catch as much of

the weak winter
sunlight as possible

and is nestled under a
branch to offer at least

some protection
against snowstorms.

It's the female's job
to incubate the eggs.

She sits in the
nest without a break

for nearly three frigid weeks,

doing her best to keep
warm in subzero temperatures.

It's up to her mate
to keep her well-fed.

There's precious little to
eat in this frozen landscape,

unless you plan ahead.

During the fall,
gray jays harvest

the bounty of the
forest and store it away

in caches hidden in trees
throughout their territory.

Bugs and berries
and bits of meat

are tucked under flakes of bark.

And not just any tree will do.

Gray jays prefer black
spruce for food storage.

The bark is especially flaky,
and its resin seems to do

a better job of preserving
perishable food.

This pair of jays spend
months creating a network

of perhaps 10,000 food caches.

That meant they had to collect

and stash food hundreds
of times every day

and create a mental
map of their territory

to record where they
put their groceries.

Their memories are phenomenal.

They manage to retrieve as
much as 80% of the food they hide.

The eggs will hatch
in a few weeks,

before spring has even begun.

That will give the chicks

a head start on growing up
and developing brainpower.

They'll need it
when fall rolls around

so they can find and store food

and remember
where they put it all.

The Green Mountains
of Vermont are home to

the gray jay's
much larger cousin,

the common raven.

In late winter,
these granite cliffs

echo with their rasping calls.

Now, while the
rest of the forest

is still closed for the season,

the ravens are
starting a family.

Ravens are big birds,
and they build a big nest,

woven from sticks a yard long.

Because ravens are so
secretive and cautious,

their nests need to be
hidden out of the way,

like this one,

in a crevice on a cliff face,

with a rock overhang
for protection.

It's perfect for this family.

In fact, the layout
is so perfect,

it's been used for
thousands of years

by countless
generations of ravens.

Once the chicks
hatch, they grow fast.

Within a few weeks,

they're nearly as
big as their parents,

and they're ravenous.

Both adults work overtime
to keep food on the table

for four hungry nestlings.

Like jays,

ravens store some
food in hidden caches,

but mostly they let the winter
do their hunting for them,

and winter is a
cold-blooded killer.

A dead deer can
feed a lot of ravens.

They're sociable birds,

happy to share a big
meal with other ravens,

as well as a few neighbors.

Their calls also alert
less-welcome diners.

Eagles are too big

and too powerful to disinvite.

But ravens are patient.

Once the eagle
has eaten its fill,

there's still plenty left.

Some of the meat
they'll eat on the spot.

But for these working
parents, the main priority

is to bring food
back to the nest.

Their chicks are in
a hurry to grow up.

Before long, it'll be their
turn to make their homes

in these ancient granite cliffs.

Many mammals do
what jays and ravens do...

Start a family
during the winter.

But to succeed,

they need the right
home in the right place.

I've been studying bears
for more than 20 years.

My own work is based
in the Cascade Mountains

of Washington State
and up in Alaska,

but black bears are
making a comeback

all over the eastern
United States,

so I've come to Maryland's
Allegheny Mountains

to learn more about
how these bears

make their homes and where.

A bear's home is
really a seasonal thing,

a hideaway where
it can hibernate

during the long winter months,

and for a female, it's
much more than that.

Oh.

Look at that.

I love getting into
the mind of a bear

and wondering
what they're thinking.

So imagine a female
bear in November

is looking for a place
that she's going to spend

the next six months.

So she's thinking about
it needs to be isolated

and insulated and safe

and maybe somewhere
that's near food and water.

In the days just before
she goes into her den,

she'll be drinking
gallons of water

just to help her process the fat

so that she can
survive the winter.

So she's got an
awful lot on her mind

as she's trying to
select the best home,

but this would be perfect.

This den is empty
now, but last year,

for one bear, it was
a very special place.

Perfect.

Completely dry and
sheltered in here.

This is where it all happens.

She comes into this den alone

and she stops eating,
she stops drinking.

Her heartbeats drop to
about eight per minute,

her respiration, breathing,
down to about eight per minute,

and she's alone.

But then something even
more surprising happens.

In February, she gives
birth inside this den,

half asleep, to maybe
four or three cubs,

and then two months
later, they follow the light

at the end of the tunnel and
shadow mom as she leaves

into this big, wide
world of adventure.

What a way to start life.

Black bears here in Maryland
are reproducing at a rapid rate.

In some areas, their population
has doubled in the past decade.

That means they often make
their homes near where people live,

so the state has an interest
in keeping a close eye

on the bears and
locating their dens.

It's the end of March
in these snowy woods.

I've met up with Harry
Spiker and his team

from the Maryland Department
of Natural Resources.

There you go.

They're checking on

the health and welfare
of the local bears.

We've got a short walk in?

About a half-mile.

We're planning our
approach to another den,

one where the residents
are still at home.

She's right up there, up
pretty high on the rocks.

They're trying to figure out

the best route to the cave,

and we have to be very quiet

because we don't want
to disturb this female.

You'll hit rock wall.

Skirt around.

You can see why a bear
would be drawn to this area.

We're surrounded by
these giant boulders,

and there are these
dark holes between them

that look perfect for denning.

And you can also see Harry's
military background coming out.

He's going in first,

and if he can't dart the
bear and she decides to exit,

then Georgia here is the backup.

She can hopefully dart the
bear as it comes through.

With the bear
safely tranquilized,

I can take a look
inside her den.

Oh, it's a very tight space.

The perfect home,
nice and secure.

Oh, wow.

Oh, four cubs.

She has four.

Look at that.

There's four of them,
four cubs in here,

and a big female.

She looks huge, actually,
just squashed in here,

a tiny little space,

a really narrow little
section of the cave,

but it makes it a
perfect bear home

because it's secure, it's dry.

She's pulled in
all these leaves.

Look at all these
rhododendron leaves

that she's snipped from outside

and pulled in here
to make a bed.

A perfect place, though.

Really healthy female
and with four cubs.

That's a really good sign.

Okay, we're just
pulling out the cubs

so that we can weigh
them and measure them.

It's okay, little guy.

Okay, I got two here.

Coming out over my shoulder.

Another one there.

Yep, it's coming.

There you go, little guy.

Seven on the dot, seven pounds.

Outside the den, their
mom doesn't look so big.

She's only about
a hundred pounds,

but she's a beauty.

She looks in really good shape.

Oh, she is in great shape.

Her teeth look great.

Quite a young bear,
by the looks of it.

Incredible to see this this
thick mat of wool under there.

- Oh, absolutely.
- That's what it's all about.

She'd be lost without it.

You feeling good
about her and the cubs?

Real good, yeah, very good.

While the team does

a full work-up on the female...

Look at that.

I get a chance to enjoy a moment

I've always dreamed off.

Hey. Hey.

You guys are
perfect, aren't you?

Oh, this has got to be

one of the most memorable
experiences of my life.

Just look at those
guys. Four of them.

And we've got two
of these guys here.

As soon as you put
them in your coat,

they just want to feel
comfortable and warm.

They kind of chill out,
and I guess it must feel like

they're close to their mom,
like they are in that cave.

It's the first time

these guys have seen
daylight, and I'm definitely

the first human being
that they've seen.

That's an incredible thought.

It's just the biggest honor

playing surrogate
mom for a few minutes.

They're lucky little bears,

with a healthy mom
and a comfy den

in just the right location.

Back on the pond, winter
has worked its magic,

radically transforming
the beavers' world.

Their pond is
nearly frozen over...

And the lodge is camouflaged
under a mantle of white.

All around, the
landscape may be buffeted

by 60-mile-an-hour winds

and chilled to minus-30 degrees.

Many of these
animals are grazers,

so they're homeless.

They have to stay on the
move, regardless of the weather,

scratching out their survival
from beneath the snow.

As a result, they're
exposed to the worst

that winter can dish out

and they depend upon their
coats to keep out the cold.

The snow can pile
up three or four feet

and everything gets
a coating of ice...

Everything.

For the beavers,

life couldn't be more different.

With the mud and the lodge
walls frozen hard as concrete,

their home is impervious
to wind and snow.

The ice on their pond
may be a foot thick,

but thanks to the
beavers' efforts,

the water is deep
enough that it won't freeze

all the way to the bottom,

so there's plenty
of room to swim.

In the lodge, winter is
five months of family time,

and this family
has a full house,

with two parents,

a pair of adolescents
born last year,

and by late winter,

newborn kits.

With all that shared body
heat, the temperature in here

may be 60 degrees
warmer than outside.

The beavers' larder is near
their underwater entrance,

maybe a thousand pounds
of tree limbs and logs.

They can just pop
out the front door,

grab a meal, and
swim back in to feed.

Here in the darkness, in
the safety of their lodge,

they spend most
of their waking hours

reinforcing family
bonds by grooming

and eating together.

For kits, like human kids,

mealtime can turn into a game.

Much of a winter's day is passed

just sleeping.

They've earned a rest.

After all, they worked
hard last summer,

engineering a new habitat

and winterizing their lodge.

Now they get to enjoy
all the creature com forts.

The beavers have created
what every animal looks for

in a home.

Oh, wow.

It's a safe haven, a place
that's warm and secure,

a place where they can
give their young ones

the very best start in life.

To learn more about what you've
seen on this "Nature" program,