Wild China (2008–…): Season 1, Episode 3 - Tibet - full transcript

NARRATOR: The Tibetan plateau
is a quarter of China.

Much of it is extremely
remote and inhospitable.

Its southern border runs through
the world's highest mountain range,

the formidable Himalayas.

Its central part
is a windswept and freezing wilderness

the size of Western Europe.

But this challenging place
is home to incredible wildlife.

There are more large creatures here
than anywhere else in China.

Tibet has been a province of China
for more than 50 years,

yet it has a unique character,

shaped by over 1,000 years
of Tibetan Buddhism.



This obscure
and archaic looking religion

has produced one of the most
enlightened cultures on earth.

Here people have a long tradition
of co-existing peacefully

with the creatures
and landscape around them,

a relationship which has helped
to protect their fragile environment.

In this programme we will discover why
this harsh land with its ancient culture

is vitally important
for much of our planet.

It's the beginning of winter,
high up on the Tibetan plateau.

The temperature will soon drop
to minus 40 Celsius.

Out here, life is reduced
to a single imperative.

Survival.

For the argali,
the world's largest sheep,

it means searching
for a few tufts of grass.

Descending from the hilltops
to lower altitudes,



the argali band together for safety.

Hopefully, down here
they'll be able to find enough food

to last them
through the rest of the winter.

Although this winter landscape
looks barren and forbidding,

Tibet's remote grasslands support
a surprising variety of creatures,

though at this time of year
they can be hard to track down.

(ENGINES ROARING)

By comparison, Tibet's capital
Lhasa, is a hive of activity.

Lhasa is a focus
for large numbers of pilgrims

who congregate
at the city's temples each day.

Tibet is home
to over two-and-a-half million people,

most of whom are deeply religious.

Though Tibetan Buddhist worship

centres on elaborate temples,
statues and images,

its beliefs are intimately linked
with the wild landscapes of Tibet.

The starting point for that relationship

is the mountain range
that runs along Tibet's southern border.

Over 3,000 kilometres long,

the Himalayas
are China's real Great Wall.

With hundreds of peaks over 7,000 metres

and 13 peaks higher than 8,000 metres,

they are the highest mountains on earth.

The Tibetan region
contains over 35,000 glaciers

that cover over
100,000 square kilometres.

They comprise the largest area of ice
outside the polar regions,

and nearly a sixth of the world's total.

These glaciers are the source
of most of the water in the region.

And the Tibetan plateau
is studded with glacial lakes.

At over 4,500 metres up,

Lake Manasarovar,
in the far west of Tibet,

is the highest freshwater lake
in the world.

In late spring the chilly lake waters
are a magnet for breeding birds.

The crested grebe woos his mate
with offerings of weed for her nest.

Finally the honeymoon suite
is ready for action.

The grebes are joined by
the highest-flying birds in the world.

Having spent the winter
south of the Himalayas,

bar-headed geese make the
hazardous mountain crossing each spring

to breed on the plateau's lakes.

The geese nest together for safety.

But so many chicks
hatching at the same time

means that it can be tricky
finding your parents.

Fortunately, once down
at the water's edge,

there's enough food for all of them.

Fed by the mountain glaciers,

the Tibetan plateau
even has its own inland sea.

This is Qinghai Lake, China's largest.

Millions of years of evaporation

have concentrated the minerals
in the lake,

turning the water salty.

Rich in fish, its waters attract
thousands of cormorants.

But it's not just wildlife
that values Tibet's lakes and seas,

their life-giving waters
are also important to people.

Tibetan religion
is a unique mix of Buddhism

and much older shamanic beliefs

that were once widespread
throughout the region.

This hybrid religion forms the basis

of an extraordinary relationship
with nature.

In shamanic belief,

the land is imbued
with magical properties

which aid communication
with the spirit world.

Here animal skulls are decorated,

and rocks are carved
with sacred mantras,

groups of syllables that are considered
to have spiritual power.

The reciting of the mantras
is believed to create a magical sound

that reverberates through the universe.

The landscape is decorated
with multi-coloured flags

which represent the five elements,

fire, wood, earth, water and iron.

The flags are printed with prayers
to purify the air and pacify the gods,

and the wind blows the prayers
to heaven.

The poles on which the prayer flags
are mounted

are regularly replenished
with fresh flags.

The old flags are treasured.

Those nearest the top of the pole
are the most auspicious,

so competition for these can get fierce!

(PEOPLE CHATTERING EXCITEDLY)

The golden dome which is mounted
right at the top of the prayer pole

is the most sacred object of all.

Or it will be, once it's retrieved.

(MAN LAUGHING)

The old shamanic beliefs of Tibet

ascribed magical powers
to the landscape.

But there's a far more
tangible source of power here

which owes nothing at all to magic.

Strewn across the plateau
are boiling thermal springs,

the evidence of mighty natural forces

which have been at work
over millions of years.

Deep below the surface,

the vast continental plates of Asia
and India are crashing into each other.

The turmoil below
erupts in clouds of sulphurous steam.

It seems unlikely that scalding
mineral springs should support life.

But one unlikely creature thrives here
precisely because of them.

The hot spring snake is unique to Tibet
and is believed to have survived

the inhospitable conditions
up on the plateau

principally thanks
to this natural central heating.

These cold-blooded snakes
hang out in streams and rivers

which are fed by the hot springs,

where they enjoy
a surprisingly productive lifestyle.

Slipping into the warm water
they wait patiently,

bobbing their heads
on the lookout for fish.

Thanks to its unlikely relationship

with the volcanic forces
which built the Himalayas,

the hot spring snake is able to survive
at altitudes up to 4,500 metres,

making it the highest-living snake
in the world.

The slow-motion crash
between Asia and India

has been going on for 30 million years.

The Himalayas are the crumple-zone

created by these two
colliding land masses,

a bewildering maze
of mountains and valleys

home to elusive wild creatures.

In this rugged and unforgiving terrain,

littered with fractured rock
and ice-cold rivers,

the slightest miscalculation
may have fatal consequences.

The snow leopard
is the world's highest-living big cat.

But there's another, smaller predator
that ranges even higher,

almost to the roof of the world.

At a mind-numbing 8,848 metres high,

Everest is one of the most
hostile places for life on earth.

Hundreds of people have died
trying to conquer it.

But when climbers
first reached the ice fields

three-quarters of the way
up the mountain,

something had already beaten them to it.

This jumping spider is the highest
permanent resident on the planet.

Totally at home
amongst the glaciers of Everest,

it scours the slopes
for wind-borne prey such as springtails.

Chinese call this fierce little hunter
the fly tiger.

Jumping spiders
are found all over the world.

Their eight eyes
include an oversized central pair,

which act like powerful binoculars
to spot potential victims.

They use hydraulic pressure
to work their legs like pistons,

catapulting up to 30 times
their own body length.

The ideal way to get around
in rocky terrain.

But like all mountaineers,
they always secure a safety line first.

A springtail grazes on detritus,

unaware that it's being stalked
by such an acrobatic predator.

The Tibetans call Everest Qomolangma,
meaning "mother of the world".

It's a mark of their affection
for the mountain,

however brutal it may appear.

Venture further from the mountains
and out onto the open plateau,

and life doesn't appear
to get any easier.

High winds scour the landscape

and temperatures can drop
from baking to freezing in moments.

This is the Chang Tang,
or Northern Grassland.

It's so remote
that it's been called the Third Pole.

It's about 5,000 metres above sea level,

way above the point
at which altitude sickness

starts to affect humans.

At this height,
most people are gasping for breath.

But lack of oxygen
hasn't cramped this creature's style.

Chiru, or Tibetan antelope,
have arrived for the winter rut.

In the energy-sapping thin air,

the males must try to control groups
of females

by constantly rounding them up
and corralling them.

But the chiru have an advantage,

their red blood cell count
is twice as high as ours,

sufficient to supply their muscles
with oxygen

even at this extreme altitude.

Nevertheless, it's hard work
keeping his harem in check,

and the male's life
is about to get even harder.

Another male is gearing up
to steal his females.

(BELLOWING)

With their rapier-like horns,

the males won't risk fighting
unless they really have to.

But if neither backs down,
conflict is inevitable.

Some of these fights end in death.

While the males fence,
the females look on.

Injured and weakened by the battle,
the loser will be an easy target

for the predators and scavengers
that patrol the wilderness.

Out here there's little room
for mistakes.

With a clear view
of the endless plateau below,

vultures are quick to spot
any opportunity.

A dead yak has drawn a crowd.

Vultures aren't famous
for their table manners.

The vultures do well here,

as the vast Tibetan wilderness
is home to many large creatures.

Living in herds of up to 200

in the remoter corners
of the Tibetan plateau,

wild yaks travel large distances,
grazing on the alpine tundra.

Strong and secure
over mountain passes and rivers,

the yak is in its element at altitude,

so much so that it gets sick
if it goes below 3,000 metres.

Standing two metres tall at the shoulder
and weighing more than 800 kilos,

the wild yak is both
formidable and aggressive.

But without this fearsome creature,

it's unlikely that humans
would have survived up here.

Once domesticated,
the yak is an amazing animal,

providing the Tibetans
with transport, food,

wool for clothes and tents,
and manure for fuel.

It's held in such high regard

that its fur is even used to decorate
the sacred prayer flag poles,

and yak butter is used
as an offering to the gods.

The yak has even led the Tibetans
to buried treasure!

In summer, people can be seen
scouring the grassland,

bent over in deep concentration.

This is the world's weirdest harvest.

Tibetans first investigated
this strange root-like organism,

known locally as yatsa gunbu,

when their yaks appeared to have
more energy after grazing on it.

Rumours of its amazing properties
gradually spread

and today the yatsa gunbu is a passport
into a shady, underground world.

It's possible to dig up
40 of them in a day,

the proceeds from which may provide
half the collector's annual income.

Yatsa gunbu has been used

as a traditional remedy
for thousands of years,

though only by the very wealthy.

It's been bartered for tea and silk,

and is worth more than
four times its weight in silver.

So lucrative is this trade,

that sites and information
are jealously guarded.

At the nearby market,
yatsa gunbu are cleaned,

and their true nature becomes clear.

Yatsa gunbu translates as
"summer grass, winter worm".

The winter worm is a caterpillar.

It eats the roots of grasses

in preparation
for its transformation into a moth.

But some winter worms
never make it as moths.

Instead, a strange growth
erupts from their body,

appearing above ground in summer.

This is the summer grass,
a fungus called Cordyceps

whose spores
have infected the caterpillar,

using its body as their host.

Modern scientific tests have shown
that substances contained in Cordyceps

lower blood pressure
and make it easier to breathe.

So in recent years,
harvesting this natural treasure

has grown into a huge
and profitable business.

Yatsa gunbu sells for big money
in the top department stores of Lhasa,

and there is a growing market
outside of Tibet.

Although Tibet is modernising fast,
it retains a deeply spiritual culture.

Even today Tibetan valleys resound

to distinctive
and extraordinary calls to prayer.

(HORN PLAYING)

The Tibetan horn may be
the world's most unwieldy instrument,

but its sound is unique.

Every morning
the nuns assemble for practise.

The air is chilly,
but they soon warm up.

Monks and nuns comprise
a substantial portion of society,

largely self-contained and isolated.

Deep within the monastery

is the spiritual engine
that drives much of Tibetan culture.

(NUNS CHANTING)

Buddhists believe in
an endless cycle of rebirth

in which the actions of this life
will impact on the next.

The goal of Buddhism is to escape

from this earthly cycle
of pain and suffering

by achieving a state of freedom
called enlightenment.

The enlightened guides,
or spiritual teachers, are called lamas.

The possibility of escaping
the cycle of life and death

and the promise of enlightenment

encourages people to perform activities
that benefit all beings.

This belief assigns as much importance
to the environment and its creatures

as it does to humans,

since every living creature
is believed to have a soul.

In the remote lands of Tibet,
for over 1,000 years

this concept has been translated
into practical benefits for wildlife,

and it starts literally
on their doorstep.

Buddhist monasteries have sacred sites,

areas where taboos are placed
on the hunting and killing of animals.

Some creatures have become so tame

that the nuns
are able to hand-feed them,

like these Tibetan eared pheasants.

(CALLING BIRDS)

Thanks to handouts from the nuns,

these rare birds can survive
the worst of the winter.

In this extreme place,
people with few resources

are prepared to share them
with their needy fellow-creatures.

The Tibetan example
is a model for conservation.

This respect for wildlife
extends beyond the monasteries

and into the wider community.

One of Tibet's most sacred creatures
is the black-necked crane.

In summer they live and breed
out on the plateau,

but in winter
they congregate on farmland.

Seventy percent of the
world's population can be found here.

The species was only recently
identified by scientists,

but it's been known to Tibetans
for hundreds of years.

In the 17th century,
Tibet's supreme lama wrote,

"Crane, lend me your wings.

"I go no farther than Lithang County.

"And thence, return again."

Tibetans believed

he was predicting the site
of his own reincarnation,

and in due course
his successor was found,

sure enough, living in Lithang County.

Even today, black-necked cranes
are treated with reverence

and are welcomed by farmers

as they land in the fields
around the villages.

Here they perform
their elaborate sky pointing rituals.

After the dignified business
of parading,

they begin to forage
for leftover barley,

helped by the pigs
which break up the soil.

The farmers are happy to have
these sacred birds on their fields.

Within the village,
religion is an integral part of life.

Each prayer wheel
is inscribed with mantras.

Spinning them has much the same effect
as reciting the prayers.

Perhaps the Buddha
would have enjoyed the thought

that his teachings
could provide so much fun!

Buddhist respect for nature may
find expression in practical ways, too.

This bird has a broken wing

and has been nursed back to health
by the villagers.

Such kind acts are common

where people believe
that helping other beings,

animals or people, in this life
may bring rewards in the next.

The culture of veneration and protection
extends right across Tibet,

helping to preserve
a unique yet fragile ecosystem.

(THUNDER RUMBLING)

Out on the plateau
there's a small creature

that's at the root of much
of the grassland's delicate ecology.

Despite summer snowstorms, the pika,
a relative of rabbits and hares,

is perpetually eating
and gathering grass,

and digging burrows for its family.

The pika's constant excavations
aerate the soil,

which helps the plants to grow.

In the short summer, the landscape
is carpeted with hardy grasses

and decorated with endemic flowers.

In such a frugal environment,

the pika's farming
helps to kick start the food chain.

But the pika itself
is a very tasty morsel.

Its presence has enabled
an uneasy relationship to develop

between two of the plateau's
most opportunistic predators,

the fox and the bear.

The Tibetan brown bear,
a close relative of the grizzly,

tries to dig the pikas
out of their burrows.

Even hard, frozen soil presents
little obstacle to a determined bear.

Meanwhile, the wily Tibetan fox
trails the bear,

hoping to profit from the confusion.

(PIKA SQUEAKING)

True to form,
the crafty fox claims the prize.

A combination of inaccessibility

and ancient traditions
which forbid hunting,

means that in some parts of the plateau,

wild animals have remained
relatively undisturbed, even today.

But in those areas which are
within reach of motor vehicles,

these historical safeguards
have been undermined.

This change is illustrated
in the fortunes of the chiru.

A century ago,
millions migrated across the plateau.

Unfortunately for the chiru,

its fur, known as shahtoosh,
or king of wools, is highly prized.

In recent decades,

poachers have been able
to venture deep into the wilderness,

killing thousands of chiru.

However, the situation is improving.

Anti-poaching laws
are now actively enforced,

so every summer, female chiru
can head to the birthing grounds

in relative safety.

Out on the plateau new-born chiru
are vulnerable to predators,

so the mothers must try
to hide and protect them.

The most recent problem
faced by the chiru

is the new Tibet-Qinghai railway

which cuts right through
their traditional migration routes.

Running nearly 2,000 kilometres

through some of the highest terrain
on earth,

the railway
is an astonishing technical feat.

It's too early to see
its effect on the wildlife,

but the engineers have made efforts
to incorporate underpasses

where wildlife
can cross the line in safety.

As the modern world
increasingly impacts on Tibet,

its traditions could be in danger
of being eroded.

But thanks to the sheer scale
of this remote region,

there are still many wild places

that have so far remained
largely intact.

The least explored area of all
is found in Tibet's far southeast.

Here the Yarlung river, Tibet's longest,

has carved though the Himalayas,

allowing monsoon clouds from India
to pass through.

This is Tibet's most secret corner.

According to legend, the Yarlung gorge

was rendered magically invisible
in the 8th century

and can only be seen by those

who have attained sufficient
spiritual knowledge and wisdom.

At two days' walk from the nearest road,

this hidden region wasn't explored
by outsiders until the 1990s.

Thanks to the annual monsoon,

the whole landscape
is covered in lush forest.

The scale of the gorge is breathtaking.

As the Yarlung river
cuts through the mountains,

it's created the world's deepest gorge,

three times deeper
than America's Grand Canyon.

This vast and mysterious place
provides a vital clue

to Tibet's importance
for the rest of the world.

The monsoon which sustains
this lush and fertile valley

owes its very existence
to the Tibetan plateau.

Like a giant hotplate,

the plateau heats up
in the spring and summer.

The change in air pressure
draws in warm moist air

from the Indian Ocean in the south.

Thanks to this, over a billion people
from India to Burma

benefit from the monsoon rain
that this wind brings with it.

Tibet is the engine

that drives the fertility
of a whole subcontinent.

But Tibet has an even greater role
in the ecology of the region.

Clues to this function
are found in a legend

that pre-dates
even the ancient Tibetan culture,

and which still draws pilgrims
from all over the world.

Several world religions
believe in a mythical mountain

that's equivalent to the Garden of Eden.

Its peak has four faces,
aligned to the points of the compass,

and from its summit
four rivers are said to flow

to the four quarters of the world.

Thanks to its life-giving waters,

this mountain is known
as the axis of the world.

In one of the remotest areas of Tibet

there's a place where this legend
takes physical form.

That place is Mount Kailash.

By an uncanny coincidence,
Mount Kailash perfectly matches

the legend of the mythical
axis of the world.

Its four faces
are roughly aligned to the compass,

and four major rivers
flow from its foothills.

These are some of the most
significant rivers in Asia,

the Yarlung,
which becomes India's Brahmaputra,

the Indus and Sutlej
which flow to Pakistan,

and the Karnali,
a major feeder for the Ganges.

Thanks to its connection
with the mythical mountain,

Kailash is so sacred
that it's never been climbed.

It's Tibet's most important
pilgrimage site.

For Tibetans, pilgrimage is a journey
from ignorance to enlightenment.

A pilgrimage around the sacred mountain

is believed to wipe out
the sins of a lifetime,

increasing the chance
of a better re-birth.

Most pilgrims time their visit

for the most important festival
in the Tibetan calendar.

For over 1,000 years they have gathered
at the foot of Kailash

for the Saga Dawa Festival
to celebrate Buddha's enlightenment.

The festival climaxes with the raising
of the newly dressed altar,

a 25-metre flagpole.

The full entourage of Tibetan monks
make the most of the occasion,

with music, prayers and blessings.

Hundreds of fresh prayer flags
are prepared and added to the pole.

The head lama's sacred scarf
adds the final touch to the proceedings.

(CHANTING)

But the significance of Mount Kailash
isn't confined to Buddhists alone.

Other faiths
venture to this remote place,

many from far beyond the Himalayas.

Threatening to upstage the Buddhists,
the Hindus arrive,

adding their own mix
of colour and music.

When suitable respect has been paid,

it's time for the newly dressed
prayer pole to be raised.

(PEOPLE SHOUTING)

The pole must end up straight
or it will be a bad omen for Tibet.

At last the pole stands true

and the new prayers
can be blown to the heavens.

Around this point,
the power of the Tibetan landscape

and the beliefs
of many cultures converge.

More prayers, written on pieces of paper
called wind horses,

are thrown into the air

and flutter upwards
towards the peak of Kailash,

where the gods of the different faiths
are believed to reside.

Here at the axis of the world,
is a rare vision of harmony.

For a few, there is one final
but essential task to perform.

Buddhists believe
in the concept of rebirth,

and at Kailash, the journey
from one life to the next

is marked with an ancient
but outlandish ritual.

Tibetans believe there's no need to keep
or bury the bodies of their dead,

since a departed life will already
have kindled a new one elsewhere.

The word for burial in Tibetan
means "giving offerings to the birds",

an act of generosity

in line with the concept
of compassion for all beings.

By doing good deeds,

Buddhists believe
that they can contribute

to the process of enlightenment.

So a sky burial at Kailash
contributes to a brighter future.

There may be legends
of mythical mountains and rivers

that form the axis of the world.

But the Tibetan plateau itself,
with its mountains, glaciers and rivers,

and as the engine
that drives the monsoon,

lays fair claim to being
the real axis of the world.

Apart from feeding
the rivers of India and Pakistan,

Tibet's glaciers are the source
of even more great rivers.

Vietnam's Mekong, Burma's Salween,

and the Yangtze and the Yellow,
both of which flow into China.

Each year enough water
flows from the Tibetan plateau

to fill the entire Yellow River,

the mother river
of Chinese civilisation.

Today in China alone,

300 million people depend on water
from the Tibetan plateau.

With its profound effect
on Asia's weather and water systems,

the Tibetan plateau helps to sustain
almost half of the world's population.

For the moment at least.

Close to the summit of Mount Everest,

a forest of ice
once covered much of the area.

But now, thanks to climate change,
much of it has gone.

Within the next 30 years

it's predicted that eighty percent
of the Tibetan glaciers could disappear.

In many ways,

Tibet's fragile environment
is the barometer of our world.

What happens to it today,
in time will affect us all.