The Great British Year (2013) s01e01 Episode Script
Winter
1 We are an island nation, surrounded by seas and buffeted by winds .
.
with weather and seasons like nowhere else on earth.
Unpredictable, always changing, defining the nature of our extraordinary land.
And giving us: The passing seasons are what makes the Great British Year.
Some days it feels like we get all four in a single day.
We all feel the seasonal rhythms.
They're part of who we are.
For our wildlife, the seasons dictate every aspect of their lives.
Timing is everything.
We're all in this together, in a head-long rush through the ever-changing year.
365 days, 12 months, 4 seasons that shape our lives.
As the yearly cycle begins, it's cold and quiet, but full of promise.
Winter is here.
New Year's Day.
The sun is rising, but it won't climb very high.
The days here are so short, there's little time for it to warm the ground.
This is what defines our winter.
In three months' time, spring will arrive.
Then every plant, insect, fish, bird and mammal in the country will embark on a race to feed, grow and breed, but before then, it's going to get much colder and life is going to get much harder.
A crisp, cold dawn.
The year is only a week old, but snow is already on its way.
At a disused aerodrome in Essex, it snows so rarely that many of the resident animals may never have seen it before.
The derelict buildings are home to a male kestrel and a pair of barn owls.
In Britain, we are never far from spectacular wildlife and these birds are - as the owl flies - just ten minutes from central London.
The birds here are going to wake up to a very different world.
A few hours of snowfall has transformed the place The voles and mice that these birds normally hunt are still here, but now they are hidden by a blanket of white.
This poses a whole new set of challenges to the two birds.
They approach the problem in different ways.
The barn owl's trick is to fly so silently, that, although she can't see her prey, she can hear it.
The kestrel's no stealth hunter.
He is much more reliant on his sight than his hearing.
Both birds are master hunters, but today the barn owl has the advantage.
It's what you might call a clash of styles.
To keep an element of surprise, the kestrel needs a telegraph pole to launch his ambush, while the silent barn owl is free to hunt on the wing.
And she knows the airfield well.
Under the snow, here are some corrugated iron sheets - just the spot to catch voles.
Even from this height, she can hear the voles beneath the snow.
The owl looks like she's struck lucky.
Which is more than can be said for the kestrel.
It's not been a good day for the kestrel, and as long as the snow is here, it's probably not going to get much better.
Just a few miles down the road, they've escaped the worst of the snow.
But there is something much more deadly in the January air.
Frost.
When water vapour in air hits a cold surface, it freezes into tiny crystals.
Frost on a windscreen is a bit of nuisance, but imagine it if got inside your body.
That's exactly what our plants have to deal with every winter.
As water freezes inside a plant cell, it expands, putting pressure on the cell walls with a force powerful enough to burst a water-filled jar or even iron piping.
For plants that aren't hardy, this is the moment in the year that that brings destruction.
After the first freeze, even the morning sun can't help.
The damage is done.
The combined effect of thawing then freezing ruptures the cells, turning the plant to mush.
This Dorset oak may look dead too, but don't be fooled.
Beneath the bark, it's very much alive, protected by a natural antifreeze that runs through the cells of its trunk.
It is simply biding its time for when the warmer months return.
Thanks to this strategy, it has lived through 700 winters, and survived its first frost in the days when medieval knights roamed the land.
This red squirrel is concerned with right now.
Her warmth comes from the energy in the nuts that she stored away months ago.
On a frosty January morning, it's not just squirrels that need food to keep warm.
This is the toughest time of the year for our wild birds.
Which is why so many turn to us for help.
Thank goodness for bird tables.
When you consider that some birds need to eat a third of their body weight every day, it's not surprising that, on a cold snap, bird feeders attract a veritable feathered feeding frenzy.
Our birds are not big on sharing.
Sparrows, in particular, just can't resist a bust-up.
And greenfinches are even worse.
You'd think they spend their time eating instead of fighting.
But no-one stands their ground like a nuthatch.
We spend £365 million a year feeding birds.
For these few weeks, that becomes a lifeline.
The frost spreads its fingers into the earth itself, and that makes life hard for our most famous winter bird.
Robins tend to feed on worms and insects buried underground, but now that ground is frozen solid.
Luckily, help is at hand.
Moles.
Their molehills are chock full of worms and edible insect larvae.
Every fresh molehill becomes a feeding opportunity.
If you ever wondered why robins follow you around when you dig your garden in winter, now you know.
It may be bitterly cold, but for gardeners and farmers alike, winter is still the best time for turning the soil and preparing for the year ahead.
In Oxfordshire, it's a perfect day for ploughing.
With each pass, the plough does the work of many millions of moles, turning over tons of soil.
If ever there was an opportunity to get at the bugs beneath the frozen soil, this is it.
Recently, winter ploughing here has started attracting new visitors.
Red kites.
They were almost extinct only 100 winters ago, yet now their numbers are booming.
The kite's natural ability to swoop and grab carrion has been adapted to "dive bombing" this plough.
They adjust and trim their flight to come in low, right behind the blades.
Sometimes they catch the worms without even touching down.
The farmer's skill at ploughing the perfect furrow is more than matched by the aerobatic skill of these kites.
Without this human activity, kites might struggle to make it through winter and might well be back on the brink of extinction.
Britain's winter landscape is characterised by the stark skeletons of our native trees.
There is one rather surprising result to having leafless branches.
In the summer, the tree trunks are shaded by the leafy canopy.
But six months on, the trunks are bathed in sunshine and become the perfect surface for a unique winter crop.
That crop is edible green algae.
At first glance, there's nothing around to eat it, but come a warm blip in the cold weather, and that all changes.
From the gloom, come countless crustaceans.
The same woodlice we find in our garden.
On these rare nights - brief windows of opportunity - billions of these tiny creatures are grazing in our woodlands.
As soon as the cold returns, they melt back into the night.
One of the greatest joys of a British winter is waking up to a completely different world.
As the giant, white duvet covers the landscape, it isn't just the sights that change.
Hard edges are cushioned, and echoes are muffled, giving us the sound of winter.
The sun's rays are now being reflected, making it colder still.
To the north and on higher ground, what was already a challenging place to live has just become even more so.
Hardy Cumbrian sheep can no longer find food for themselves and must rely on the farmer until the snow melts.
Further north still, the Scottish Highlands have become Britain's most extreme environment.
The animals here are defined by their ability to survive these few unforgiving weeks in the year.
For us, just to visit the highlands requires special equipment, and even then, we can't stay outside for long.
Each year, the elements kill about 20 people on these mountains.
In southern, low-lying areas, snow is rather more of a novelty .
.
so we tend to make the most of it.
Sun is shining in the sky There ain't a cloud in sight It's stopped raining Everybody's in a play The bird tables are busy.
The birds will be OK as long as the food keeps coming.
Running down the avenue See how the sun shines brightly In the city On the streets where once was pity Mr Blue Sky is living here today Hey-hey-hey Mr Blue Sky, please tell us why You had to hide away for so long So long Where did we go wrong? Mr Blue Sky, please tell us why You had to hide away for so long So long Where did we go wrong? Enjoying the winter wonderland is all part of being British.
But then when we've had enough, we can go in for a nice hot cup of tea.
The snow isn't putting off these brown hares.
These young males are hoping to find a mate and have stated boxing early.
In fact, these famous bouts are often a female beating up an over-eager young male.
If he isn't strong enough to beat her, then she just isn't interested.
Even on the odd occasion when the entire country is covered with snow, there is one place you can escape the freeze.
The coast.
Satellites measuring surface temperatures show that, in winter, the sea is much warmer than the land.
This holds our winters in check and is part of what makes our seasons unique.
Mind you, water draws heat out of us faster than air does, so a quick dip is still an achingly cold experience.
This isn't usually a problem for Britain's largest wild resident.
Grey seals are insulated by thick blubber and fur By February, the seals in Cornwall start to behave in a strange way.
This is the time for their annual moult.
They replace old fur, and to do that they must pump blood closer to their skin's surface.
So now they feel the cold.
It's no surprise the water is less inviting.
The incoming tide makes them behave less like seals and more like nervous holidaymakers.
We may be a small island, but our crinkly coastline is nearly 12,000 miles long.
And with the help of the warming effect of the sea, there are a few special places, where in winter, life gathers on a massive scale.
This is the Wash estuary.
Today is the biggest tide of the winter.
As the water drops, it exposes miles of mud full of life.
Billions of creatures, living just below the surface.
One type of bird makes a special effort to come here to feed in our winter.
Huge numbers of arctic knot have been arriving here every day since November.
They have now reached their peak, at around 100,000.
The race begins as they rush to feed on the exposed mud.
As the water rises and falls, the shape of the feeding grounds is constantly shifting.
This display is one of the winter season's secrets.
Few of us are lucky enough to see it.
By mid-February, winter should be passing its peak, but this year it's still cold and inland the snow still covers the ground.
Under a blanket of white in a Gloucestershire wood, a delicate flower is just about to make its move.
This is the time of the snowdrop.
They are not the tallest, not the most colourful, but they have stolen the race on practically everything else.
Their timing is perfect.
Without any other plants to blot out the sun, each tiny snowdrop is free to harvest the light.
For most of us, it's our first sight of a wild flower for months, and even a symbol of hope.
It's St Valentine's day.
In Norfolk, a pond has begun to thaw.
For a male frog, it's time to act.
.
Amazingly, it's the smell of growing algae that's brought him here.
And the boys call in the girls.
The orgy of frogs spawn now so that their babies might feed on the algae when it blooms in a few weeks' time.
A few hours of winter sun draws adders out onto a heath in Kent.
To catch the most rays, these males are able to flatten their bodies.
He and other male adders need this warmth to speed up sperm production.
They won't mate till spring, but they're making hay while the sun shines.
In Cumbria, the red squirrels have made it this far on food they stored back in autumn.
And these nuts are all the food they have until the spring arrives.
Whether they make it now will all be down to cunning.
There's much more to squirreling away than just simply burying nuts.
There's a strategy.
If this red squirrel finds more food than she can immediately deal with, she'll hide it again somewhere else.
It's a great system.
The problem is that there are lots of squirrels around and every time she digs up a nut, their eyes are on her.
She knows they are watching, and they know she knows.
So, she changes her game.
If she goes to hide a nut, but spots she's being watched, she moves on.
If she's fast with her paws, she can trick them into thinking that she's buried it .
.
when she hasn't.
And so, the game continues.
Leading them on a merry chase of deception.
For the spying squirrels, it's worth checking everywhere she's been, just in case it was a double bluff.
For our heroine, being sneaky is the only way to survive.
Save your food today because you're never quite sure how long the tough times will last.
You can't take anything for granted in a British Winter.
Back at the old aerodrome in Essex, there is a hopeful hint of sunshine breaking through.
The good news is that the barn owls have made it this far.
And the kestrel's doing OK too.
They're not alone though.
Little owls are living in a tree overlooking the old barracks.
Just across the old airstrip, two rare, long-eared owls sit silently where planes used to roar.
The locals birds have even been joined by a visitor - a short-eared owl.
Her yellow eyes mark her out as a day hunter.
There are so many owls here, because even in winter, the land is teeming with mice and voles.
The hares are still frisky.
Some have already got babies.
Right now, they're hidden in the grass somewhere nearby.
During daylight, the aerodrome holds few dangers for them.
As night falls, all that will change.
A thermal camera allows us to see what's going on.
There are no lights at all.
It's completely dark.
And yet, the camera detects tiny differences in temperature.
It can see individual stems of grass, and the brickwork on the old barracks.
Anything warm stands out as black.
This is a mother hare.
She's nervous and this is why.
The faint glow in the grass is her hidden baby - a leveret - just a day or two old.
Mum can hardly see in the dark, but she can smell and hear what's going on around her.
Every faint rustle catches her attention.
Meanwhile, her cousins, the neighbourhood rabbits, turn to a spot of urine-spraying - all part of their unique mating ritual.
She can't be sure which sound means danger.
That's the lolloping gait of a badger.
The mother hare has no idea it's there.
It's digging for worms at the moment, but if it finds the baby hare, it will eat it in a second.
The badger's heading their way.
A few more metres, and it could pick up the baby's scent.
A piercing cry gets everyone's attention.
A fox.
It's heading in their direction.
Suddenly, both fox and badger catch each other's scent.
The fox turns tail - it spooks everyone.
The leveret is safe, for tonight.
There is no single moment when winter finally loosens its grip.
It's the nature of Britain that deep snow can cover one county and yet it's mild just a few miles away.
Whatever the weather is doing, the days are getting longer and nature is reacting.
Inside the trees, their cells are changing, preparing for the future.
The north of our planet is slowly tilting back towards the sun.
Britain is warming.
It seems, for the last few months, wildlife here in Britain has been barely clinging on, but we can all feel a change.
It's is not just about survival any more, it's about new life.
These are catkins - special flowers adapted to catch the breeze and scatter pollen.
This is easier before the leaves have grown back on the trees.
The slightest breath of wind or nudge of a passing bird is all that's needed.
As the pollen lands on the red female flower, life begins.
By March, Britain is straddling two seasons and in the countryside, things are picking up pace.
Here in Somerset, it's time for hedge laying, just as it's been done for hundreds of years.
When this lattice of branches sprouts, it will create a new strong field boundary, and one of the country's most important wild habitats.
The magic ingredient is the rising temperature.
At it passes seven degrees, our plants begin to grow in earnest and it's particularly true for Britain's biggest crop, grass.
It covers over half of the entire UK landmass.
The greening of Britain begins in our southern cities, with their millions of lawns.
Time to get the mower out.
Soon, all across the country, the newly sprouting grass will attract grazers.
Here in north London, night-time visitors are already creeping into the suburbs to get to the first flush of new grass on our roadside verges.
These are fallow deer.
They live in nearby ancient woodlands and have been doing so for hundreds of years.
Tonight, they're drawn out by the promise of richer pastures.
The females are carrying young and in June they'll give birth.
Every mouthful of grass they find is precious.
Once they were hunted by Norman kings.
Now, it's the cars they have to watch out for.
In the passing of just a few days, it seems life has returned to our islands.
Green shoots are emerging, animals venturing out, and Britain looks a completely different place.
It's the spring equinox, when our days and nights are exactly the same length.
The stage is set for the next big phase in the Great British Year.
The 20th March, on a lake in Wiltshire.
Two great crested grebes begin a magical dance that ushers in the next three months.
There is courting to be done, territories to be established and nests to be built.
Spring is finally here.
To capture the broadest and most spectacular images of our changing islands demanded a novel approach to wildlife filmmaking.
An army of photographers, more than have ever been used in a British wildlife series, were mobilised up and down the country.
Cameramen with years of experience were joined by keen enthusiasts.
By tapping into local knowledge and expertise, the team was able to gather footage of the country as it constantly changed, revealing the best, and the worst, of the British weather.
The team also turned to new techniques when they focused their cameras on the wildlife itself.
Stowe Maries - a disused World War I airfield.
It's known for having an amazing concentration of birds of prey and is home to dozens of hares.
But the team suspected there was more to this place.
To unlock its secrets, they decided to film at night.
This Pinzgauer vehicle is equipped with the world's most advanced thermal imaging cameras.
On top of a mast, the camera can survey the surrounding countryside.
It's used by the military in night surveillance - the precise details are all a bit hush-hush.
Cameraman Lindsay McCrae was getting a crash course in covert surveillance techniques.
The plan was for Lindsay to use another, portable version of the camera so he could get as close as possible to the animals.
As night fell, the main crew retired to the Pinzgauer.
This was a whole new experience for the team.
Thermal cameras form a picture by sensing heat without needing any lights.
So your subjects have no idea they are being filmed.
Freak out! Le freak, c'est chic Freak out! Ah, freak out! Le freak, c'est chic Freak out! It clearly worked on the team.
Would it work on the wildlife? James Brickell had the job of co-ordinating operations.
We've got an area the size of ten rugby pitches.
We can't see all of it at once, so by having two cameras up high we can look down on the area with the thermal cameras here and then direct Lindsay on the ground.
We're being spotters, basically.
My job was essentially to be Lindsay's eyes and ears.
The important thing about this camera is that anything with body heat stands out, so it's not just about filming them, you can actually find them in the first place - more easily than if you were filming during the day.
You still need field-craft though, because Lindsay needed to stay quiet, to stay down wind, to put himself in the right position to get the very best shots.
Filming like this put us right in the middle of the action with Lindsay just metres away from what was happening, and we were seeing stuff that would usually be so camouflaged you wouldn't spot it.
I think that's a woodcock.
We're at the end of our zoom.
It's not bad, it's brilliant.
That's a woodcock.
They are impossible to see in the day.
Hello Linds, if you can hear me, there's a muntjac deer - I think it's a deer - on the bank on the other side.
For over 100 years, the airfield has not had much farming that I know.
It's had no pesticides, no spraying, no hunting.
It's not really surprising, I saw more British mammals in one night than I'd ever seen before.
One of the challenges of this camera is that the thermal outline of an animal may be different from its actual outline.
It's quite hard to identify exactly what you're looking at.
The stars were the hares, the adults are great animals, great characters, but then with this camera, it helped us find the babies.
There's Lindsay, our cameraman, and he's filming some leverets, baby hares that are about - it's difficult to tell - 20 metres in front of him? They are so cute.
We went looking for them in the day and we walked straight over the spot where they were, four or five times, and didn't see them.
So, without a thermal camera you would have no chance of spotting them at all.
What's that? That's a badger.
Linds, there's a badger right behind you, I think.
Initially, I didn't think the badger would pose a threat because it looked like it was hunting for worms.
In fact, we were all watching some bats that were circling it looking for insects it had kicked up, which is not something I've ever seen before.
Suddenly, we realised the badger was heading straight right towards where the leverets were.
Then, we got a bit of a surprise.
I think that's Is everyone else looking at this? That's not a hare, is it? Linds, I think there is a fox on the other side of the field.
It is definitely a fox, mate.
It's definitely a fox.
Can you see it? Over.
Fox is now on the left-hand side of the bank, still pretty close to the tree line, moving camera left and slightly away from you.
How did we miss that? He must have come out right behind Lindsay.
I think at this point - about eight hares, two leverets that we knew of, and now two predators, two hunters - a badger and a fox - all converging to the same spot.
It looks like he's after a feed.
I wonder if she finds your baby hares.
It doesn't matter whether your filming sharks or lions in the wild, or badgers.
You never get tired of it.
There's always that sense of anticipation.
You don't know what's going to happen next.
He's turned towards us.
That mum doesn't want to come closer, does she? He's coming out into the field.
We could see everything that was going on with this camera.
It was pitch dark, so the animals were relying on scent and sound.
It's a long way away.
Suddenly there was this stand-off.
The fox seemed uneasy.
Are you getting this? Whatever spooked them, it was a pretty lucky escape for the leveret, I think.
Hidden by the dark, dramas like this play out all over the countryside every night.
It was only by using this new camera that it was possible to witness Britain's secret wildlife in this way.
It's just one of the many techniques the team would use to reveal the story of our changing land.
To get a free copy of this poster about British seasons, call 0845 271 0017 or go to bbc.
co.
uk/greatbritishyear Follow the links to the Open University and take part in our seasonal wildlife census.
.
with weather and seasons like nowhere else on earth.
Unpredictable, always changing, defining the nature of our extraordinary land.
And giving us: The passing seasons are what makes the Great British Year.
Some days it feels like we get all four in a single day.
We all feel the seasonal rhythms.
They're part of who we are.
For our wildlife, the seasons dictate every aspect of their lives.
Timing is everything.
We're all in this together, in a head-long rush through the ever-changing year.
365 days, 12 months, 4 seasons that shape our lives.
As the yearly cycle begins, it's cold and quiet, but full of promise.
Winter is here.
New Year's Day.
The sun is rising, but it won't climb very high.
The days here are so short, there's little time for it to warm the ground.
This is what defines our winter.
In three months' time, spring will arrive.
Then every plant, insect, fish, bird and mammal in the country will embark on a race to feed, grow and breed, but before then, it's going to get much colder and life is going to get much harder.
A crisp, cold dawn.
The year is only a week old, but snow is already on its way.
At a disused aerodrome in Essex, it snows so rarely that many of the resident animals may never have seen it before.
The derelict buildings are home to a male kestrel and a pair of barn owls.
In Britain, we are never far from spectacular wildlife and these birds are - as the owl flies - just ten minutes from central London.
The birds here are going to wake up to a very different world.
A few hours of snowfall has transformed the place The voles and mice that these birds normally hunt are still here, but now they are hidden by a blanket of white.
This poses a whole new set of challenges to the two birds.
They approach the problem in different ways.
The barn owl's trick is to fly so silently, that, although she can't see her prey, she can hear it.
The kestrel's no stealth hunter.
He is much more reliant on his sight than his hearing.
Both birds are master hunters, but today the barn owl has the advantage.
It's what you might call a clash of styles.
To keep an element of surprise, the kestrel needs a telegraph pole to launch his ambush, while the silent barn owl is free to hunt on the wing.
And she knows the airfield well.
Under the snow, here are some corrugated iron sheets - just the spot to catch voles.
Even from this height, she can hear the voles beneath the snow.
The owl looks like she's struck lucky.
Which is more than can be said for the kestrel.
It's not been a good day for the kestrel, and as long as the snow is here, it's probably not going to get much better.
Just a few miles down the road, they've escaped the worst of the snow.
But there is something much more deadly in the January air.
Frost.
When water vapour in air hits a cold surface, it freezes into tiny crystals.
Frost on a windscreen is a bit of nuisance, but imagine it if got inside your body.
That's exactly what our plants have to deal with every winter.
As water freezes inside a plant cell, it expands, putting pressure on the cell walls with a force powerful enough to burst a water-filled jar or even iron piping.
For plants that aren't hardy, this is the moment in the year that that brings destruction.
After the first freeze, even the morning sun can't help.
The damage is done.
The combined effect of thawing then freezing ruptures the cells, turning the plant to mush.
This Dorset oak may look dead too, but don't be fooled.
Beneath the bark, it's very much alive, protected by a natural antifreeze that runs through the cells of its trunk.
It is simply biding its time for when the warmer months return.
Thanks to this strategy, it has lived through 700 winters, and survived its first frost in the days when medieval knights roamed the land.
This red squirrel is concerned with right now.
Her warmth comes from the energy in the nuts that she stored away months ago.
On a frosty January morning, it's not just squirrels that need food to keep warm.
This is the toughest time of the year for our wild birds.
Which is why so many turn to us for help.
Thank goodness for bird tables.
When you consider that some birds need to eat a third of their body weight every day, it's not surprising that, on a cold snap, bird feeders attract a veritable feathered feeding frenzy.
Our birds are not big on sharing.
Sparrows, in particular, just can't resist a bust-up.
And greenfinches are even worse.
You'd think they spend their time eating instead of fighting.
But no-one stands their ground like a nuthatch.
We spend £365 million a year feeding birds.
For these few weeks, that becomes a lifeline.
The frost spreads its fingers into the earth itself, and that makes life hard for our most famous winter bird.
Robins tend to feed on worms and insects buried underground, but now that ground is frozen solid.
Luckily, help is at hand.
Moles.
Their molehills are chock full of worms and edible insect larvae.
Every fresh molehill becomes a feeding opportunity.
If you ever wondered why robins follow you around when you dig your garden in winter, now you know.
It may be bitterly cold, but for gardeners and farmers alike, winter is still the best time for turning the soil and preparing for the year ahead.
In Oxfordshire, it's a perfect day for ploughing.
With each pass, the plough does the work of many millions of moles, turning over tons of soil.
If ever there was an opportunity to get at the bugs beneath the frozen soil, this is it.
Recently, winter ploughing here has started attracting new visitors.
Red kites.
They were almost extinct only 100 winters ago, yet now their numbers are booming.
The kite's natural ability to swoop and grab carrion has been adapted to "dive bombing" this plough.
They adjust and trim their flight to come in low, right behind the blades.
Sometimes they catch the worms without even touching down.
The farmer's skill at ploughing the perfect furrow is more than matched by the aerobatic skill of these kites.
Without this human activity, kites might struggle to make it through winter and might well be back on the brink of extinction.
Britain's winter landscape is characterised by the stark skeletons of our native trees.
There is one rather surprising result to having leafless branches.
In the summer, the tree trunks are shaded by the leafy canopy.
But six months on, the trunks are bathed in sunshine and become the perfect surface for a unique winter crop.
That crop is edible green algae.
At first glance, there's nothing around to eat it, but come a warm blip in the cold weather, and that all changes.
From the gloom, come countless crustaceans.
The same woodlice we find in our garden.
On these rare nights - brief windows of opportunity - billions of these tiny creatures are grazing in our woodlands.
As soon as the cold returns, they melt back into the night.
One of the greatest joys of a British winter is waking up to a completely different world.
As the giant, white duvet covers the landscape, it isn't just the sights that change.
Hard edges are cushioned, and echoes are muffled, giving us the sound of winter.
The sun's rays are now being reflected, making it colder still.
To the north and on higher ground, what was already a challenging place to live has just become even more so.
Hardy Cumbrian sheep can no longer find food for themselves and must rely on the farmer until the snow melts.
Further north still, the Scottish Highlands have become Britain's most extreme environment.
The animals here are defined by their ability to survive these few unforgiving weeks in the year.
For us, just to visit the highlands requires special equipment, and even then, we can't stay outside for long.
Each year, the elements kill about 20 people on these mountains.
In southern, low-lying areas, snow is rather more of a novelty .
.
so we tend to make the most of it.
Sun is shining in the sky There ain't a cloud in sight It's stopped raining Everybody's in a play The bird tables are busy.
The birds will be OK as long as the food keeps coming.
Running down the avenue See how the sun shines brightly In the city On the streets where once was pity Mr Blue Sky is living here today Hey-hey-hey Mr Blue Sky, please tell us why You had to hide away for so long So long Where did we go wrong? Mr Blue Sky, please tell us why You had to hide away for so long So long Where did we go wrong? Enjoying the winter wonderland is all part of being British.
But then when we've had enough, we can go in for a nice hot cup of tea.
The snow isn't putting off these brown hares.
These young males are hoping to find a mate and have stated boxing early.
In fact, these famous bouts are often a female beating up an over-eager young male.
If he isn't strong enough to beat her, then she just isn't interested.
Even on the odd occasion when the entire country is covered with snow, there is one place you can escape the freeze.
The coast.
Satellites measuring surface temperatures show that, in winter, the sea is much warmer than the land.
This holds our winters in check and is part of what makes our seasons unique.
Mind you, water draws heat out of us faster than air does, so a quick dip is still an achingly cold experience.
This isn't usually a problem for Britain's largest wild resident.
Grey seals are insulated by thick blubber and fur By February, the seals in Cornwall start to behave in a strange way.
This is the time for their annual moult.
They replace old fur, and to do that they must pump blood closer to their skin's surface.
So now they feel the cold.
It's no surprise the water is less inviting.
The incoming tide makes them behave less like seals and more like nervous holidaymakers.
We may be a small island, but our crinkly coastline is nearly 12,000 miles long.
And with the help of the warming effect of the sea, there are a few special places, where in winter, life gathers on a massive scale.
This is the Wash estuary.
Today is the biggest tide of the winter.
As the water drops, it exposes miles of mud full of life.
Billions of creatures, living just below the surface.
One type of bird makes a special effort to come here to feed in our winter.
Huge numbers of arctic knot have been arriving here every day since November.
They have now reached their peak, at around 100,000.
The race begins as they rush to feed on the exposed mud.
As the water rises and falls, the shape of the feeding grounds is constantly shifting.
This display is one of the winter season's secrets.
Few of us are lucky enough to see it.
By mid-February, winter should be passing its peak, but this year it's still cold and inland the snow still covers the ground.
Under a blanket of white in a Gloucestershire wood, a delicate flower is just about to make its move.
This is the time of the snowdrop.
They are not the tallest, not the most colourful, but they have stolen the race on practically everything else.
Their timing is perfect.
Without any other plants to blot out the sun, each tiny snowdrop is free to harvest the light.
For most of us, it's our first sight of a wild flower for months, and even a symbol of hope.
It's St Valentine's day.
In Norfolk, a pond has begun to thaw.
For a male frog, it's time to act.
.
Amazingly, it's the smell of growing algae that's brought him here.
And the boys call in the girls.
The orgy of frogs spawn now so that their babies might feed on the algae when it blooms in a few weeks' time.
A few hours of winter sun draws adders out onto a heath in Kent.
To catch the most rays, these males are able to flatten their bodies.
He and other male adders need this warmth to speed up sperm production.
They won't mate till spring, but they're making hay while the sun shines.
In Cumbria, the red squirrels have made it this far on food they stored back in autumn.
And these nuts are all the food they have until the spring arrives.
Whether they make it now will all be down to cunning.
There's much more to squirreling away than just simply burying nuts.
There's a strategy.
If this red squirrel finds more food than she can immediately deal with, she'll hide it again somewhere else.
It's a great system.
The problem is that there are lots of squirrels around and every time she digs up a nut, their eyes are on her.
She knows they are watching, and they know she knows.
So, she changes her game.
If she goes to hide a nut, but spots she's being watched, she moves on.
If she's fast with her paws, she can trick them into thinking that she's buried it .
.
when she hasn't.
And so, the game continues.
Leading them on a merry chase of deception.
For the spying squirrels, it's worth checking everywhere she's been, just in case it was a double bluff.
For our heroine, being sneaky is the only way to survive.
Save your food today because you're never quite sure how long the tough times will last.
You can't take anything for granted in a British Winter.
Back at the old aerodrome in Essex, there is a hopeful hint of sunshine breaking through.
The good news is that the barn owls have made it this far.
And the kestrel's doing OK too.
They're not alone though.
Little owls are living in a tree overlooking the old barracks.
Just across the old airstrip, two rare, long-eared owls sit silently where planes used to roar.
The locals birds have even been joined by a visitor - a short-eared owl.
Her yellow eyes mark her out as a day hunter.
There are so many owls here, because even in winter, the land is teeming with mice and voles.
The hares are still frisky.
Some have already got babies.
Right now, they're hidden in the grass somewhere nearby.
During daylight, the aerodrome holds few dangers for them.
As night falls, all that will change.
A thermal camera allows us to see what's going on.
There are no lights at all.
It's completely dark.
And yet, the camera detects tiny differences in temperature.
It can see individual stems of grass, and the brickwork on the old barracks.
Anything warm stands out as black.
This is a mother hare.
She's nervous and this is why.
The faint glow in the grass is her hidden baby - a leveret - just a day or two old.
Mum can hardly see in the dark, but she can smell and hear what's going on around her.
Every faint rustle catches her attention.
Meanwhile, her cousins, the neighbourhood rabbits, turn to a spot of urine-spraying - all part of their unique mating ritual.
She can't be sure which sound means danger.
That's the lolloping gait of a badger.
The mother hare has no idea it's there.
It's digging for worms at the moment, but if it finds the baby hare, it will eat it in a second.
The badger's heading their way.
A few more metres, and it could pick up the baby's scent.
A piercing cry gets everyone's attention.
A fox.
It's heading in their direction.
Suddenly, both fox and badger catch each other's scent.
The fox turns tail - it spooks everyone.
The leveret is safe, for tonight.
There is no single moment when winter finally loosens its grip.
It's the nature of Britain that deep snow can cover one county and yet it's mild just a few miles away.
Whatever the weather is doing, the days are getting longer and nature is reacting.
Inside the trees, their cells are changing, preparing for the future.
The north of our planet is slowly tilting back towards the sun.
Britain is warming.
It seems, for the last few months, wildlife here in Britain has been barely clinging on, but we can all feel a change.
It's is not just about survival any more, it's about new life.
These are catkins - special flowers adapted to catch the breeze and scatter pollen.
This is easier before the leaves have grown back on the trees.
The slightest breath of wind or nudge of a passing bird is all that's needed.
As the pollen lands on the red female flower, life begins.
By March, Britain is straddling two seasons and in the countryside, things are picking up pace.
Here in Somerset, it's time for hedge laying, just as it's been done for hundreds of years.
When this lattice of branches sprouts, it will create a new strong field boundary, and one of the country's most important wild habitats.
The magic ingredient is the rising temperature.
At it passes seven degrees, our plants begin to grow in earnest and it's particularly true for Britain's biggest crop, grass.
It covers over half of the entire UK landmass.
The greening of Britain begins in our southern cities, with their millions of lawns.
Time to get the mower out.
Soon, all across the country, the newly sprouting grass will attract grazers.
Here in north London, night-time visitors are already creeping into the suburbs to get to the first flush of new grass on our roadside verges.
These are fallow deer.
They live in nearby ancient woodlands and have been doing so for hundreds of years.
Tonight, they're drawn out by the promise of richer pastures.
The females are carrying young and in June they'll give birth.
Every mouthful of grass they find is precious.
Once they were hunted by Norman kings.
Now, it's the cars they have to watch out for.
In the passing of just a few days, it seems life has returned to our islands.
Green shoots are emerging, animals venturing out, and Britain looks a completely different place.
It's the spring equinox, when our days and nights are exactly the same length.
The stage is set for the next big phase in the Great British Year.
The 20th March, on a lake in Wiltshire.
Two great crested grebes begin a magical dance that ushers in the next three months.
There is courting to be done, territories to be established and nests to be built.
Spring is finally here.
To capture the broadest and most spectacular images of our changing islands demanded a novel approach to wildlife filmmaking.
An army of photographers, more than have ever been used in a British wildlife series, were mobilised up and down the country.
Cameramen with years of experience were joined by keen enthusiasts.
By tapping into local knowledge and expertise, the team was able to gather footage of the country as it constantly changed, revealing the best, and the worst, of the British weather.
The team also turned to new techniques when they focused their cameras on the wildlife itself.
Stowe Maries - a disused World War I airfield.
It's known for having an amazing concentration of birds of prey and is home to dozens of hares.
But the team suspected there was more to this place.
To unlock its secrets, they decided to film at night.
This Pinzgauer vehicle is equipped with the world's most advanced thermal imaging cameras.
On top of a mast, the camera can survey the surrounding countryside.
It's used by the military in night surveillance - the precise details are all a bit hush-hush.
Cameraman Lindsay McCrae was getting a crash course in covert surveillance techniques.
The plan was for Lindsay to use another, portable version of the camera so he could get as close as possible to the animals.
As night fell, the main crew retired to the Pinzgauer.
This was a whole new experience for the team.
Thermal cameras form a picture by sensing heat without needing any lights.
So your subjects have no idea they are being filmed.
Freak out! Le freak, c'est chic Freak out! Ah, freak out! Le freak, c'est chic Freak out! It clearly worked on the team.
Would it work on the wildlife? James Brickell had the job of co-ordinating operations.
We've got an area the size of ten rugby pitches.
We can't see all of it at once, so by having two cameras up high we can look down on the area with the thermal cameras here and then direct Lindsay on the ground.
We're being spotters, basically.
My job was essentially to be Lindsay's eyes and ears.
The important thing about this camera is that anything with body heat stands out, so it's not just about filming them, you can actually find them in the first place - more easily than if you were filming during the day.
You still need field-craft though, because Lindsay needed to stay quiet, to stay down wind, to put himself in the right position to get the very best shots.
Filming like this put us right in the middle of the action with Lindsay just metres away from what was happening, and we were seeing stuff that would usually be so camouflaged you wouldn't spot it.
I think that's a woodcock.
We're at the end of our zoom.
It's not bad, it's brilliant.
That's a woodcock.
They are impossible to see in the day.
Hello Linds, if you can hear me, there's a muntjac deer - I think it's a deer - on the bank on the other side.
For over 100 years, the airfield has not had much farming that I know.
It's had no pesticides, no spraying, no hunting.
It's not really surprising, I saw more British mammals in one night than I'd ever seen before.
One of the challenges of this camera is that the thermal outline of an animal may be different from its actual outline.
It's quite hard to identify exactly what you're looking at.
The stars were the hares, the adults are great animals, great characters, but then with this camera, it helped us find the babies.
There's Lindsay, our cameraman, and he's filming some leverets, baby hares that are about - it's difficult to tell - 20 metres in front of him? They are so cute.
We went looking for them in the day and we walked straight over the spot where they were, four or five times, and didn't see them.
So, without a thermal camera you would have no chance of spotting them at all.
What's that? That's a badger.
Linds, there's a badger right behind you, I think.
Initially, I didn't think the badger would pose a threat because it looked like it was hunting for worms.
In fact, we were all watching some bats that were circling it looking for insects it had kicked up, which is not something I've ever seen before.
Suddenly, we realised the badger was heading straight right towards where the leverets were.
Then, we got a bit of a surprise.
I think that's Is everyone else looking at this? That's not a hare, is it? Linds, I think there is a fox on the other side of the field.
It is definitely a fox, mate.
It's definitely a fox.
Can you see it? Over.
Fox is now on the left-hand side of the bank, still pretty close to the tree line, moving camera left and slightly away from you.
How did we miss that? He must have come out right behind Lindsay.
I think at this point - about eight hares, two leverets that we knew of, and now two predators, two hunters - a badger and a fox - all converging to the same spot.
It looks like he's after a feed.
I wonder if she finds your baby hares.
It doesn't matter whether your filming sharks or lions in the wild, or badgers.
You never get tired of it.
There's always that sense of anticipation.
You don't know what's going to happen next.
He's turned towards us.
That mum doesn't want to come closer, does she? He's coming out into the field.
We could see everything that was going on with this camera.
It was pitch dark, so the animals were relying on scent and sound.
It's a long way away.
Suddenly there was this stand-off.
The fox seemed uneasy.
Are you getting this? Whatever spooked them, it was a pretty lucky escape for the leveret, I think.
Hidden by the dark, dramas like this play out all over the countryside every night.
It was only by using this new camera that it was possible to witness Britain's secret wildlife in this way.
It's just one of the many techniques the team would use to reveal the story of our changing land.
To get a free copy of this poster about British seasons, call 0845 271 0017 or go to bbc.
co.
uk/greatbritishyear Follow the links to the Open University and take part in our seasonal wildlife census.