National Parks: USA (2024) s01e02 Episode Script

Late summer on the
Alaskan Peninsula.
Over three million acres
of roadless wilderness,
shaped by forces both
ancient and living.
These long days of summer
mark the start of the
annual salmon run.
18 hours of sun a
day help gather the
park's apex predators.
For some, the salmon
migration offers a new start.
For brown bears,
it means survival.
These are the first fish on
the menu since hibernation.
And hunger makes a big
catch worth a fight.
There's more than a
meal on the line.
An injury might be
fatal, but winning could
secure a future.
Because in Katmai,
rewards come to those
willing to risk it all.
A few months earlier,
long before the salmon
arrived to the coast, the
wildlife of Katmai settled
into the relief of spring.
For some, the end of winter
means a return to the
meadows of Hallo Bay on the
eastern shores of Katmai.
For brown bears,
it's an awakening.
She spent the winter
hibernating in her den,
where her body was dormant
in a phase called torpor.
Incredibly, while in the
semi-conscious state,
she gave birth to three
cubs and began nursing.
She may be awake, but
her body is still
playing catch-up.
It's a kind of
walking hibernation.
During these shorter days,
her organs slowly regain
their normal function.
And while her heart speeds up
and her kidneys and digestive
system come back
online, she needs the
grass of Hallo Bay to
fuel her and her cubs.
The active months of summer
are fast approaching.
And her cubs will
need her protection.
Because in Hallo Bay,
they aren't alone.
Eager to replenish
their winter reserves,
bears travel miles for the
rich coastal vegetation
brought on by spring.
But these meadows hint
at a deeper story,
one of ancient forces.
Rivers rich with
sediment and minerals
flow from the heart of Katmai.
Glaciers, remnants of
Katmai's frozen past.
Through the ages,
they scour the land,
reshaping and
churning the Earth.
Only to retreat and
leave behind a far more
ancient sculptor of this land.
Beneath Katmai, two
tectonic plates converge.
This collision, part of the
Great Pacific Ring of Fire,
awakens giants.
At least 14 active volcanoes
are found in Katmai,
more than any other
national park in the USA.
Many are echoes from
a distant past,
while others are more restless.
Continuing the ebb and
flow with glaciers
that shape Katmai.
From the rugged peaks to
the meadows of Hallo Bay,
where glacial silt
and volcanic ash
make fertile feeding grounds
for its brown bears.
But all is not well here.
A battle is unfolding.
Even in play, these
young cubs are revealing
their personalities,
showing off traits
that will help forge
their paths in Katmai.
Strength and bold moves
can get you ahead here.
So can keeping your
nose out of trouble.
But some mischief is
just too much fun.
Though a champion
may be unclear,
all of them earn an award.
Together, her three
cubs will need
at least a gallon
of milk per day.
A big output for a tired mom.
But rest isn't an option.
A male on the hunt
for potential mates.
The cubs aren't safe here.
Male bears will
kill unrelated cubs
when given the chance.
The family moves on.
Lucky for them, space in Katmai
National Park is plentiful.
So long as you can reach it.
Alaska is home to some of the
largest tides in the world.
Each day, as the
moon counteracts
the Earth's gravitational pull,
water drains from the shore
revealing vast stretches of
previously submerged land
and leaving behind bounties
for those drawn by the
alluring scent of low tide.
A semi-palmated plover.
Among curious and hungry giants,
it never hurts to be cautious
or fast.
But living among bears
can have its perks.
A young male has settled
into a mass of seaweed.
A sense of smell seven
times that of a bloodhound
makes a desirable scent a major
attractant for brown bears.
And this steaming
pile is irresistible.
But the plover is searching
for something else.
Burrowed deep within the
mound, small invertebrates,
normally inaccessible
to the plover.
Unless someone digs them up.
This bear might be enjoying a
new scent of rotting kelp
Or soaking in the
heat of warm compost.
Either way, he's having
way too much fun
to pay mind to the
little visitor.
The plover can't
afford to linger.
She has responsibilities
elsewhere.
Living among more than
2,000 bears in Katmai
demands resourcefulness.
And at times, keeping
a low profile.
Especially with what
is most precious.
The plover's nest is little more
than a scrape in the ground.
Anything more might
draw attention.
Their eggs are well adapted
to early spring temperatures,
allowing parents to
travel farther for food.
Despite their insulating shells,
the eggs are at risk from
the cold of spring rains.
She and her mate chose
this site carefully,
off the beaten path.
But in Katmai, bears
are never far away.
When a threat looms,
a plover has only two choices:
Freeze and hope to go unnoticed.
Or flee
And employ a slightly
more dramatic approach.
In the face of danger,
semi-palmated plovers
become actors.
Shrieking with the pain
of a not-so-broken wing.
Putting on a show
meant to distract.
That may or may not
have an audience.
Satisfied that she's
dealt with the threat,
she can return to her eggs.
She and her mate will watch
over the nest for three weeks.
While they wait, Katmai
will continue to change.
Spring storms can settle
on the coast for weeks.
Long enough to
saturate the land.
Driving some to
find higher ground.
And even dampen the
spirits of playful cubs.
For mom, the rain
is not the problem.
The cubs' first year is by
far the most demanding.
They depend on her completely.
And she will tend them
for at least two years.
During that time,
she will not mate.
An unrelated male would prefer
she rear his cubs instead.
Which means, if
given the chance,
he would remove the
cubs she is raising.
His size gives him the
advantage in a fight.
Even so, confronting her
would still be a battle.
For her, the stakes
are even higher.
The meadows that promised
so much are now a trap.
For the sake of her cubs,
it's time to leave.
But traveling miles
to another meadow
would require too much energy.
And Hallo Bay isn't
the only place
with the threat of boars.
She seeks refuge elsewhere.
The Alutiiq people
call it Ninagiak,
the place where the
weather clears.
Few boars venture away from the
mainland to reach this island,
making it a paradise
for young bears
and an ideal spot
to take the cubs.
There's only one problem.
A two-mile stretch of ocean is a
dangerous swim for young cubs.
But Mom knows their
luck could change.
It'll just take patience.
Others are set to leave
Hallo Bay as well.
A wandering gray wolf
with a nearly white coat
common to the far north.
His pack's calls
echo across the bay.
Wolves may leave their families
in search of new prospects.
In winter, they pursue
game in the lowlands.
But Katmai's summer brings the
best hunting opportunities.
And at this time of year,
every corner of the park
fills with life and death.
Katmai is one of the
few places in the world
where wolves hunt the coastline.
For nearly 500 miles,
the shores of Katmai
meet the productive,
nutrient-filled waters
of the Pacific Ocean.
For wolves, it is a
vast hunting ground
where seals and sea otters
may be caught off guard.
This wolf is drawn north.
Out of the shadow of
volcanoes and glaciers,
to the outflow of one of
the park's longest rivers.
And a gathering place
for one of the largest
migrations on Earth.
But grand events can
have humble beginnings.
The juvenile salmon, Parr.
These salmon spend
their first years
adapting to a saltwater
life, slowly moving toward
coastal waters.
Their bodies are streamlining
and changing color.
A process called smoltification,
preparation for the challenges
of an ocean environment.
Until then, life is good.
The insect hatches of early
summer are a welcome feast.
Undergoing such dramatic changes
requires vast amounts of energy.
Even more vital is what
the salmon are learning.
The "smell" of their
natal waters.
The par imprint on a
chemical signature
and magnetic profile
unique to this exact area.
For the salmon who moved to
the ocean years earlier,
the memory is a guiding beacon.
It's a homecoming the wolf
has been waiting for.
After years in distant
waters, the salmon use summer
light to gather in bays and
begin their final journey.
Where they are met
by Katmai's giants.
For months, their
diet has been scarce,
lacking the fats and proteins
needed for hibernation.
These salmon are a lifeline.
Katmai's population
of brown bears
is unrivaled among
the national parks.
This abundance depends
almost entirely
on the yearly return of salmon.
It's a cycle that
drives an ecosystem,
a heartbeat of life
and nutrients.
The salmon follow
their magnetic compass
to the mouth of
their natal stream.
But they're slightly off
course and drifting into
dangerous shallows.
These are only the first
of millions of fish
that will make their
way into Katmai's
nearly 6,000 miles of
rivers and streams.
One of them has
built a reputation
distinct from the rest.
Brooks Falls.
At six feet tall, it's a
towering gauntlet for salmon.
And home to some of the world's
most famous hungry giants.
Viewing platforms
offer a candid glimpse
into the lives of brown bears.
The accessibility and
drama of Brooks Falls
makes it by far the park's
most popular attraction.
Leading the beaten path
means being slightly
more enterprising.
Katmai is a true wilderness.
Nearly 4 million acres
of rugged terrain.
The nearest large city is
hundreds of miles to the east.
One of the only ways to explore
such a vast and remote place
is by taking to the air.
Few know and bear witness
to Katmai's interior
of glaciers and volcanoes
as well as bush pilots.
While most people come to
Katmai's for its bears,
the motivation for the
park's creation lies here.
In what seems a
barren wasteland.
Billions of tons of
volcanic ash and pumice.
In some places, more
than 500 feet deep.
This valley is the site of
the largest volcanic eruption
of the 20th century.
But there was no
one here to see it.
When the earth began
shaking in June of 1912,
the last of Katmai's
fishermen and their families
heeded the warning,
moving far from the
mountains they felt stirring.
On June 6th, Katmai's
newest volcano was born.
A cataclysmic eruption
that cooled the planet
and dropped debris as far
away as the Mediterranean.
When the veil of ash fell,
Mount Katmai's was transformed,
and the eyes of the
scientific world
were drawn to Alaska.
None were more determined
than Robert F. Griggs.
Commissioned by the
National Geographic Society,
he led a team of explorers,
scientists, and photographers
into a turbulent land
ravaged by fire and floods to
the slopes of Mount Katmai.
Standing above the
smoking crater,
he was astounded and
out of his element.
Untrained in geology, Griggs
believed he was looking
at the source of the
cataclysmic eruption.
But he was wrong.
Six miles away
from Katmai Crater
stood the evidence
of Griggs' error.
A lava dome at the center
of the vast valley.
Novarupta.
Griggs and his team
dismissed the steaming cone,
unaware of its true power.
But what they had stumbled
on was the real source
of the 1912 eruption.
An explosion so big
that it collapsed the
gigantic volcano nearby and
unleashed a volume of ash
30 times that
of Mount St. Helens,
creating a
pyroclastic landscape
strewn with pumice boulders
and hissing fumaroles.
Enamored by the alien landscape,
the team settled into
the valley to explore and
found themselves caught
between scientific duty
and childlike wonder.
Captivated by his findings,
Griggs led a total of
four expeditions here
and deemed it the Valley
of Ten Thousand Smokes.
Griggs believed the valley
to be a new Yellowstone,
that the volcano had
birthed the beginnings
of geyser fields
and hot springs,
destined to draw as much
tourism as any of America's
greatest national parks.
President Wilson agreed.
In 1918, Katmai's was set aside
for future generations to enjoy.
In the decades that
followed, lava cooled and
steam diminished.
The Valley of Ten Thousand
Smokes grew quiet,
and the focal point of Katmai's
shifted from the valley
to its wildlife.
After three weeks of
safeguarding their eggs,
the big day has finally come.
Pushing through the
shell takes some time,
but like most
ground-nesting birds,
plovers are born
far more developed
than their tree-bound
cousins and are expected to
run before they walk.
From day one, plovers
are outfitted
with the tools needed
to survive here.
Warm, camouflaged
feathers, strong legs,
and a sense of adventure.
As days begin to
shorten in late summer,
the Hallo bay family is still
unable to reach their goal.
The average daily tides
aren't low enough
to open a way to
Ninagiak Island,
and swimming isn't an
option for the young cubs.
But today's tides are different.
On rare occasions, the
moon makes the closest
pass of its orbit while full,
aligning its gravitational
pull with that of the sun.
A King Tide.
Opening a land
bridge to the island
for a few precious hours.
Enough time for the
mom and her three cubs
to make the two-mile crossing.
And finally, as the land
bridge begins to close
they find refuge on
Ninagiak Island.
Miles up the coast, and
king tides coincide with
Katmai's biggest showdown.
The wolf has waited patiently
for the time to be right.
As the salmon push
into fresh water,
he has to be selective
with his hunting grounds.
As the land flattens and
the river spreads out,
the salmon are forced from
the comfort of the depths.
A perfect place to
stage an ambush.
Without the grasping
claws and articulating
arms of a brown bear, the
wolf must be more precise.
Catching the salmon at
just the right moment
as they cross the
shallow gravel beds.
Easier said than done with
nothing but your teeth.
A single salmon can provide
a whopping 4,000 calories.
Even so, life is feast
or famine for a wolf.
He'll eat up to 20 pounds of
fish when given the chance.
But his catch hasn't
gone unnoticed.
Many times the
wolf's size,
the loitering male makes for
an intimidating audience.
So much for this fishing spot.
The oversized neighbor
isn't going anywhere soon.
Katmai's ruling class of bears
makes flexibility a necessity.
The wolf has to find
overlooked opportunities.
The first wave of salmon
has pushed upriver.
But the run lasts for weeks.
And even the smallest streams
attract migrating fish.
This tiny trickle of water
won't bring in enough salmon
to feed a brown bear,
but it might be perfect
for a lone wolf.
For salmon on the
move, the boundary of
Katmai National Park protects
their natural highways.
There are no dams.
And no roads leading
into the park.
With such pristine waterways,
Katmai is home to the
largest salmon run of
any national park.
And for them, this is
a one-way journey.
As the salmon push
upriver, their bodies
irreversibly transform.
Dorsal humps and bands of color
signal a male's virility.
Their teeth elongate,
weaponizing for battles ahead.
Females divert energy
from vital organs
toward egg production.
And flanking their path,
bears entering hyperphagia,
an insatiable period of
hunger in the months
before hibernation.
Even apex predators miss
more than they catch.
Brute strength and
speed have their place.
But clever hunters
use Katmai's terrain
to their advantage.
These cascades attract a family
interested in working smarter,
not harder.
Shallow rapids and
uneven boulders
leave salmon nowhere to hide.
Only those with enough
strength, stamina,
and luck survive
to forge ahead
to spawning grounds
where new battles await.
These calm, oxygenated waters
are the nursery and graveyard
for countless
generations of salmon.
Here, females excavate hollows
in their natal gravel beds,
a small hope of safety in
otherwise dangerous waters.
As females dig,
aggressive males
secure position.
Each strives to be the
one to fertilize her eggs
before time runs out.
A growing family can
eat dozens of salmon each day,
and keeping ahead of
teenage appetites
is no mean feat.
Leading any successful
family is a skilled and
tireless mother.
Those beneath the surface
fight just as hard.
When given the chance,
bears target females
carrying eggs.
Relishing the highly
nutritious roe,
any spillover is spotted
by sharp-eyed gulls.
And the frenzy is
only beginning.
At the peak of the spawn,
the river boils with
struggling salmon, bringing
easy hunting for some
and fierce competition
for others.
The strongest live to
pass on their genes,
but victory takes its toll.
The remaining salmon are
shadows of their former selves.
Spawned out, they
become living corpses.
Their bodies deteriorate.
Their last remaining
nutrients return to the land.
This rebirth is a signature
of Katmai National Park,
a landscape made of
transformations,
both big and dramatic
and small and personal.
Here, bold first steps
lead to grand migrations,
The residents of Katmai
continuously benefit
from the ebb and flow
of new beginnings.
In a land that provides
something for everyone,
a satisfied lone wolf
can rest and enjoy.
And a family can find the
space it needs to thrive.
The tides that brought
them to Ninagiak
keep them fed with
shellfish and kelp.
They'll return to the mainland
when they've grown strong,
and the tide is right.
As the air once
again turns brittle,
the national park shows
its full range of colors.
Katmai has offered
so much opportunity
that its brown bears
are full and healthy.
All of the food they've
been able to store
will carry them safely through
the dark months ahead.
For others, the cycle of
life is now complete.
In less chaotic water, the
salmon still feed anyone
willing to take a dive.
As winter draws near and
the days lose their light,
Katmai National Park
continues to foster life
on a scale as grand
as the park itself.