Highlands - Scotland's Wild Heart (2016) s01e04 Episode Script

Scoured by ice and weathered by storms.
20,000 square miles of rugged coastline lochs and mountains.
On the face of it, it looks bleak and lifeless.
But wildlife is thriving in this unforgiving place if you know where to look.
The seasons may be harsh and the opportunities fleeting.
But animals and people have found ways to succeed here turning adversity into advantage.
This is Scotland's wild heart the Highlands.
(Waves crashing) Of all the seasons in the Highlands, summer is the most intense.
But it's also the richest, with seas and mountains yielding their greatest bounty.
(Seabirds calling) By midsummer, the sun will rule for nearly 18 hours a day.
For the animals of the Highlands, it's a race to raise offspring, before the days shorten and the storms of autumn arrive.
Some work together in pairs whilst others are single mothers, fishing, hunting and caring for their young.
Nowhere feels this intensity more than the Northern Highlands with over 1,000 miles of wild coast and some of the largest peat bogs on the planet.
This is a true wilderness and it's wildlife, not people, that dominate this landscape.
Handa Island, just off the Sutherland coast, is of global importance.
Every crevice of the 400-foot sandstone cliffs is occupied.
(Cacophony of bird calls) Puffins, razorbills, kittiwakes and fulmars all breed here.
But it's guillemots that dominate.
Over 30,000 pairs come to these cliffs each summer to breed.
It's one of the most important colonies in Europe.
Guillemots have evolved to fill the same ecological niche as their southern cousins - penguins.
And although they can fly, it's fair to describe them as the penguins of the North.
(Rasping guillemot calls) Marine specialists, their wings are built more for diving than flying.
And like penguins, they're clumsy on land.
Spaces are fiercely guarded, each pair defending a patch only a few inches wide.
Eggs are already appearing.
Each has a unique signature pattern, so that the parents can recognise it laying on the bare rock, less than four inches from the edge.
The bond between this lifelong pair is now critical, as they take turns to brood their egg.
They won't leave it unguarded for a second.
It's a wise move.
Predators have arrived.
(Gull calls) At double the size and weight of a guillemot, this herring gull is a serious threat.
He knows these cliffs well, and has timed his own brood to coincide with this bounty.
A specialist hunter, he's learnt how to steal the large guillemot eggs.
He patrols the vast cliff ledges watching intently for a break in the ranks.
Sensing his movements, the guillemot calls escalate.
(Guillemot rasping intensifies) But there are advantages to nesting so tightly packed.
Their bills are razor-sharp.
And like a line of spears, they protect their precious eggs below.
It's effective.
(Aggressive bird calls) But the gull has spotted a new opportunity.
An egg has rolled out of line.
He takes his chance and is finally rewarded.
Losing their egg this early, the pair should have a chance to lay again.
But they'll be behind, and their chick smaller than its neighbours.
All the chicks here have an even greater challenge to face.
At just three weeks old and unable to fly, they must make an epic leap, 400 feet down to the swell of the Atlantic.
And a new array of predators is already gathering.
100 miles south of Handa, near the Isle of Mull, the early morning tide is on the rise sweeping fish closer to the shore.
(Chirping bird calls) The local fishermen are in action.
It's a family of otters.
Early summer means the seas are warming, bringing more food to the Highland coasts.
And this family are fishing on every tide.
Born in a secret shore-side holt early in the year, these two six-month-old cubs are at a turning point in their lives.
Their hard-working single mother must now teach them how to catch their own food seeking out hidden crabs and chasing fish.
But the cubs still have a lot to learn.
Handling a live fish takes practice.
And they're constantly squabbling over the prize.
Whilst they're occupied, she can fish for her own meal.
She's determined to keep this one away from the cubs! In these calm conditions, fishing is easy.
But when the autumn storms arrive, it'll be a different story.
The cubs must learn these skills soon.
Waiting for the next tide to resume lessons, the family settles.
Otter fur is amongst the densest in the world.
Nearly 400,000 hairs per square inch helps keep these animals warm and waterproof so they need to regularly maintain it.
She'll make the most of these bountiful summer days, ceaselessly teaching her cubs the skills they need for independence.
Finding and maintaining the best territory is half the battle for all the animals here.
Everyone wants a piece of the Highlands in summer.
It'll be some months before the peaks are free from snow.
But on the small lochans of the Cairngorms, new arrivals from the coast are laying claim to their summer patch.
Slavonian grebes.
One of Scotland's rarest birds, less than 30 pairs breed here.
They're often the last of all the Highland birds to breed, as they must wait for the vegetation to grow tall enough to conceal their nest which makes them vulnerable to an early autumn.
Some of their neighbours are much further ahead.
Goldeneye ducks are making use of specially provided boxes and, since the 1970s, have become regular breeders here.
This female has been brooding her eggs for weeks, but in the last 12 hours, everything has changed.
(Ducklings cheep) Newly-hatched ducklings.
She needs to get her brood to the water fast.
- (Cheeping) - Noise will attract predators.
The local pine marten has already arrived to investigate.
A duckling is an ideal meal.
(Duck gabbles) She calls them out.
(Cheeping) And at just a few hours old, the ducklings make their first leap into the summer sun.
And straight to the loch.
Instinct kicks in immediately, and they start diving for food.
Hatching early in the season, these ducklings will have the whole summer to reach adulthood.
And the water is safe as long as they stay together.
With the sun now rising at 5am each day, the breeding season is now well under way.
Castles like this one in Deeside are havens for wildlife.
Their well-tended gardens are already buzzing with insects.
House martins, one of the last summer migrants to arrive from Africa, find Balmoral's turrets and windows the perfect nesting spots and are the ideal perch to watch for royal visitors.
But the one who truly deserves the title King of the Highlands is the top predator of these hills and glens.
The golden eagle.
With a seven-foot wingspan, it soars across the landscape with ease.
Territories cover thousands of acres of rugged mountain, forests and heather moor.
The Highlands have some of the highest breeding densities in the world.
And hidden deep in the forest, 40 feet up in an ancient Caledonian pine, is the eagle's eyrie.
This year, the nest is full.
(Eaglet chirps) One of Britain's largest birds of prey, these eaglets will take nearly three months to fledge.
So to reap the availability of summer prey, eggs were laid when snow still covered the ground.
Now, at eight weeks old, they're growing fast.
They'll one day rule these skies but for now, they're totally dependent.
Despite their size and power, golden eagles are shy birds, wary of any disturbance.
At the nest, they show a tender side carefully selecting choice morsels for their young.
They must hunt often.
Eaglets can eat 700 grams of meat a day.
The male will do most of the early hunting.
He needs these long summer days to provide for his growing chicks.
The surrounding hills are perfect for hunting.
Mountain hare leverets born a few weeks ago are now in peak numbers.
It pays to be alert.
Young hares make up more than half of this pair's diet with parents catching up to three a day.
On the guillemot ledges, weeks of guarding and brooding the eggs have paid off.
The first chicks have hatched.
Parents now shield them from the hot summer sun.
(Chick chirps) Highland summers are warming, altering the complex ocean dynamics and making fish shoals harder to reach.
If the parents can't catch enough, chicks will simply starve on the ledges a tragic consequence of climate change, and one all seabirds here may face in the future.
The pair must now work tirelessly to feed their single chick.
Expert fishermen, they can travel nearly 60 miles to reach the best fishing grounds and can dive more than 600 feet to catch fish.
But with wings evolved more for swimming, landing is difficult.
(Squawks) And running the gauntlet of their neighbours is hard work with a fish supper on show.
(Hare sniffs) The chick finally gets its meal.
It'll need three of these rich sand eels a day, if it's to grow large enough to jump alongside the others.
High up in the forest canopy, the young eagles are still waiting for their next meal.
Hunger can drive eaglets to extreme behaviour attacking their siblings to ensure they alone are fed.
The first hatchling is always larger and stronger, and has the advantage.
And there's nowhere to hide.
Moving too close to the edge is risky.
A fall would be fatal and young eaglets often tumble to their deaths in this situation.
(Plaintive chirping) At last it's an adult with a freshly-killed hare, and the larger chick puts itself right in front for the feed.
A long and eventful road still lies ahead for this pair.
The eaglets won't fly until summer has almost passed.
Beneath the nest on the forest floor, another predator is on a mission.
It's a female pine marten.
During winter and spring, she's only active at night.
But now, as daylight lengthens, she's becoming more and more visible.
Like the female otter, she's solely responsible for raising her kits, and has found the perfect den for her young family a cosy rooftop.
(Gentle grunting) The loft insulation makes for excellent bedding, and the kits are warm and secure while she's out hunting.
(Kits squealing) The martens happily tolerate the owner working below.
They've grown accustomed to the sounds of the workshop.
Now, with their eyes open, these inquisitive young kits are starting to explore.
(Squealing) They won't be here for much longer.
Their mother will soon need to give them prey, and she can't carry that to the roof.
They'll have to move out to the forest, and these cosy days will soon be over.
Handa Island is now at its busiest.
Constant fishing trips are needed to feed the growing chicks.
It's a risky commute.
Great skuas patrol the cliff face like pirates, ready to rob the guillemots of their hard-earned fish.
Skuas are agile birds.
Their longer wingspan makes them perfectly adapted to twist and turn out-manoeuvring the guillemots.
The guillemots are bullied into dropping their catch.
Chases can be long and intense.
And the only way to escape is to dive.
Such constant bombardment is costly.
Parents have lost over 15% of their bodyweight since the chick hatched.
They desperately need to get their chick out to sea, closer to the fish and away from the predators.
But it's a long way down and the chicks still can't fly.
It's midsummer, and the Highlands are approaching their longest day.
The solstice has arrived.
With the sun above the horizon for over 18 hours light now rules.
But from now on, day-length will shorten.
The scales of the season have tipped.
For the wildlife, it's now a race to the finish.
At the furthest northern tip of the Highlands, Caithness and Sutherland are closer to the Arctic Circle than parts of southern England.
They're home to one of the world's rarest habitats the blanket peat bog.
Known here as the Flow Country, over 200,000 hectares of deep-layered peat are studded with a myriad of small pools.
It's an other-worldly landscape where submerged plants are compressed over millennia storing 400 million tonnes of carbon more than twice that found in all of Britain's forests combined.
On the surface, this place can appear bleak and lifeless, but look closely and it's teeming with life.
On a warm midsummer's evening, a drama unfolds in the depths of a peat pool.
This world is inhabited by strange and alien-looking creatures.
Dragonfly nymphs hunt in the open water.
Caddisfly larvae create protective cases from plants and tiny stones each species making its own unique and intricate design.
This emerald damselfly nymph is ready to leave this world.
For the short three months of its life, it's only known this small pool yet the warm evening makes it do something unthinkable.
He wriggles to break open his casing revealing his new form.
No longer a water creature but unable to fly yet, he's now vulnerable.
Over the next few hours, he pumps special fluid into his abdomen and wings, making them gradually unfold and harden.
And with enough warmth in the air he finally takes flight.
For most of the year, the human population of the Highlands is small but once summer holidays arrive, numbers more than double.
Towns like Oban are busy hubs for travel to the islands.
(Foghorn) These summer months may be the busiest for tourists, but they aren't necessarily the sunniest.
(Thunder rumbles) And a large percentage of the 150 inches of rain a year is almost guaranteed to fall now.
The Handa guillemots have seen it all before.
They can live to be 30 years old, so they'll encounter many wet summers in their lives.
Adult plumage is waterproof.
But the chicks are still covered in down, and can easily chill, so they huddle close to the adults.
150 miles south, the mountains of Jura are directly in the path of incoming rainclouds, making it one of the wettest places in the Highlands.
(Thunder rumbles) Red deer can't wait for the rain to lift.
Now heavily pregnant, the hinds have carried their young through the toughest winter months, and must give birth soon.
New calves are appearing everywhere in the wet grass.
It's a harsh habitat to be born into.
Most hinds here only produce a calf every other year.
At a few weeks old, this male calf is still dependent on his mother's milk, and will not venture far.
Once the rain finally clears, there's another problem to contend with the Scottish midge.
Attracted by the carbon dioxide in the deer's breath, midges' swarms build to their trillions, as summer progresses.
Against the light, they're mesmerising, almost beautiful.
But they're intolerable to the young calf and his mother.
Luckily, there is something that feasts on the midges.
Surprisingly, it's a plant.
Carnivorous sundew now carpet the wet bogs.
Their glistening droplets are irresistible to insects, luring them in.
Once trapped in the sticky drops, the sundews slowly digest the insects.
An important source of nitrogen in these nutrient-poor soils.
The strength of the summer sun is now waning and the eaglets on their treetop nest are close to fledging.
Having consumed hundreds of prey items between them, each chick now weighs close to four kilos.
(Insects buzzing) The pile of waste, bones and flies is becoming unbearable.
It's one of the reasons eagles regularly change their nest sites.
Their behaviour is changing too, and they practise gripping with their huge two-inch-long talons.
This eaglet already instinctively shields its food though it hasn't quite perfected the art yet.
But their greatest challenge is still to come learning to fly, and joining their parents in the Highland skies.
They'll need to cover huge distances to find enough food to survive here.
Wing flapping is important to build up flight muscles.
There aren't many of these summer days left, and even a slight breeze now rocks the nest.
It won't be long before they must take to the skies.
On Jura, the red deer calf is starting to explore his world.
Something new has caught his attention.
It's a group of stags, moving down from the hills.
In near peak condition, with their antlers still cased in soft velvet they're intent on eating, fattening themselves up for the autumn rut, when bulk and strength will be crucial.
The calf isn't sure what to make of them.
He instinctively seems to know what to do finally getting his attention.
It's not impossible that in five years' time, he could fight this stag for real, and have his chance to roar in these glens.
It's late summer, and once more the sun is shining throughout the Highlands.
It's time to celebrate.
Clan gatherings, like these at Lochearnhead in Perthshire, are happening right across the region.
With people spread over such a vast landscape, a sense of community is important.
The traditional events go back centuries and test many of the skills that wildlife too needs to thrive here - speed strength stamina Go on! and agility.
(Band plays traditional music) On Handa Island, the seabirds are also preparing for a dramatic event.
For nearly two months, the guillemots have endured endless attacks from predators, while desperately trying to feed their growing chicks.
They can no longer keep up with the demand.
They must get their chicks to sea.
It's time to jump.
Adults call, luring their chicks towards the edge.
Some are less developed than others, but once one jumps, they'll all go for it.
Males call from the sea a stomach-churning 400 feet below.
The young chicks - known as jumplings - move towards the edge for the first time.
(Adult guillemot calls) Finally, one makes the leap.
(Adult bird calls) With tiny, unformed wings, they have little control over their death-defying jump.
Flattening their bodies, they try to slow their descent before hitting the water at breakneck speed.
The whole colony is on the move with chicks diving from every ledge while the sea below fills with reunited families.
But one chick is smaller than the others and is reluctant to leave the ledge.
(Calls) Despite persistent calls from its parents below, it will not jump.
Being the last left on the cliffs, it's in real danger.
Evening is approaching, and predators are arriving.
(Bird caws) A lone chick will not last long.
(Cheeps) Others have also left home.
The pine marten loft is empty.
The forest is now the kits' home.
This late-summer evening may be one of the last in which they see daylight.
One kit is already hunting for himself making use of his mother's territory to catch his first mouse.
Fantastic climbers, they're perfectly at home in the treetops and their sense of smell will guide them once darkness falls.
They must learn all they can from their mother now.
In the autumn, as food becomes scarce, she'll drive them out of her territory.
Nearby, the Slavonian grebes are still resident on the loch.
For two summers, they have failed to produce any young.
But this year is different.
Their single precious chick is fed on aquatic larvae and sticklebacks.
Among the last breeding birds of the Highland summer, this pair have just a few short weeks to nurture their chick to independence.
Back on the ledges, the mood is not so calm.
Darkness is fast approaching and the lone guillemot chick still hasn't jumped.
(Chirps) Its parent returns, desperately calling, encouraging it down.
But its jump is not far enough and now there's a new problem.
It's wandered into razorbill territory.
They'll attack intruders on their ledge.
(Cheeps) The parent calls it out.
But at each step, the guillemots enter a new territory.
The chick is under constant attack and there's still a long way to go.
Ledge by ledge, they descend together.
But the chick is now tiring.
It's reached the last ledge.
The parent can do no more.
A razorbill makes a final attack.
Unable to steer, it's heading straight for the rocks.
But guillemot chicks have dense, downy feathers and, incredibly, it's unharmed by the fall and finds its father.
Raising young like this is one of the highest-risk strategies in the bird world.
But now safely at sea, with its parent by its side, the chick can begin the real challenge of learning to be a seabird spending two years on the wild ocean, before seeing these cliffs again.
Not all will leave their local patch.
The otter family has good fishing territory here, and will remain close to this stretch of coastline.
But the female senses the seasons changing.
Keeping her cubs close, she'll guide them through their first Highland winter and together they'll face the weather to come.
And weather will certainly come.
Already winds are building from the Atlantic.
Time for breeding has run out.
Beyond the wild coasts of Duncansby Head, a pod of orcas roll and play in the surf.
Gale-force winds and towering seas are no challenge to them.
But for the breeding animals of the Highlands, everything has changed.
And they'll need new strategies to cope with the season to come.
The great race of summer is over.
But the trials of the season have been worthwhile.
The young eagles have finally taken to the skies.
And the next generation are ready to face the autumn.
Next time, as autumn storms hit, seal pups fight for their lives against all odds and the winter freeze arrives testing the animals of the Highlands to their absolute limits.