Wild China (2008) s01e05 Episode Script

1
Protected by the Great Wall
in the north,
and fed by the Yellow
and Yangtze rivers,
China's eastern heartland is the centre
of a flourishing civilisation
which spans more than 5,000 years.
To outsiders this is a mysterious land.
It contains dazzling
man-made structures.
And it's home to some of China's rarest
and most charismatic creatures.
The people who live here,
the Han Chinese,
comprise the largest ethnic group
in the world,
and their language, Mandarin,
is the world's oldest
and most widely spoken language.
In the last 50 years
China has seen massive development,
bringing many environmental problems.
But the relationship of the Chinese
to their environment and its creatures
is in fact deep, complex
and extraordinary.
In this programme we will look for clues
to this ancient relationship
and what it means
for the future of China.
Our journey starts
at the very heart of China, Beijing.
China's capital is a vast metropolis,
home to 15 million people.
This bustling modern city
seems an unlikely place
for traditional beliefs and customs.
But beneath the contemporary veneer,
it's possible to see glimpses
of a far older China.
Every morning, people head to the parks
around the Forbidden City,
to continue a custom
which is centuries old.
Many Chinese keep birds as companions,
specifically a type of laughing thrush
from southern China.
But they know that cooped up indoors,
birds may become depressed.
So they try to brighten their day
by meeting other birds.
This surprising scene
in the heart of modern Beijing
is a clue
to China's oldest spiritual ambition,
the harmonious co-existence
of man and nature.
But from the 1950s onwards,
this ancient belief
was to be severely challenged.
After a century of humiliation
and intervention by foreign powers,
Chairman Mao sought to rebuild
China's dignity.
Mao believed strongly in self-reliance,
achieved through using
all of nature's resources.
Mao's first concern
was to feed the Chinese people
by turning as much land as possible
over to grain production,
destroying non-cereal crops
and uprooting fruit trees
in the process.
A campaign to eliminate
crop-raiding sparrows backfired
when insect-eating birds
were also targeted,
causing an increase in insect pests.
Efforts to make China
self-reliant in steel
resulted in 10% of the country's forests
being felled to feed the furnaces.
This had a profound impact
on China's environment,
with effects, in some cases,
lasting until the present day.
Mao's policy towards the countryside
has been described in the phrase,
"Man must conquer nature."
Quite different from the ancient concept
of harmonious co-existence with nature.
As modern China
engages with the outside world,
which of these attitudes
seems likely to prevail?
To find the answers,
we'll travel to the far reaches
of the heartland
to see how its traditional cultures
and unique creatures are faring today.
Beijing has always depended
on the North China Plain,
a rich farmland
twice the size of the UK.
The fertility of this plain
derives from further west,
from the Loess Plateau.
The mineral-rich soil of
the Loess Plateau is incredibly fertile.
People have lived here
for thousands of years,
hollowing their homes
out of the soft soil.
The caves might lack
the glamour of Beijing,
but people can survive here.
Warm, secure, but best of all, well fed.
As a result of centuries of farming,
the landscape has become scarred
with thousands of water-worn gullies.
But this spectacular erosion
has had an unexpected benefit.
The streams which drain the gullies
carry the fertile yellow soil
into the plateau's major river,
known to the Han people
as the Mother of Chinese civilisation.
This is the Yellow River.
Each year the Yellow River
carries billions of tons of sediment
from the Loess Plateau
eastwards to the crop fields
of the Chinese heartland.
Historically, the Chinese relationship
with the river has been uneasy.
Sediment, building up on the riverbed,
has caused the Yellow River
to burst its banks periodically,
unleashing devastating floods,
resulting in millions of deaths.
But when tamed with dykes and channels,
the river's bounty is legendary.
Even today, half of China's wheat
comes from the Yellow River floodplain.
For thousands of years,
the sediment-rich Yellow River
has underpinned the prosperity
of the Chinese heartland.
But increased demand for water
by people and industry
now threaten to run the river dry.
And the source of its fertility,
the Loess Plateau, is also under threat.
Loosened by cultivation,
its soft soil is blowing away.
The North China Plain
is choked with dust storms
that even loom over Beijing,
so much so that the Chinese government
has made improving
the city's air quality a priority
in the run up to the Beijing Olympics.
Heartland China's life-support system
is in trouble.
Yet in a few places
it's still possible to find landscapes
that appear to have remained untouched.
At the southern edge
of the North China Plain
lie the Qinling Mountains.
At 1 ,500 kilometres long,
they run like a backbone
through the middle of China.
Deep within the mountains
is a maze of remote valleys and forests,
home to strange and wonderful creatures.
These are golden snub-nosed monkeys,
a species unique to China.
Seldom seen, they are frequently heard.
Their strange child-like calls
and extraordinary appearance
may have inspired the local tales
of a Yeti-like
wild man of the mountains.
As winter temperatures drop
to minus 10 degrees Celsius,
their dense fur keeps them warm.
Mutual grooming not only keeps
their precious fur in good condition,
but also helps to reinforce bonds
within the troop.
In summer,
the monkeys go around in huge bands,
but at this lean time of the year
they split up
into smaller foraging parties.
In the dead of winter,
the monkeys are forced
to rummage around the rocks
for a few meagre morsels
of lichen and moss.
As the world
surrounding their mountain home
has filled up with towns and crop lands,
the snub-nosed monkeys' habitat
has changed dramatically.
Today there are just 10,000
left in existence.
To the people who live
in the Qinling Mountains,
the forest and its wildlife
are a resource to be used,
the basis of their livelihood.
These people share the forest
with an even more elusive inhabitant.
It's probably China's
most famous animal,
but very few have ever seen it.
Unlike the monkeys,
this creature has a very specific diet,
bamboo.
It's a wild giant panda.
Secretive, and sensitive to noise,
the giant panda is often gone
before anyone can get close to it.
The panda has long been known in China.
It was mentioned in dictionaries
more than 2,000 years ago
and the Imperial Garden
is said to have housed one.
In the dense bamboo of the forest
one panda rarely sees another,
instead they communicate
by subtle scent signals.
At a metre-and-a-half long
and 135 kilos,
the giant panda
is a member of the bear family.
But its bear-like digestive system
is built for eating meat,
not this tough, fibrous stuff.
And to make matters worse,
the bamboo leaves are frozen solid.
But the panda has devised a cunning way
of breaking the ice off.
It rubs the bamboo over its snout.
Unlike other bears,
the panda can't fatten itself up
and hibernate through the winter.
Bamboo is so low in energy
that the panda must spend
most of the day eating.
Once it has exhausted one area,
it must move on to the next.
The panda's paw
is surprisingly un-bear-like, too.
It's flexible,
with an enlarged wrist bone
which allows it to grasp
and manoeuvre the bamboo
with a dexterity and precision
that a monkey would be proud of.
Twisting the bamboo leaves
into a cigar shape
makes them easier to munch.
Hungry pandas once roamed
across vast tracts of bamboo-rich forest
that covered much of China's heartland.
But since the 1950s,
logging has fragmented
the Qinling Mountain forests.
Its remaining wild pandas are now
confined within isolated reserves.
In the last 50 years, China's heartland
has been subjected to desertification,
drying rivers and deforestation,
affecting not only people,
but wildlife, too.
The relationship between
the Chinese people and their environment
appears to be out of balance.
But if we dig a little bit deeper,
there are some surprising
and intimate connections even today.
Clues to the nature of these links
can be found in everyday life,
even in the centre
of China's capital city.
In the parks of Beijing,
Mandarin ducks keep a close watch
over their young.
Believed by the Chinese
to pair for life,
they have been seen for centuries
as a symbol of love and fidelity.
Images of these birds are believed
to improve personal relationships.
As a result, Beijing's Mandarin ducks
are highly protected.
The alleyways
of the capital's ancient hutongs
are home to a very different
kind of creature.
Each day Zhou Guoguang
tends his brood of pigeons,
his chance to escape the pressures
of city life for an hour or two.
Up here on the rooftops,
Zhou is confident
his charges will be safe.
But in the streets below
lurk dangerous spirits
that scavenge and steal.
Deeper into the hutongs,
the influence of modern Beijing recedes.
These alleys
are full of ancient beliefs.
As night falls,
spirits emerge from their hiding-places.
The yellow weasel.
Some people believe
that offending this crafty predator
can bring bad luck,
so they turn a blind eye
to the weasel's night-time marauding.
Old beliefs, coupled with
a rising awareness of conservation,
are helping the yellow weasel
survive in the middle of Beijing,
despite killing the odd pigeon.
In the south of China,
the relationship with nature
appears more brutal.
Cantonese cuisine is famous
for its diversity,
summed up in the saying,
"We will eat anything on four legs,
except a table."
And though the government has banned
the consumption of wildlife in China
and most of the meat here
comes from captive-bred animals,
a significant amount
is taken illegally from the wild.
This restaurant in Hong Kong
specialises in serpents.
Most are harmless rat snakes,
but with the odd cobra on the menu,
one false move could spell trouble.
Chau Ka-Ling has lost count
of the number of times
she's been bitten,
so she always carries
a Chinese herbal remedy,
just in case.
We might turn our noses up
at such a strange choice of food,
but eating snakes
is more than just a matter of taste.
The Cantonese believe
it can help to clean the blood,
increase vitality and beautify the skin.
In such a crowded land,
a tradition of eating everything
with very little waste
could be seen as commendable thrift.
The problem is
that there are so many people
eating wild food in south China,
that the illegal supply chain
stretches well beyond its borders,
contributing to the disappearance
of wildlife not only within China,
but from other countries, too.
A visit to a traditional
Chinese medicine shop
reveals another aspect
of the use of animals and plants.
Dr So has been practising
for over 20 years.
The most important part of his diagnosis
is the pulse,
examined in several places.
Dr So also observes
the colour of the tongue and eyes,
and asks questions
about the patient's taste,
smell and even dreams.
Once satisfied with his diagnosis,
he'll write a prescription,
using a script unique to doctors.
Chinese traditional medicine
uses an incredible array
of animals, vegetables and minerals
to treat the individual
rather than the illness,
aiming to restore the harmony
of opposing but complementary forces,
known in China as yin and yang.
The concept is rooted
in the ancient belief
that the universe is harmonious
and that people
are intimately connected to,
and affected by, their environment.
Despite the seemingly bizarre nature
of the ingredients,
Chinese traditional medicine
has been successfully treating people
for thousands of years.
But although the use
of endangered wildlife ingredients
in medicine is now banned in China,
some wild animals and plants
are still used illegally.
Once again nature bears the cost.
But Chinese tradition
has borrowed from nature in other ways
which are not in the least exploitative.
In ancient Chinese philosophy,
man was considered
part of the natural world
and able to benefit from its wisdom.
Thousands of years ago
Buddhist monks
on sacred Shaolin Mountain
incorporated their observations
of wild creatures
into a system of exercises
to help the flow of energy
and build strength.
This animal-inspired art-form
became kung fu.
Today, ancient Shaolin Mountain,
the place where kung fu began,
remains its prime training centre.
Shi Yanting is a master.
Students from all over the country
come here to learn
the ancient knowledge
derived from the natural world.
The emphasis today
is perhaps more on the physical
rather than the philosophical elements
that underlie kung fu,
but it's a significant re-awakening.
This seven-year-old
is perfecting the devastating punch
of the praying mantis.
When combined and perfected,
these animal forms,
such as mantis, monkey and crane,
become an unstoppable force.
Ancient Chinese philosophy
took nature itself
as the inspiration
for its most fabulous creature.
Fertile rivers may have shaped
this civilisation,
but the Chinese believed
that the rivers themselves were formed
and controlled by a dragon.
Unlike the destructive dragon
of the West,
the Chinese dragon was benevolent,
provided it was treated with respect.
The ancient Chinese called themselves
descendents of the dragon
and knew they needed to live
harmoniously in the dragon's realm.
This respect for the dragon
has relevance today
for a remarkable creature
which lives around the paddy fields
of China's other great river,
the Yangtze.
This fearsome-looking beast
is a Chinese alligator,
known as the muddy dragon.
Despite its association
with the mythical Chinese dragon,
the reptile has long been regarded
by country people as a fish-eating pest,
and has been persecuted
almost to the point of extinction.
There are only around 150
Chinese alligators left in the wild,
and it's mainly down to the care and
protection offered by dedicated people
like retired farmer Chang Jin Rong
that any survive at all.
Today, most Chinese alligators
live in captivity.
At this breeding centre near Xuancheng,
Chinese alligators gather
for their extraordinary courtship.
The males bellow to attract a mate.
As it travels through the water,
the sound is both heard
and felt by the female.
The bellowing is her cue to investigate.
In the alien world
of the Chinese alligator,
these two will be able to learn
much about each other
using the scent glands under their jaws.
Satisfied with her choice,
the two swim off together before mating.
The muddy dragon
owes its continued survival
to a government initiative
a quarter of a century ago,
which created the
captive breeding centre at Xuancheng.
Having dug a little deeper,
it does seem
that ancient beliefs about nature
still have resonance in modern China.
Far upstream, along one of the
Yangtze's mountain tributaries,
another ambitious conservation project
is attempting to save
China's most famous creature.
China's first captive breeding centre
for the giant panda opened in 1983.
This is Wolong Reserve,
a far cry from the bamboo forests
where wild pandas live.
Every spring, male and female pandas
are ferried around the site
in the hope that introductions
will lead to romance.
Scientists have been trying to encourage
the pandas to breed naturally,
but it's difficult to get
the conditions right
since few people have ever seen
how panda courtship happens in the wild.
Meanwhile, artificial insemination
has proved highly successful.
At just five weeks old,
this baby needs 24-hour care.
It's simply too precious
to be entrusted to its natural mother,
who may have
little experience of parenthood.
After initial teething problems,
Wolong's artificial insemination
programme
has been remarkably successful.
In 2006, the reserve reared 16 cubs,
and there are now more
captive-bred pandas at Wolong
than can be safely released back
into the shrinking wild habitat.
In nature, giant pandas
learn survival skills from their mother,
but have little contact
with other pandas.
These youngsters
may have exceptional social skills,
but they wouldn't have a clue
how to survive in the wild.
For the majority,
their future lies in zoos.
While the ultimate value
of captive breeding projects
like this is debatable,
there are places in China
where animals are being successfully
protected in their wild habitat.
Right at the top
of the Qinling Mountains
lives a rare and mysterious creature
that has inspired legends
as far away as ancient Greece.
The size of a buffalo
and with a temper to match,
this is the original owner
of the golden fleece, the golden takin.
Golden takin make their way
to the top of the mountains
for the breeding season.
It's an opportunity for the males
to prove their mettle.
They are formidable
and aggressive creatures.
Now victorious, this male
will have access to the females.
Despite living high on the mountains,
golden takin were once hunted
to near extinction for their meat.
In a return
to the laws of ancient China,
there's now a government ban on poaching
and the takin is officially protected.
Attitudes towards nature in China
are clearly complex
and rooted in tradition,
and in the Qinling Mountains
there is one story that shows
just how valuable
these traditions can be.
Every morning a flock of crested ibis
leave their roost,
close to the village of Yangxian,
in search of food.
Traditionally, the birds' departure
marked the start of the farmers' day.
Crested ibises need wetlands
for feeding,
and rice paddies are the perfect place
to hunt for eels, frogs and snails.
The birds and farmers had probably
coexisted here for thousands of years,
until the 20th century
when in many parts of China
rice was replaced
by more profitable wheat production.
Crested ibis numbers rapidly declined.
At one point,
they were even believed to be extinct.
Then, in 1981 ,
the last seven crested ibises on earth
were found here.
The Chinese government stepped in,
protecting the rice paddies
so the birds could continue to feed
and safeguarding neighbouring trees
to enable them to breed.
Rescued from the brink of extinction,
there are now 500 crested ibis
living around Yangxian town.
In modern China, room is
being made for nature once again.
But the appreciation of nature in China
isn't confined to impressive animals
or colourful birds.
Mountain landscapes
have held a fascination
for Chinese artists and poets
throughout history.
Mountains also had
religious significance
as places that linked earth
with the heavens.
One of the most sacred of all
is here at Mount Emei,
the site of a 2,000-year-old
Buddhist temple.
China today has the world's largest
Buddhist population.
These old sacred sites
are highly cherished.
Nearly two million people
visit Mount Emei each year.
But the Buddhist temples
are not the only attraction.
Mount Emei is home to Tibetan macaques,
the biggest of their kind.
Their thick coats enable them
to thrive in harsh mountain conditions
at altitudes up to 3,000 metres.
Ancient Chinese people believed
that good deeds towards
the human-looking macaques
were an investment for eternity.
But for these city-dwelling tourists,
whose everyday lives
are far removed from wildlife,
this encounter is an uneasy mix
of reverence and fear.
For the macaques, too,
it's an awkward relationship.
The monkeys normally forage for fruit,
but the tourists are
a much easier source of food.
Constant contact with people
is changing the behaviour of the troop.
Once wary of humans,
the macaques are growing bolder.
How are tourists supposed to know
that this eyebrow raising display
means trouble?
Some of the more assertive monkeys
have to be policed accordingly.
While the impact on wildlife from
mass tourism is not entirely beneficial,
the fact that
increasing numbers of people
are enjoying nature at first hand
suggests some hope for the future.
Despite all the changes in China
during the last 50 years,
many sacred places like Emei
have been protected.
Heading west, China's heartland
becomes increasingly rugged.
Beyond the Qinling Mountains
lies the even higher Min Shan,
where towering peaks conceal one of
China's most remarkable landscapes,
known to the Chinese
as fairyland paradise.
Jiuzhaigou was virtually unknown
until the 1970s.
Today it's one of China's
most famous tourist areas,
and is recognised internationally
as a World Heritage Site.
The limestone mountains
are the source of crystal-clear springs
which have formed over 100 lakes
filled with lime-rich water
of unbelievable colour.
Underwater is a perfectly preserved
ghostly forest, shrouded in algae.
This strange world
is home to a species of fish
unique to these lakes.
Who would have guessed
that with close to a billion inhabitants
China's heartland could still harbour
a landscape of such pristine beauty?
It's spring in the Qinling Mountains.
As the farmers tend their new crops,
the secret life
of China's most famous animal
is finally coming to light.
In one of the panda's last strongholds,
a drama is about to unfold,
one which has rarely been witnessed.
A young female
has ventured into the valley,
sparking a flurry of interest
among the resident males.
A panda's life is mostly solitary,
until the spring breeding season.
When the brief opportunity
to mate arises,
the males must be ready
to take their chance.
But timing is everything.
This male's approach
is somewhat lacking in subtlety,
and anyway,
the female isn't ready for him yet.
Her peak receptive time
lasts just two days.
So he guards her, biding his time
with a good supply of bamboo.
Unfortunately his hostage must eat, too,
but she doesn't exactly
feel like descending.
Another male has been attracted
to the scene.
He's a veteran of many breeding seasons.
He's wary of his rival,
because at this time of year
males are transformed
from peace-loving bamboo eaters
into potential killers.
Despite the danger,
he makes a challenge.
The defending male rises to meet him.
The challenger is chased
by the defending male.
In the thick bamboo, the battle rages
as the males fight for dominance.
The female wisely
stays clear of trouble.
The challenger backs down.
The size and strength of the
defending male is just too much.
The loser retreats and the
exhausted but triumphant victor
returns to the female.
This time she's ready for him.
Instead of running, she waits.
This is the first time
this extraordinary courtship behaviour
has ever been filmed in the wild.
If mating is successful,
the female will produce a single cub
and rear it on her own.
Today, with improving attitudes
towards wildlife conservation,
there is hope
that China's 1 ,600 remaining wild pandas
have some chance of survival.
In 2003, conservation became
an integral part of the curriculum
for China's 200 million school students.
For the children
of the Qinling Mountains,
knowing what a special neighbour
they have
may help to protect it for the future.
In the midst of headlong change,
conducted at a pace
unprecedented in human history,
can China hold on to its ancient desire
for harmony with nature?
Can it reconcile
the aspirations of its people
with the long-term need
to protect its environment?
Here at the Temple of Heaven,
in the very heart of Beijing,
there are signs
of a new attitude towards nature.
Every year, as thousands of birds
migrate southwards to escape the winter,
one secretive species
seeks shelter in the temple grounds.
Safeguarded by the temple's tradition,
as many as 10 owls
can be seen in the same tree.
The owls' arrival is celebrated
by members of the recently formed
Beijing Bird Club.
Migration can be
a dangerous undertaking,
and every year many owls
suffer the hazards of power lines,
traffic and industry.
Some of the more fortunate end up here,
at Beijing's Raptor Rescue Centre.
Established in 2001 ,
it's the first of its kind.
Here owls are given medical attention
by Sun Quanhui and his team.
The birds are even exercised
to help their rehabilitation.
Once deemed fit and healthy,
the owls are taken to the hills
at the edge of Beijing.
Every spring, staff from
Beijing's Raptor Rescue Centre
release dozens of owls.
Today there are over 1 ,500
designated nature reserves in China
covering large tracts of some
of the country's finest landscapes.
As China looks to the future
with a renewed sense of direction,
ancient traditions are still very much
a part of its culture.
It's Chinese New Year.
All over the country, the people
prepare to appease their oldest
and most venerated creature, the dragon.
As night falls, everyone from the
neighbourhood brings a lantern.
And one by one, the lights are added
to the dragon's tail.
As the procession grows longer,
the atmosphere builds
with the spectacle of one of China's
oldest and greatest inventions.
The dragon dance
is performed all over China.
The ceremony itself
is thousands of years old,
but it's still the highlight
of the Chinese New Year.
As the dragon
winds its way through the village,
it has grown hundreds of metres long.
Everyone is part of it.
After a century
of unprecedented change in China,
during which environmental protection
has not been a priority,
there are now signs of a new direction.
In October 2006,
the Communist Party
specifically identified
promoting harmony between man and nature
as an important step in their goal
of building a harmonious society,
and called on the Chinese people
to accelerate the construction
of an environmentally friendly society.
As China's economy continues to grow,
its re-engagement with the ancient ideal
of harmony with nature
provides a glimmer of hope
for the future of wild China.