The Americas (2025) s01e06 Episode Script

1
This is The Americas,
an extraordinary journey
across Earth's great supercontinent.
The widest variety of life on the planet.
The untold story
of our home.
Tonight on The Americas
The Gulf Coast.
A dazzling water world
with hidden depths
set on America's most dynamic coastline.
To master a world caught between water
and land
takes determination
and courage.
From America's widest river
to unfathomable swamps.
Here,
survival is truly
sink
or swim.
The Gulf Coast is where
the American South meets the sea.
It's defined by water.
Florida is home to the greatest
subtropical wetland in the U.S.
And the 1,200-mile coastline
runs all the way to Texas.
At its heart
is the largest swamp in America,
the Atchafalaya.
More than a million acres
of Southern Louisiana.
It's spectacular.
The labyrinth
of countless slews and bayous
where magical stories unfold.
This old split oak tree
hides one of the swamp's
most surprising inhabitants.
A Louisiana black bear.
Scientists have been tracking her
and know she spent winter in this den.
Now, the seasonal flood means
she's surrounded by water
up to five feet deep.
She hasn't eaten
for more than three months.
With all this water,
finding food will mean getting wet.
But that's
the least of her worries.
Three-month-old twins,
still pretty unsteady on their feet.
She wants them to stay put
while she goes to find food.
And Mother knows best.
The closest dry land
where she can find enough food
may be over a mile away
through this flooded maze.
Over the winter,
she's lost a third of her body weight
producing fat-rich milk to feed her cubs.
And they're still hungry.
She will have to eat fast and hurry home.
Born in the sanctuary of the tree house,
the little cubs have only ever glimpsed
the outside world.
Playing out on the porch
by themselves is
risky.
They've never seen water before.
Mom's out there, somewhere.
Unfortunately, some bear cubs
just don't understand the dangers
of exploring on their own.
That water is cold.
A cub this young does not have
the strength to keep swimming
for more than a few minutes.
Cubs do drown in these swamps.
It's Mom.
Black bears don't always get it right.
There's no sign of life.
Or is there?
He's cold and shaken,
but very much alive.
Mom's got his back.
To pass Swamp Survival 101
listen to your mother.
One animal not only survives here,
but rules these waterways.
It has a fearsome reputation,
but that's only part of its story.
The waterways of the Gulf Coast
are mysterious places
where you can get truly lost.
But you'll certainly never be alone.
Because here in the South,
where there is fresh water,
there are gators.
Hunted almost to extinction,
American alligators are now protected
and have bounced back
big time.
Today, there are more than four million,
and Southerners have learned
to share the gators' world.
Alligators have barely changed
for millennia,
so we might have thought
we knew all there is to know about them.
But here
in Southern Georgia's Okefenokee Swamp,
scientists have spotted
some surprising new behavior.
These hatchlings
are just a few weeks old.
Eight inches
to Mom's eight feet.
At this size,
they're more prey than predator.
A Great Blue Heron can swallow
a baby gator whole.
But not when Mom's around.
She's more than just a bodyguard.
She's giving them a head start.
The best way to stay safe from predators
is to grow too big to be eaten.
To do that, hatchlings need to become
expert hunters.
And it seems Mom knows just how to help.
Stirring up the water,
she brings bugs and beetles
to the surface.
So they're easier to catch.
This is known as "facilitated foraging"
and was first described
by scientists in 2022.
It's like having their own private diner.
Where they can hone their ambush skills.
Or at least
try to.
Alligator ancestors
rubbed shoulders with dinosaurs.
Who knows what other secrets
they're keeping in the swamps
of the Gulf Coast?
All these wetlands depend on one thing.
Rain.
The Gulf Coast is home
to four of the five rainiest states
in the U.S.
Louisiana,
Mississippi,
Alabama,
and perhaps surprisingly, Florida,
a state where an average
of 150 billion gallons of rain
falls every day.
Almost a third of that
seeps into the ground.
Beginning a journey
that's been made for millions of years.
Rainwater is naturally acidic.
And drop by drop, century by century,
it eats through limestone bedrock.
Tiny cracks eventually widen
into caves.
This is the Floridan aquifer.
One of the least explored places
in America.
Divers risk their lives
to uncover its secrets.
It's like a giant Swiss cheese,
the flooded passageways
stretching for 100,000 square miles.
It channels fresh water
underneath the whole of Florida
and as far as Mississippi
and South Carolina.
Yet on the surface
you'd never know it was there.
Almost all the water that people use
in the Sunshine State
comes from this precious reservoir,
right beneath their feet.
Some caves may be a thousand feet deep.
Without our lights,
there's absolute darkness.
But life finds a way.
The Georgia blind salamander.
The size of your pinky.
In a world that never sees sun,
skin needs no protective pigment.
But there's no point in having eyes.
Instead,
sensory pits on its snout
detect the slightest movement.
The worm will be safe
only if
it stays still.
Ah, well.
What a life.
Where the aquifer caves
are close to the surface
water flows out.
Into more than
a thousand crystal clear springs
at a temperature close to 72 degrees
all year round.
During the winter months,
these places are vital for the survival
of one of Florida's strangest
but most loved animals.
Florida is home
to the greatest concentration
of springs on Earth.
These and Crystal River
are winter refuges for animals
who share an ancestor
with elephants.
Manatees.
They're huge.
They can be the size of your couch,
but they barely have
an ounce of insulating fat.
So the warmth of Florida springs
is a lifeline.
Seasonal get-togethers
are a welcomed chance to socialize.
A game of touch tag
is simply too good to miss.
Scientists called this behavior
"cavorting."
Rarely filmed, these males are in fact
honing their social skills
and practicing courtship moves.
There's still a lot to understand
about manatee friendships.
But perhaps these are bonds
that will last a lifetime.
Manatees can live more
than half a century
and return to the same springs
year after year.
Safe harbors, crucial for their survival.
As water flows southwards in Florida,
the line between land and water
continues to blur,
creating in these flat lowlands
one of America's great natural wonders.
The Everglades.
A shallow sheet of water that,
is in fact,
a slow-moving river,
the widest in America.
There's little to break the horizon
but sawgrass,
which gives it
the rather more romantic name,
the "River of Grass."
Home to over a thousand types of animals.
In places, water creeps along
at just two feet an hour.
You could say
life moves at a snail's pace.
But this is no ordinary snail.
The Florida apple snail
is the largest
native freshwater snail in America.
The size of a golf ball.
She's expecting a brood of babies,
but there's one obstacle.
Apple snails must lay their eggs
out of water,
so they'll be out of reach
of hungry fish.
And that means going up.
But climbing to the surface
puts her life at risk.
Patrolling the skies
is an apple snail's nemesis.
Many have already fallen victim.
This carnage is the signature
of a remarkable and deadly bird of prey.
The skies above Florida's Everglades
are patrolled by a predator
with a lethal speciality.
An Everglade snail kite.
These endangered birds
rely on one thing as prey.
Apple snails.
Each bird can eat
more than a dozen snails a day.
The curve of the kite's bill
perfectly matches
the spiral of the shell.
A tool evolved for shucking snails.
And that's bad news
if you're an apple snail
that needs to lay eggs.
A kite can spot a snail
just under the water's surface
from 30 feet up.
Apple snails do have an escape plan.
Back to square one.
But kites don't hunt after dark.
So nightfall gives an opportunity.
She's climbing a blade of sawgrass.
The tiny barbs
will help protect her brood.
She's in position.
It's now or never.
Before sunrise,
she must lay dozens of eggs.
Time-lapse photography
reveals this wonder of nature.
Dawn.
And just a few more to go.
The last one.
Mission accomplished.
In a couple of weeks,
the eggs are ready to hatch.
Independent from the get-go,
a new generation of apple snails
will grow up in the mighty Everglades,
until it is their turn
to face the kites.
The vast river of grass
eventually makes its way
towards Florida's Gulf Coast.
Where seawater mixes
with the river's freshwater,
mangrove trees thrive.
Forming the biggest mangrove forest
in North America,
larger than New York City.
It straddles land and water,
a network of exquisite tiny islands.
Most are uninhabited,
but not all.
When there's an opportunity
to live in paradise,
who wouldn't jump at the chance?
In just 60 years,
Marco Island has gone
from near wilderness
to a city of almost 20,000.
Here, yards are irrigated all year round.
So grass is green and luscious.
And everyone has the perfect lawn,
or, almost perfect.
Holes are appearing everywhere,
a sign that someone surprising
has moved into the neighborhood.
On Florida's Gulf Coast,
the immaculate lawns of Marco Island
have been invaded
by something
people have fallen in love with.
Burrowing owls.
This little guy
lives right in the middle of suburbia.
Only the size of a soda bottle,
he needs short grass so he has
a clear view of his surroundings.
These little owls
originally lived on prairies
where bison kept the grass close-cropped.
Here, we do that job.
Making it the ideal place
to build a home.
He's putting the finishing touches
on an eight-foot burrow.
But this is the easy bit.
Finding a mate to share it with him
is going to be tricky.
He seems to be late to the party.
There are 250 pairs here,
so there are couples everywhere.
Some even have chicks.
He needs to find a date.
Hooting
and bobbing
mark his territory.
And signal
his relationship status.
"Single owl, not too tall,
"would like to meet female
for eggs, chicks,
and a lifetime of happiness."
But the course of true love
never did run smooth.
Day and night,
he puts himself out there
sleepless in suburbia.
But try as he might,
he's not got a hoot in return.
His chances of raising a family this year
are not looking good.
He's just too late.
Or is he?
This is the moment he's been hoping for.
She's definitely looking at him.
Don't blow it, now.
Well, that seems promising.
Time to introduce himself properly.
The next three months will be
all about getting to know one another
as they raise their brood.
With luck, the first of many
they'll have in this neighborhood.
But as anyone living
along this coastline knows,
paradise comes at a cost.
Ten hurricanes have hit the Gulf Coast
in just five years,
and they're becoming
increasingly ferocious.
Protecting the mainland from storm surges
are dozens of barrier islands,
natural offshore shock absorbers.
But as the climate heats,
the Gulf Coast is facing
the highest predicted sea level rise
in the United States.
Many of our barrier islands could vanish
in as little as a human lifetime.
Nowhere else in North America
is the balance
between land and water so uncertain.
Padre Island stretches
for more than a hundred miles,
from Corpus Christi in Texas
almost to the Rio Grande,
the longest barrier island in the world.
It protects the South Texas mainland,
and with it,
one of the most endangered mammals
in the whole United States.
At the very southern tip of Texas,
a few miles inland from the Gulf Coast,
lives an animal so rare
that just one big hurricane
could wipe it out here.
Few of us will ever catch
a glimpse of it.
But it's a real American beauty.
An ocelot.
Usually found in South America,
here in the United States,
fewer than a hundred
of these secretive cats survive.
After decades of hunting
and habitat loss,
these pockets of thorn scrub
are their last U.S. outpost.
Hidden cameras give us
a rare opportunity to step
into their little-known world.
At night, this mom brings her kittens
out of their hiding place in the brush.
A chance for them to play
and burn off energy.
They're small and agile enough
to move easily
through the thorn scrub.
Even fully grown, ocelots are
only twice the size of a house cat.
Mom's busy trying to find food
while the kittens are more interested
in jumping on each other.
But it's good practice
for pouncing on prey.
They're curious about everything.
Just as with domestic cats,
scent glands in their cheeks
leave a unique tag as they nuzzle.
A messaging service that will help them
carve out their own territories.
Mom's hunt has been successful.
She's caught a wood rat.
But her kittens will have to work
for dinner.
It's a tad underdone.
Handing over live prey
is an essential way
to train her young how to hunt.
A skill they'll need
to make it on their own.
This little family is crucial
to the future of American ocelots.
Their world is a fragile one,
their space precious.
But these cats have
some unexpected guardians.
They live on a working ranch
where they're granted the space they need
by ranchers who value wildlife
as much as turning a profit.
The future of all our wild neighbors
depends on a willingness
to protect their homes.
And in the dynamic environment
of the Gulf Coast,
that means preserving
the delicate balance
between land and water
so life can continue to thrive
in this, the most wonderful water world
in the Americas.