Hokkaido Japan: Earth's Enchanted Islands

The sun rises on Japan.

More than 6,000 islands on the edge of the Pacific.

Life here is at the mercy of Earth's most powerful elemental forces.

From the wilds of the frozen north.

To the subtropical warmth of the south.

Animals along this chain of islands

have had to adapt in unique and sometimes bizarre ways.

Throughout this land,

people have developed an extraordinary relationship

with the natural world.

Trying to capture its fleeting beauty.

And tame its spirit.

But these islands remain wild,

mysterious

and magical.

This is Japan.

There's a corner of Japan

that's a world apart from the rest of the country.

It's the northernmost frontier.

This island endures a brutal winter that locks the land in snow and ice.

The animals that live here would look more at home in Siberia.

All life is ruled by the changing seasons.

Summers are brief

and autumns dazzle.

This is a land of tough animals and hardy human souls.

Sometimes you need to build unlikely alliances

to survive on Hokkaido, Japan's wildest island.

An Ussuri brown bear is patrolling the Shiretoko Peninsula,

in the extreme northeast of Hokkaido.

It's September.

She's waiting for a bounty that comes this way every autumn.

Tens of millions of Pacific salmon are gathering off the coast.

Soon they'll swim inshore to spawn.

And that'll bring them within snatching distance

of the female bear.

She needs to put food in the mouths of her two young cubs.

There's a bitter winter coming,

and if they're not well-fed, her cubs won't make it through.

This is a hard place to be a mum.

The family is not alone.

This peninsula is home to 200 brown bears.

It's one of the most densely-packed populations in the world.

The salmon bonanza has attracted others here, too.

Nobody lives permanently in this remote part of Hokkaido.

But one hardy group have special permission

to stay here for some of the year.

Hokkaido is Japan's second-largest island,

but the harsh conditions mean it's home to only 4% of its people.

Shiretoko is one of the loneliest corners,

where you have to live close to the wild.

Brown bears can weigh 300 kilos,

and are not to be messed with.

When bears and humans cross paths, things can get dangerous.

But here, something astonishing has happened.

For the fishermen, bears have become a part of everyday life.

It takes some nerve, but the men live alongside them as equals.

Tough characters, side-by-side,

both dependent on the salmon run.

The mother bear knows what she's doing.

Survival is in her blood.

Her ancestors came to Hokkaido from Siberia.

And they walked here.

12,000 years ago, Hokkaido was joined to the Russian mainland.

Siberian animals colonised it,

before the sea levels rose, turning Hokkaido into an island.

It's why the wildlife here is so different from the rest of Japan,

and so well equipped to face the coming winter.

By the end of September,

it's getting colder in the heart of Hokkaido.

The forests are starting to glow.

The intense colours are created by the warm days and cold nights

of Hokkaido's autumn.

It's one of Japan's most beautiful natural displays,

and the forest fills with visitors.

Every autumn, more than a million Japanese tourists

travel to Hokkaido.

Vivid autumn leaves are called koyo.

In Japan, people have been making special trips to see them

for over 1,000 years.

And, because it's so far north,

Hokkaido is the first place where koyo appears,

hustled in by the chill of an early autumn.

It's a fleeting display.

There's barely two weeks to catch the best koyo before it vanishes.

And soon, the fair-weather tourists will disappear too.

For those who can't leave,

it's all about preparation for the winter to come.

On the forest floor below,

animals are hurrying to make the most of autumn.

Siberian chipmunks.

They came from Russia too.

Like the brown bear, their ancestors were marooned

just here on Hokkaido.

To survive the winter,

chipmunks need to have a good kilo of nuts stashed in their burrows.

It's a lot to find.

Competition is intense, and chipmunks are feisty.

This chipmunk has been collecting nuts for months.

But the forest is full of thieves.

The red squirrel is three times heavier than the chipmunk.

But this little guy punches well above his weight.

He shoves the squirrel off his patch.

And then, back to the job in hand.

He can cram eight acorns into his cheeks in one go.

That means fewer trips to the burrow,

and fewer chances for thieves to follow him.

With the nuts off-loaded, there's one last task.

To make it through winter, he'll need leaves to insulate his home.

For the next four months,

temperatures here will plunge below zero.

Ready or not, the chipmunks will soon have no option

but to retreat underground.

Every one of Hokkaido's inhabitants

has to deal with the island's seasonal extremes.

And that includes some extraordinary life-forms

that live at the bottom of a lake.

They may look like mossy boulders,

but these strange balls in Lake Akan come to life when you speed up time.

This spinning seems miraculous.

After all, these aren't animals,

but an incredibly rare form of algae found nowhere else in Japan.

They're called marimo.

Or, in the local language, "marsh monsters".

They can live for decades, and grow bigger than a basketball.

The marimos' dance is caused by Hokkaido's elemental forces.

The mountains funnel winds towards the lake.

The resulting waves spin the marimo, shaping them into spheres.

But, if the waves are too strong, it can be disastrous.

Washed ashore, larger marimo collapse under their own weight.

Battered by waves, they disintegrate.

But marimo bounce back.

Next spring,

these fragments will start growing into a host of new balls.

Snow on the hilltops is a warning that autumn is nearly over.

It's October.

To the east, on the remote Notsuke coastline,

a battle's about to start.

This alien landscape is stark,

even for Hokkaido.

Nobody lives here,

but all summer long,

trawlers have been busy catching prawns off the coast.

Now, the fishermen are packing up and shipping out

before winter arrives.

But others are made of tougher stuff.

Sika deer live here year-round.

Right now, they're gearing up for the most important event

in their calendar.

This stag has built up a harem of females.

He can't hang about.

A harem in heat is a magnet for other males.

The dominant stag has no choice but to go and meet his rival.

It's the newcomer that's won.

He has the pick of the females for now.

But it won't be long before other stags move in to challenge him.

Many males are so exhausted

they just won't make it through the winter.

But at least some will leave a legacy.

The females are pregnant.

They'll need all their resilience to survive the lean months of winter.

40 miles to the north, back on the Shiretoko Peninsula,

the mother bear is trying to feed her cubs.

Pretty soon, they'll have to go into hibernation.

They'll be holed up together for five months without food,

so it's vital they lay down fat reserves now.

The salmon have arrived.

By watching underwater,

the mother bear tries to get a head-start in the chase.

Just offshore,

the fishermen have also been rewarded for their patience.

On Hokkaido, you have to grab every opportunity

that comes your way while the good times last.

Now the mother bear's finally got her eye in, there's no stopping her.

The cubs still have a few weeks left to bulk up before hibernating.

In December, winter arrives in force.

A colossal mass of freezing air barrels in from eastern Russia.

Crossing the Sea of Japan, it picks up enormous amounts of moisture

which it drops onto Hokkaido as snow.

Over a metre of it can fall in a single day.

The freeze intensifies in mid-winter.

By February, sea ice closes like a fist around the coast.

Nowhere else in the northern hemisphere

does sea ice reach this far south.

Hardy animals travel 1,000 miles

just to reach this frozen wasteland.

The Japanese call them owashi.

Steller's sea eagles.

CHIRPING

In winter, they fly in from Russia

and join other birds eking out a living on Hokkaido's coastline.

The sea eagles rule this roost.

They're the heaviest eagles in the world.

CHIRPING

The birds are surrounded by the ghostly hulls

of abandoned fishing boats.

Winter has grounded the ocean-going fleet.

But a little ice isn't enough to stop Hokkaido's fishermen.

They venture out onto the surface of a frozen lagoon.

And the eagles follow their every move.

This band of brothers has been ice fishing for over 40 years.

And for Mr Takahashi, the eagles are a lucky sign.

The fishermen have built a relationship with these birds.

It's a two-way thing. The nets are bulging

and some of the catch is for sharing.

As the brothers make their way across the ice,

the Steller's sea eagles move in.

SQUAWKING

White-tailed eagles enter the fray.

SQUAWKING

On the ice, the boldest, brashest eagles do best.

Huge flocks of black-eared kites join the party.

They're only a tenth of the weight of the eagles.

But what they lack in stature they make up for in bravery.

In spring, the Steller's sea eagles will fly back to Russia,

fuelled by the fishermen's generosity.

Hokkaido's winter is a force to be reckoned with.

2,000 metres up, on the peaks that tower over the island,

nothing moves.

Even on the lower plains, the farmland is locked in thick snow.

WIND ROARS

This extreme season tests even Hokkaido's

most adaptable inhabitants to the limit.

CAWING

But a remarkable group of people lived through

thousands of winters here.

Hokkaido was home to its own indigenous inhabitants...

..the Ainu.

Their ancestors came from the mainland, just like the brown bears.

These hunter-gatherers were well in tune with the natural world.

They lived for millennia on Hokkaido

before Japanese traders arrived, over 800 years ago.

In time, the traders became conquerors.

Since then, the Ainu way of life has almost disappeared.

But the animals they worshipped still survive.

CHIRPING

The Ainu revered red-crowned cranes as gods of the marshlands.

To modern Japanese, these birds are symbols of beauty and long life.

SQUAWKING

Hokkaido is the only place in Japan where red-crowned cranes still live.

But settlers' farms have swallowed up the wetlands

where they used to hunt for fish and insects.

In these fields, pickings are slim.

Last century, there were fewer than 30 cranes left in Japan.

It looked like they might disappear altogether.

CRANES CALL OUT

But salvation has come from a small group of farmers.

They don't just tolerate the cranes,

they go out of their way to help them.

Throughout the winter,

they brave sub-zero temperatures to feed these giant birds.

Over 100 hungry mouths gather every morning.

Thanks to these hand-outs,

the red-crowned crane has fought back against extinction.

Hokkaido is now home to nearly 1,000 birds.

CRANES CALL OUT

Whenever cranes get together, no matter what time of year,

they put on a show.

CRANE CRIES

It starts with a song.

CRANES CRY OUT

And then a dance.

Cranes often pair for life, and this ballet is key to that bond.

But perhaps there's more to it than that.

It seems that dancing is something that cranes simply enjoy doing.

Thanks to their own tenacity, and human help, these enormous,

irrepressible birds have survived to dance another day.

And on Hokkaido in deep winter, survival is the name of the game.

The Ainu people call the Shiretoko Peninsula "the end of the Earth".

In winter, this northerly outpost becomes a snowy wonderland,

and even more isolated.

Brown bears are asleep beneath the drifts.

But sika deer have nowhere to hide.

Instead, they rely on their own extraordinary resilience.

Pregnant bellies make for awkward snow ploughs,

but the females take the drifts in their stride.

Their favourite foods, bamboos and other grasses, are buried.

But these are the toughest deer in the world.

And they're prepared for everything winter can throw at them.

Blizzards bury the deer's food deeper and deeper.

So they look in high places.

They'll even get by on tree bark.

It's just enough to keep hunger at bay

while they live off their fat reserves.

But even in this bitter winter, there are a few places where

Hokkaido offers some unexpected comfort.

All across this icy island, there are hot spots.

Hokkaido has 20 active volcanoes.

And in places, hot gases escape from deep underground,

melting holes in the snowy landscape.

Hokkaido is alive and breathing.

Lake Kussharo is all that remains of a colossal collapsed volcano,

seven miles across.

At the end of winter,

the lake is a lifeline for migrating whooper swans.

It's a warm oasis in the middle of a frozen desert.

A thermal spring keeps this patch of water warm and ice-free.

SWANS HONK

Most swans only use the lake for a layover before continuing to

warmer parts of Japan.

But a few have learnt to save themselves

a journey by spending the whole winter here.

SWANS HONK

This is the perfect place to strengthen old relationships,

and make new ones.

The swans will stay until the spring allows them

to return to Russia to breed.

They don't have long to wait.

It's April, and there's another great seasonal change on the way.

From winter to summer, the temperature can

swing from 30 degrees below zero to 30 above.

For Hokkaido's frozen inhabitants, the thaw can't come soon enough.

The Shiretoko Peninsula is released from the grip of

sea ice.

By May, everybody on Hokkaido reaps their reward for seeing out

the winter.

The island bursts into life.

Spring is short, there's no time to waste.

Farmers race to make the most of the growing season.

Over the last century, Japanese farmers have transformed Hokkaido.

Half a million tonnes of wheat are harvested every year.

The most fertile parts of the island look more like rural England

than wild Japan.

And all this greenery is irresistible.

The sika deer have started creeping into the lush cultivated fields.

It's a whole new world.

These fields are brimming with specially-sown grass,

intended for cattle.

But this herd always seems to be one step ahead,

helping themselves to the best grass before it can even

be cut.

Every year, deer can munch their way through over

£30 million worth of crops.

But some farmers have developed a live-and-let-live attitude.

The deer are reaping the benefits of Hokkaido's human landscape.

In a place like this, it pays to be adaptable.

In the warmth of early summer, the red-crowned cranes have moved into

the farmland waterways.

And they have a new family member.

They traditionally nest in marshes, but most have been drained.

So the cranes are raising their chick in an irrigation channel.

All through the summer,

the chick will be entirely dependent on its parents for food.

The channel is teeming with insects, fish and frogs.

But the parents

can barely keep up with their gangly offspring's appetite.

The family won't be able to move on until the chick can fly.

In the meantime, they can't escape from surprise visitors.

The sika deer have managed to wander right into the path of a pair

of cranes with a week-old chick.

CRANE CRIES OUT

Mum and Dad work together, to shepherd the chick to safety.

And then, a quick flash of the dagger-like beak

to make sure the deer keep their distance.

CRANE CACKLES

The parents' diligence has paid off.

Their priority now is to feed their chick while times are good.

All Hokkaido's inhabitants

must rush to make the most of the short summer.

Once the island blooms, some of the busiest workers fly into action.

BUZZING

European honeybees.

People brought them to Japan more than 100 years ago.

They're much more docile than the native bees.

Every summer, Mr Seo brings his hives to Hokkaido.

Mr Seo and his travelling bees have found paradise here.

In July, Hokkaido becomes positively Mediterranean.

While the rest of Japan swelters in a sticky summer,

Hokkaido enjoys warm days and cool nights.

It's the perfect place to grow flowers.

For a time, Hokkaido brims with tourists who've come to soak up

the beauty of this man-made spectacle.

Their love of nature has drawn them

from across Japan and East Asia.

But Hokkaido's summer is short.

Soon, the blooms will fade and the tourists will go home.

It takes a certain resilience to live here year-round.

Mr Seo doesn't stay for long.

By September, Hokkaido is already sliding into autumn.

Leaves that only grew a few months ago are changing colour

and dying off.

Hokkaido never stands still, its seasons rush by.

This hostile frontier has long been a place that tests

life to the limit.

But its extraordinary inhabitants are more than up to the challenge.

And they've discovered that by forging new alliances, they can deal

with everything that the toughest

corner of Japan can throw at them.

All across Japan,

from the mountains of the heartland...

..to the southern seas...

..people still celebrate its unusual nature

and fleeting beauty.

Japan may be one of the busiest places on Earth,

but the connection with the wild

still runs deep.

The wildest part of Hokkaido is the Shiretoko Peninsula.

It's remote and mysterious,

one of the last true wildernesses in Japan.

After months of negotiation,

cameraman Graham MacFarlane has a special permit

to enter Shiretoko National Park.

He's come here to film brown bears and their salmon-hunting techniques.

Shiretoko means "the end of the Earth",

so it kind of feels like that.

I've never specifically gone to film, um, brown bears

so I'm very excited but also a little bit nervous.

I, I don't really know how these animals react to humans,

how they behave.

A journey into the unknown.

Right from the start, the signs are promising.

Oh, yeah, oh, fantastic.

Hopefully that's not the last we're going to see of them.

This is the end of the road, a small base used by seasonal fishermen.

There's no hotel here and Graham's not going to risk a tent.

So, my bear-proof living quarters, my van,

and, uh, it's actually very cosy

and it feels very safe, too.

Goodnight.

Well, I've just woke up, it's about five o'clock.

That's pretty amazing, I can actually see a bear

sat on the rock on the shore waiting

to fish, from my bed.

There's no time for a lie-in, Graham needs to get to work.

The first morning and there are the bears.

Wow, there's another one there.

There's loads about.

And they're not shy.

She's coming right up to the car.

Should I put my window up?

She could certainly get her paw through the window.

Until Graham can get to know these bears,

it's better to be safe than sorry.

His main mission is to film a salmon hunt.

But the bears aren't fishing, so Graham can focus on getting

close-up underwater shots of the salmon.

To help him, he's called on his friend, cameraman Daisuke Semiya,

who's got a simple idea for how to reveal the beauty of the fish.

This time just first experiment, so, yeah, let me see what happens.

OK, cool.

It requires an underwater camera, a phone...

So you're going to attach it to the end of this?

..and an improvised pole.

I think it's a curtain rail, isn't it?

It'll do, you know.

Yeah, Japanese technology!

That is, that, genius, that's cool, man.

By hooking the phone up to the camera,

they're hoping to monitor shots of the fish.

Just, I love it, the simplicity.

That is amazing.

Oh!

Great, it works!

Semiya's ingenuity

has paid off.

Oh, fighting going on.

Wow!

Now Graham's filmed the salmon,

he can turn his attention back to the bears.

They're still not hunting.

Instead, they seem more interested in checking out something else...

..the fishing base.

Nowhere else in the world are people so relaxed around brown bears.

It's a unique relationship that's developed over time.

Mr Ohse has been working here for over 50 years.

In the early days, attitudes

to bears were very different.

But over time,

the fishermen realised there were easier ways to deal with the bears.

The relationship has strengthened over the decades.

All the same, the situation can take some getting used to

for new recruits.

It's advice that Graham's trying his best to follow,

as he continues his quest to film a hunting bear.

But there's one situation that is dangerous.

Getting between a mother and her cubs.

And this cub's coming far too close.

The mother bear could be anywhere.

There she is.

The bear family are reunited, so Graham can set up the camera.

It's very close.

I could, um, I could smell her, she glanced at me, I glanced at her.

Finally, the hunting begins.

Over the next few days, Graham gets the shots he needs.

It's a rare view into their private lives.

And the team discover that it's not just

the bears that accept their presence.

Wow!

The normal rules between man and beast don't seem to apply in

this strange, lonely place.

Actually, it's been a complete success, we've got

everything we came for and more.

I didn't think in

my wildest dreams I'd film as much bears as we have

and to be able to follow a particular bear family,

it's just been a privilege, really.

On the Shiretoko Peninsula,

Graham has found a world where the normal barriers between a cameraman

and his subjects don't exist.

That's the magic of Hokkaido, Japan's wildest island.