Hippo Beach Natural World

A three-ton hippo at 30km per hour...

..the most dangerous animal in Africa.

Hippos are full of surprises!

Hippos spend most of their lives in water - but they can't actually swim.

Behind that cuddly exterior lurks a mean streak.

Hippo bulls are violently territorial - armed with foot-long tusks.

For a hippo bull, success is measured in real estate.

ANGRY GROWLING

Life is a beach - but keeping it that way is no picnic.

Hippopotamus means "river horse".

The river is the one place hippos feel secure and confident.

Although they breathe air, they look far more relaxed underwater,

and can hold their breath for up to six minutes at a time.

Their feet have nails, not hooves, and are partly webbed.

Because they can't swim, hippos don't like being out of their depth.

They prefer to keep their feet firmly on the bottom.

But being a non-swimmer isn't the disadvantage it seems. Hippos are virtually weightless underwater.

It's easier to use a kind of space-walk than to swim against the current.

The big shock is how fast these beach boys move on land.

They're not distance runners,

but they can cut quite a dash in the hundred metres.

As a hippo submerges, special valves automatically seal its ears and nostrils.

But that doesn't stop it hearing or communicating underwater.

Buzzy, clicky sounds are made inside the hippo's closed-off airways - they sound like the dolphins' clicks,

and that's no coincidence.

Recent research shows hippos are related to dolphins and whales and share a common ancestor.

Unlike their dolphin relatives, hippos don't eat fish.

In fact, it's more the other way around.

Even the very young are mobbed by dung-feeders.

Other scroungers hoover up dead skin cells from the hippo's hide

or pick food from its fearsome teeth.

Hippos live in many parts of Africa.

This is one of their most popular stamping grounds - the Luangwa River in Zambia.

Meandering waterways and sandy beaches provide an ideal home for several hundred hippo groups or pods.

This is the Beachmaster - a 3-ton bull in his prime.

He's ruled his stretch of beach and river for several years.

His empire may be just a few hundred metres,

but he's master of all he surveys.

Right now, his pod includes around 40 other hippos,

all of whom must dance to his tune.

Females are always welcome, but so are other males,

provided they know their place.

The Beachmaster is an absolute dictator

and an early morning show of sabre-rattling helps preserve the status quo.

But the latest tenant has the cheek to answer back. He hasn't yet learnt the house rules.

The boss will have to bring him down a peg or two.

Job done! The Beachmaster has made his point.

It's the end of the rainy season, and the river is running high.

Several females on Hippo Beach have given birth.

Luckily, the baby's quite at home underwater.

It's normal for a dad to be curious about his offspring,

but stepping on a new mother's toes is foolhardy.

Females are fearless in defending their young.

The Beachmaster may lord it over the boys, but not her!

There has to be room in this river for bulls...

AND for babies.

At this time of year, there should be plenty of space for everyone.

The Luangwa floodplain is awash from the rains, creating peaceful lagoons.

The hippos spread out wherever the water is deep enough to cover them.

Females in particular prefer these tranquil backwaters

to life in the river's fast lane.

Because there's no current, it's a safer playground for the babies -

and easier to keep an eye on them.

Though the lagoon is full of crocodiles, they tend to give hippos a wide berth.

The babies may look tempting, but the crocs don't want to tangle with their formidable mothers.

As usual, the biggest danger comes from sparring males.

They don't attack babies deliberately but the youngsters can get caught in the crossfire.

A boundary dispute like this may last for a couple of days.

This mother and baby are caught between crocs on the bank

and belligerent bulls in the water.

But the infant is just a few hours old, and still too weak to walk.

Out of water, the baby could easily overheat.

AND it attracts too much attention.

So far, no-one wants to mess with mother. But she's not invincible.

All she can do is wait until the baby is mobile.

A few hours later, the youngster is able to walk,

and can be shepherded to a quieter spot.

After the rains, the grass is lush -

a time of plenty for all Luangwa's inhabitants - including the baboons.

While there's grass in the swamp, the hippos can eat all day without overheating.

A hippo plucks vegetation with enormous muscular lips

and grinds it with cow-like teeth.

It also digests its food like a cow, in a four-chambered stomach

where grass is fermented gradually to extract the maximum nutrition.

It can put away 50 kilos of fodder at a sitting.

But this bean-feast doesn't last long.

Within weeks of the last rain, some lagoons are already drying out.

By now, most of the hippos are long gone back to the main river.

Only the ruling bulls remain.

For the yellow-billed storks, however, less water means more food

as they dredge the slime for trapped fish.

Mud may be glorious, but it's no substitute for water.

For a bull, territory is next to life itself, and hard to give up,

even when it has turned to porridge.

But as the dry season bites, the only alternative

is to leave or be baked alive.

The exit begins.

In the withered grasslands, flocks of quelea are also on the move.

Over the next few weeks, their numbers will swell to plague proportions,

as the dry season tightens its grip.

By now, the Luangwa river has shrunk to a shallow channel among the white sands of Hippo Beach.

As more and more bulls are forced back to the river,

each new arrival is checked out by the Beachmaster.

He knows that first impressions are everything,

and he's got to make his count.

Some of the incomers are powerful specimens, used to running their own show.

Each one must be faced down from the start.

But this male seems unfazed.

Perhaps he fancies his chances against the boss.

The two bulls square up in a ritual confrontation,

both spinning their tails to shower each other with water and dung.

But if the challenger doesn't back down, the Beachmaster will have to put his money where his mouth is.

The boss may have met his match.

But the new guy celebrates too soon.

The stab wounds inflicted during these clashes don't normally result in death,

but if enough blood is shed, it's always a possibility.

This time, order is restored - the newcomer retreats.

Females don't have the same obsession with social standing. Their priority is to run the nursery.

This stretch of river is ideal for babies, with water deep enough to offer shelter,

and a gently-sloping, family-friendly beach.

In parts of Africa and ancient Greece,

hippo goddesses were thought to protect human babies and pregnant women.

Young hippos have a longer childhood than most mammals.

It's six or seven years before they reach sexual maturity

and this turns into...

this.

Even as adults, hippos have plenty of leisure time.

Every few days, they haul out of the water and into the sun. The warmth aids digestion.

But they usually wait for the big boss to make the first move.

Fresh from his recent triumph, the veteran's street cred is intact.

If he's lucky, he could stay in power for a decade or more.

He's an impressive sight, and he knows it!

As soon as the boss has shown the way,

the rest of the hippos set off up the beach -

the bulls in a strict pecking order according to size and rank.

Once ashore, there are other customs to observe.

Muck-spreading is the hippo equivalent of presenting your business card.

Bulls recognise each other mostly by smell,

and pick up subtle signals about each other's place in the hierarchy.

Hippos are sticklers for etiquette

and it isn't until the Beachmaster has parked his chin,

that everyone else seems able to fully relax.

Once the sunbathers are settled, they attract various hangers-on.

Red-billed oxpeckers dine on skin parasites.

And other beachcombers home in too.

Baboons.

They've come to collect a few of the hippos' business cards.

Hippo or elephant dung is a treasure trove of seeds and insects -

always worth a rummage.

Guinea fowl come to the beach to sand bathe and squabble.

But their rowdy behaviour can cause trouble.

Hippos aren't as brave as they look.

Back in their element, the panic subsides. The hippos feel safe again.

But Hippo Beach doesn't just belong to the hippos.

Carmine bee-eaters fly in from further south to breed.

Elephants come to drink and bathe.

The bee eaters lay their eggs in holes in the riverbank.

High-rise nests are packed tightly together in a commune used for generations.

The hippos don't bother the birds.

But other locals do.

The monitor lizard is an expert climber and isn't put off by being outnumbered.

He's got a nose for which holes contain eggs or chicks

and there's little the frantic parents can do to stop him.

Further down the beach, an African fish-eagle spots the commotion caused by the lizard's attack.

It's too good a chance to miss.

It seems the fish eagle doesn't live on fish alone. Safety in numbers has its limits.

That's one more vacancy at Bee-eater Towers!

The head of Hippo Beach is feeling under pressure too.

On the run from a fight upstream, this bull is still testosterone-charged.

Again the Beachmaster is forced to rise to the challenge.

Maybe this chap's bitten off more than he can chew.

When it comes to the crunch, he's all talk and no trousers!

For a lone bull, finding a home isn't easy.

In the dry season, food can be hard to find too.

But now the sausage trees are flowering.

Birds aren't the only nectar drinkers. Baboons like it too.

The sausage tree is one of the most common along the Luangwa river - and one of the most popular.

The flowers develop into tasty fruit...

..for anyone who can reach them!

By now, last year's sausages have become giant salami two feet long and ten pounds in weight.

These monsters are too much of a mouthful for a giraffe.

But the night is young.

Night on Hippo Beach - and there's a rush of activity. Well...a sluggish ramble, anyway.

Most of the herd is heading away from the beach to seek out food.

And tonight's special is...

sausages.

This is the gastronomic highlight of a hippo's year. A moment to be savoured, not rushed.

As the sausages tumble from the trees, the hippos sniff them out one by one.

The relationship between sausage tree and hippo isn't all one way.

First, the sausage feeds the hippo.

And in return, the hippo distributes its seeds.

But hippos can't live on sausages alone.

They need bangers AND grass.

Well-worn trails, flattened by generations of hippo feet, lead to the traditional grazing areas.

As drought kicks in, reaching the remaining grass

may mean a 10km round trip, over dangerous ground.

Most of the hippos make it safely back to Hippo Beach,

but every so often there's bound to be a casualty.

A dead hippo in the river attracts a crowd of mourners...

..and the resident crocs.

The hippos sniff and lick the carcass in what seems to be a kind of last rites.

The crocs have a different agenda.

And here's another opportunist, the hyena.

But the hippos seem keen to chase it away.

As the scavengers gather, however,

there's nothing the hippos can do.

Next morning, the feast continues,

but this grisly spectacle serves an important purpose.

The crocs help keep the river clean and healthy for all its inhabitants.

By tidying up the dead, they protect the living.

Including the Beachmaster.

Once again, he leads the way out of the water and the social shuffle begins.

Sunbathing may aid digestion, but there is a catch.

Hippos have very sensitive skin.

But they have evolved a special form of sun protection.

Modified sweat glands round the face and other burn-points produce a thick pink substance like nail varnish.

Gradually, the beach bums turn bright pink. But it isn't sunburn...

..it's sunscreen.

By the end of the day, they're done to a turn.

Time to follow the beachmaster back to the river.

In the cool of the evening,

quelea come by to drink,

each bird hopping politely forward to take its turn.

Buffalo head for the water too.

After a day in temperatures of 40 degrees Celsius or more,

they're parched.

But there's a welcome committee.

Round here, the price of a drink can be high.

It's best to swig and run.

Danger is often hard to see,

so no-one can afford to drop their guard.

But thirst can be a killer too, so it's a calculated risk.

With crocodiles on the prowl,

everyone's on edge.

Only the hippos can afford to relax.

You need to have eyes in the back of your head.

Lions hang out at the beach club too.

This seems a dicey moment for the Beachmaster to leave the safety of the water...

..but another disturbance has caught his eye.

The Beachmaster's goal - a dead buffalo.

Hippos rarely eat meat, but every so often they're tempted to steal from the lions' larder.

Territorial bulls can be so busy warding off contenders, they have no time to forage properly at night.

Maybe simple hunger drove the Beachmaster to brave the lions.

The boss is safely back in the bosom of his pod,

but as the sun goes down on Hippo Beach,

his neighbours get restless. Something is spooking them.

Hyenas are back, drawn by the smell of carrion...

..another dead hippo.

Once again, the hippos appear to be trying to ward them off.

They don't seem to want to let the body go.

The carcass has become a bone of contention.

but why the hippos are so flustered is a mystery.

After several hours of this peculiar stand-off, the hippos concede and are driven back into the water.

The hyenas have the last laugh.

By October, the height of the dry season,

Hippo Beach looks more like a can of sardines.

It's one of the few bits of river still deep enough for hippos to submerge,

and there are now around 800 animals living cheek-by-jowl.

The Beachmaster struggles to keep a lid on things.

One troublemaker just won't let it drop. He's cruising for a bruising.

Ears cocked, head high, the boss bull is a terrifying sight.

But is his rival convinced?

Maybe the Beachmaster's days are numbered.

But now the opponent's on the run again, and on dry land there's nowhere to hide.

As the other bulls settle back in their seats,

the Beachmaster prepares for round two.

The contenders square up for a real showdown, dribbling with anticipation at the front,

and more dung flying from the back.

The new boy makes the first move.

But he keeps his head down and doesn't look too confident.

The Beachmaster holds his ground. It's time to show that no-one kicks sand in HIS face!

A victor emerges.

The Beachmaster has won the day.

It's time for the Beachmaster to claim the perks of his position -

first pick of the hundreds of females.

This river horse is riding high!

He's made it through another year

and now he'll get the chance to father many more babies.

This is still his place in the sun -

he's the master...

of Hippo Beach!

Subtitles by Anne Morgan BBC Scotland 2001

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