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Heart of the Dragon

The last hidden world——China.

For centuries, travelers to China have told tales of magical landscapes and surprising creatures. Chinese civilization is the world's oldest and today——its largest, with well over a 1.3 billion people. It is home to more than 50 distinct ethnic groups and a wide range of traditional lifestyles, often in close partnership with nature.

We know that China faces immense social and environmental problems. But there is great beauty here, too.

China is home to the world's highest mountains, vast deserts ranging from searing hot to mind-numbing cold, Steaming forests harboring rare creatures, Grassy plains beneath vast horizons, and rich tropical seas.

Now for the first time ever, we can explore the whole of this great country, meet some of the surprising and exotic creatures that live here and consider the relationship of the people and wild life of China to the remarkable landscape in which they live.

This is wild China.

Our exploration of China begins in the warm, subtropical south. On the Li River, fishermen and birds perch on bamboo rafts, a partnership that goes back more than a thousand years. This scenery is known throughout the world, a recurring motif in Chinese paintings and a major tourist attraction.

The south of China is a vast area, eight times larger than the UK. It's a landscape of hills but also of water. It rains here for up to days a year, and standing water is everywhere. In the floodplain of the Yangtze River, black-tailed godwits probe the mud in search of worms. But isn't just wildlife that thrives in this environment.

The swampy ground provides ideal conditions for a remarkable member of the grass family——Rice. The Chinese have been cultivating rice for at least 8,000 years. It has transformed the landscape.

Late winter in southern Yunnan is a busy time for local farmers as they prepare the age-old paddy fields ready for the coming spring. These hill slopes of the Yuanyang County plunge nearly 2000 meters to the floor of the Red River valley. Each contains literally thousands of stacked terraces carved out by hand using basic digging tools. Yunnan's rice terraces are among the oldest human structures in China, still ploughed, as they always have been, by domesticated water buffaloes, whose ancestors originated in these very valleys.

This man-made landscape is one of the most amazing engineering feats of pre-industrial China. It seems as if every square inch of land has been pressed into cultivation. As evening approaches, an age-old ritual unfolds.

It's the mating season and male paddy frogs are competing for the attention of the females. But

it doesn't always pay to draw too much attention to yourself. The Chinese pond heron is a pitiless predator. Even in the middle of a ploughed paddy field, nature is red in beak and claw. This may look like a slaughter but as each heron can swallow only one frog at a time, the vast majority will escape to croak another day.

Terraced paddies like those of the Yuanyang County are found across much of southern China. This whole vast landscape is dominated by rice cultivation. In hilly Guizhou Province, the Miao minority have developed a remarkable rice culture. With every inch of fertile land given over to rice cultivation, the Miao build their wooden houses on the steepest and least productive hillsides. In Chinese rural life, everything has a use. Dried in the sun, manure from the cow sheds will be used as cooking fuel.

It's midday. And the Song family are tucking into a lunch of rice and vegetables. Oblivious to the domestic chit-chat, Granddad Gu Yong Xiu has serious matters on his mind. Spring is the start of the rice growing season.

The success of the crop will determine how well the family will eat next year, so planting at the right time is critical. The ideal date depends on what the weather will do this year, never easy to predict. But there is some surprising help at hand.

On the ceiling of the Songs' living room, a pair of red-rumped swallows, newly arrived from their winter migration, is busy fixing up last year's nest. In China, animals are valued as much for their symbolic meaning as for any good they may do.

Miao people believe that swallow pairs remain faithful for life, so their presence is a favour and a blessing, bringing happiness to a marriage and good luck to a home. Like most Miao dwellings, the Songs' living room windows look out over the paddy fields. From early spring, one of these windows is always left open to let the swallows come and go freely. Each year, granddad Gu notes the exact day the swallows return. Miao people believe the birds' arrival predicts the timing of the season ahead. This year, they were late. So Gu and the other community elders have agreed that rice planting should be delayed accordingly.

As the Miao prepare their fields for planting, the swallows collect mud to repair their nests and chase after insects across the newly ploughed paddies. Finally, after weeks of preparation, the ordained time for planting has arrived. But first the seedlings must be uprooted from the nursery beds and bundled up ready to be transported to their new paddy higher up the hillside. All the Songs' neighbors have turned out to help with the transplanting. It's how the community has always worked. When the time comes, the Songs will return the favour.

While the farmers are busy in the fields, the swallows fly back and forth with material for their nest.

Many hands make light work. Planting the new paddy takes little more than an hour. Job done, the villagers can relax, at least until tomorrow. But for the nesting swallows, the work of raising a family has only just begun.

In the newly planted fields, little egrets hunt for food. The rice paddies harbour tadpoles, fish

and insects and the egrets have chicks to feed.

This colony in Chongqing Province was established in 1996, when a few dozen birds built nests in the bamboo grove behind Yang Guang village. Believing they were a sign of luck, local people initially protected the egrets and the colony grew. But their attitude changed when the head of the village fell ill. They blamed the birds and were all set to destroy their nests, when the local government stepped in to protect them.

Bendy bamboo may not be the safest nesting place, but at least this youngster won't end up as someone's dinner. These chicks have just had an eel delivered by their mum, quite a challenge for little beaks.

Providing their colonies are protected, wading birds like egrets are among the few wild creatures which benefit directly from intensive rice cultivation.

Growing rice needs lots of water. But even in the rainy south, there are landscapes where water is surprisingly scarce. This vast area of southwest China, the size of France and Spain combined, is famous for its clusters of conical hills, like giant upturned egg cartons, separated by dry empty valleys.

This is the Karst, a limestone terrain which has become the defining image of southern China. Karst landscapes are often studded with rocky outcrops, forcing local farmers to cultivate tiny fields. The people who live here are among the poorest in China.

In neighboring Yunnan Province, limestone rocks have taken over entirely. This is the famous Stone Forest, the product of countless years of erosion, producing a maze of deep gullies and sharp-edged pinnacles. Limestone has the strange property that it dissolves in rainwater. Over many thousands of years water has corroded its way deep into the heart of the bedrock itself. This natural wonder is a famous tourist spot, receiving close to two million visitors each year. The Chinese are fond of curiously-shaped rocks and many have been given fanciful names. No prizes for guessing what this one is called! But there's more to this landscape than meets the eye. China has literally thousands of mysterious caverns concealed beneath the visible landscape of the karst. Much of this hidden world has never been seen by human eyes and is only just now being explored.

For a growing band of intrepid young Chinese explorers, caves represent the ultimate adventure. Exploring a cave is like taking a journey through time. A journey which endless raindrops will have followed over countless centuries. Fed by countless drips and trickles, the subterranean river carves ever deeper into the rock. The cave river's course is channeled by the beds of limestone. A weakness in the rock can allow the river to increase its gradient and flow-rate, providing a real challenge for the cave explorers.

The downward rush is halted when the water table is reached. Here the slow-flowing river carves tunnels with a more rounded profile. This tranquil world is home to specialized cave fishes, like the eyeless golden barb. China may have more unique kinds of cave-evolved fishes than anywhere else on earth.

Above the water table, ancient caverns abandoned by the river slowly fill up with stalactites and stalagmites. Stalactites form as trickling water deposits tiny quantities of rock over hundreds or thousands of years. Stalagmites grow up where lime-laden drips hit the cave floor. - Oi! - Whoo-hoo!

So far, only a fraction of China's caves have been thoroughly prospected and cavers are constantly discovering new subterranean marvels, many of which are subsequently developed into commercial show caves.

Finally escaping the darkness, the cave river and its human explorers emerge in a valley far from where their journey began. For now, the adventure is over.

Rivers which issue from caves are the key to survival in the karst country. This vertical gorge in Guizhou Province is a focal point for the region's wildlife.

This is one of the world's rarest primates——Frangois' langur. In China they survive in just two southern provinces, Guizhou and Guangxi, always in rugged limestone terrains. Like most monkeys, they are social creatures and spend a great deal of time grooming each other.

Langurs are essentially vegetarian with a diet of buds, fruits and tender young leaves. Babies are born with ginger fur, which gradually turns black from the tail end. Young infants have a vice-like grip, used to cling on to mum for dear life. As they get older, they get bolder and take more risks. Those that survive spend a lot of time traveling. The experienced adults know exactly where to find seasonal foods in different parts of their range.

In such steep terrain, travel involves a high level of climbing skill. These monkeys are spectacularly good rock climbers from the time they learn to walk.

In Langurs society, females rule the roost and take the lead when the family is on the move. One section of cliff oozes a trickle of mineral-rich water which the monkeys seem to find irresistible.

These days there are few predators in the Mayanghe Reserve which might pose a risk to a baby monkey. But in past centuries, this area of south China was home to leopards, pythons and even tigers. To survive dangerous night prowlers, the Langurs went underground, using their rock-climbing skills to seek shelter in inaccessible caverns.

Filmed in near darkness using a night vision camera, the troop clambers along familiar ledges worn smooth by generations before them. During cold winter weather, the monkeys venture deeper underground where the air stays comparatively warm. At last, journey's end. A cozy niche beyond the reach of even the most enterprising predator.

But it's not just monkeys that find shelter in caves. These children are off to school.

In rural China that may mean a long trek each morning, passing through a cave or two on the way. But not all pupils have to walk to school. These children are boarders. As the day pupils near journey's end, the boarders are still making breakfast. In the schoolyard, someone seems to have switched the lights off. But this is no ordinary playground, and no ordinary school.

It's housed inside a cave!

A natural vault of rock keeps out the rain so there's no need for a roof on the classroom. Zhongdong cave school is made up of six classes, with a total of 200 children. As well as the school, the cave houses 18 families, together with their livestock. These could be the only cave-dwelling cows on earth. With schoolwork over, it's playtime at last.

In southern China, caves aren't just used for shelter, they can be a source of revenue for the community. People have been visiting this cave for generations. The cave floor is covered in guano, so plentiful that minutes' work can fill these farmer's baskets. It's used as a valuable source of fertilizer.

A clue to the source of the guano can be heard above the noise of the river. The sound originates high up in the roof of the cave. The entrance is full of swifts.

They're very sociable birds. More than, of them share this cave in southern Guizhou Province, the biggest swift colony in China. These days, Chinese house swifts mostly nest in the roofs of buildings, but rock crevices like these were their original home, long before houses were invented. Though the swifts depend on the cave for shelter, they never stray further than the limits of daylight, as their eyes can't see in the dark.

However, deep inside the cavern, other creatures are better equipped for subterranean life. A colony of bats is just waking up, using ultrasonic squeaks to orientate themselves in the darkness. Night is the time to go hunting.

Rickett's mouse-eared bat is the only bat in Asia which specializes in catching fishes, tracking them down from the sound reflection of ripples on the water surface. This extraordinary behaviour was only discovered in the last couple of years, and has never been filmed before. If catching fish in the dark is impressive, imagine eating a slippery minnow with no hands while hanging upside down.

Dawn over the Karst hills of Guilin.

These remarkable hills owe their peculiar shapes to the mildly acid waters of the Li River, whose meandering course over eons of time has corroded away their bases until only the rocky cores remain. The Li is one of the cleanest rivers in China, a favourite spot for fishermen with their trained cormorants.

The men, all called Huang, come from the same village. Now in their 70s and 80s, they've been fishermen all their lives. Before they release the birds, they tie a noose loosely around the neck to stop them swallowing any fish they may catch. Chanting and dancing, the Huangs encourage their birds to take the plunge. Underwater, the cormorant's hunting instinct kicks in, turning them into fish-seeking missiles.

Working together, a good cormorant team can catch a couple of dozen decent-sized fish in a morning. The birds return to the raft with their fish because they've been trained to do so. From the time it first hatched, each of these cormorants has been reared to a life of obedience to its master. The birds are, in effect, slaves. But they're not stupid. It's said that cormorants can keep a

tally of the fish they catch, at least up to seven. So unless they get a reward now and then they simply withdraw their labour. The fishermen, of course, keep the best fish for themselves. The cormorants get the leftover tiddlers. With its collar removed, the bird at last can swallow its prize. Best of all, one it isn't meant to have!

These days, competition from modern fishing techniques means the Huangs can't make a living from traditional cormorant fishing alone. And this 1300,-year-old tradition is now practiced mostly to entertain tourists.

But on Caohai Lake in nearby Guizhou Province, an even more unusual fishing industry is alive and well. Geng Zhong Sheng is on his way to set out his nets for the night.

Geng's net is a strange tubular contraption with a closed-off end. More than a hundred fishermen make their living from the lake. Its mineral-rich waters are highly productive, and there are nets everywhere.

The next morning, Geng returns with his son to collect his catch. At first sight, it looks disappointing. Tiny fishes, lots of shrimps, and some wriggling bugs. Geng doesn't seem too downhearted. The larger fish are kept alive, the only way they'll stay fresh in the heat. Surprisingly, some of the bugs are also singled out for special treatment. They're the young stage of dragonflies, predators that feed on worms and tadpoles. Nowhere else in the world are dragonfly nymphs harvested like this.

Back home, Geng spreads his catch on the roof to dry. This being China, nothing edible will be wasted. There's a saying in the far south, \anything with wings except a plane.\

Within a few hours, the dried insects are ready to be bagged up and taken to market. It's the dragonfly nymphs that fetch the best price.

Fortunately, Caohai's dragonflies are abundant and fast-breeding. So Geng and his fellow fishermen have so far had little impact on their numbers. But not all wildlife is so resilient. This Buddhist temple near Shanghai has an extraordinary story attached to it.

In May, a wild China camera team filmed this peculiar Swinhoe's turtle in the temple's fish pond. According to the monks, the turtle had been given to the temple during the Ming dynasty, over 400 years ago. It was thought to be the oldest animal on earth. Soft-shelled turtles are considered a gourmet delicacy by many Chinese, and when it was filmed, this was one of just three Swinhoe's turtles left alive in China, the rest of its kind having been rounded up and eaten. Sadly, just a few weeks after filming, this ancient creature died. The remaining individuals of its species are currently kept in separate zoos and Swinhoe's turtle is now reckoned extinct in the wild. In fact, most of the 25 types of freshwater turtles in China are now vanishingly rare.

The answer to extinction is protection. And there is now a growing network of nature reserves throughout southern China.

Of these, the Tianzi Mountain Reserve at Zhangjiajie is perhaps the most visited by Chinese nature lovers, who come to marvel at the gravity-defying landscape of soaring sandstone

pinnacles.

Winding between Zhangjiajie's peaks, crystal clear mountain streams are home to what is perhaps China's strangest creature.

This bizarre animal is a type of newt, the Chinese giant salamander. In China it is known as the baby fish because when distressed it makes a sound like a crying infant. It grows up to a meter and a half long, making it the world's largest amphibian. Under natural conditions, a giant salamander may live for decades. But like so many Chinese animals, it is considered delicious to eat.

Despite being classed as a protected species, giant salamanders are still illegally sold for food and the baby fish is now rare and endangered in the wild. Fortunately, in a few areas like Zhangjiajie, giant salamanders still survive under strict official protection.

The rivers of Zhangjiajie flow north east into the Yangtze floodplain, known as The Land of Fish and Rice.

On an island in a lake in Anhui Province, a dragon is stirring.

This is the ancestral home of China's largest and rarest reptile, a creature of mystery and legend. Dragon eggs are greatly prized. These babies need to hatch out quick! It would seem someone is on their trail.

For a helpless baby reptile, imprisoned in a leathery membrane inside a chalky shell, the process of hatching is a titanic struggle. And time is running out. It's taken two hours for the little dragon to get its head out of the egg. It needs to gather its strength now, for one final, massive push.

Free at last, the baby Chinese alligators instinctively head upwards towards the surface of the nest and the waiting outside world.

But the visitors are not what they seem. She Shizhen and her son live nearby. She has been caring for her local alligators for over 20 years, so she had a fair idea when the eggs were likely to hatch.

Back home, she's built a pond surrounded by netting to keep out predators, where her charges will spend the next six months until they're big enough to fend for themselves.

For the past 20 years, small-scale conservation projects like this are all that have kept China's 150 wild alligators from extinction.

Just south of the alligator country, dawn breaks over a very different landscape. The 1,800-metre-high granite peaks of the Huangshan or Yellow Mountain.

To the Chinese, Huangshan's pines epitomize the strength and resilience of nature. Some of these trees are thought to be over 1,000 years old. Below the granite peaks, steep forested valleys shelter surprising inhabitants.

Huangshan macaques, rare descendants of the Tibetan macaques of western China, are unique to these mountain valleys where they enjoy strict official protection.

After a morning spent in the treetops, the troop is heading for the shade of the valley. A chance for the grown-ups to escape the heat and maybe pick up a lunch snack from the stream.

As in most monkey societies, social contact involves a lot of grooming. Grooming is all very well for grown-ups, but young macaques have energy to burn.

Like so much monkey business, what starts off as a bit of playful rough-and-tumble, soon begins to get out of hand.

The alpha male has seen it all before. He's not in the least bothered. But someone, or something, is watching, with a less than friendly interest.

The Chinese moccasin is an ambush predator with a deadly bite. This is one of China's largest and most feared venomous snakes. But the monkeys have lived alongside these dangerous serpents for thousands of years. They use this specific alarm call to warn each other whenever a snake is spotted. Once its cover is blown, the viper poses no threat to the monkeys, now safe in the treetops. And life soon returns to normal.

By late summer, the rice fields of southern China have turned to gold. The time has come to bring in the harvest.

Nowadays, modern high-yield strains are grown throughout much of the rice lands, boosted by chemical fertilizers and reaped by combine harvesters. This is the great rice bowl of China, producing a quarter of the world's rice.

Insects, stirred up by the noisy machines, are snapped up by gangs of red-rumped swallows, including this year's youngsters, who will have fledged several weeks ago. This could be their last good feast before they head south for the winter.

Mechanized farming works best in the flat-bottomed valleys of the lowlands. To the south, in the terraced hills of Zhejiang Province, an older and simpler lifestyle persists.

It's: in the morning and Longxian's most successful businessman is off to work. In the golden terraces surrounding the village the ears of rice are plump and ripe for harvesting. But today, rice isn't uppermost in Mr Yang's mind. He has bigger fish to fry.

Further up the valley, the harvest has already begun. Yang's fields are ripe, too, but they haven't been drained yet. That's because for him, rice is not the main crop.

The baskets he's carried up the hillside give a clue to Yang's business. But before he starts work, he needs to let some water out of the system. As the water level drops, the mystery is revealed——Golden carp.

Longxian villagers discovered the benefits of transferring wild caught carp into their paddy fields long ago. The tradition has been going on here for at least 700 years.

As the water level in the paddy drops, bamboo gates stop the fish escaping. The beauty of this farming method is that it delivers two crops from the same field at the same time. - Fish and rice.

Smart ecology like this is what enables China to be largely self-sufficient in food, even today. Back in the village, Yang has his own smokehouse where he preserves his fish ready for market. Longxian carp have unusually soft scales and a very delicate flavor, perhaps as a result of the local water.

Meanwhile, outside the smokehouse, there's something fishy going on.

To mark the harvest, the village is staging a party. Children from Longxian School have spent weeks preparing for their big moment. Everyone from the community is here to support them. The rice growing cycle is complete.

By November, northern China is becoming distinctly chilly. But the south is still relatively warm and welcoming. Across the vast expanse of Poyang Lake, the birds are gathering. Tundra swans are long-distance migrants from northern Siberia. To the Chinese, they symbolize the essence of natural beauty.

The Poyang Lake Nature Reserve offers winter refuge to more than a quarter of a million birds from more than 100 species, creating one of southern China's finest wildlife experiences. The last birds to arrive at Poyang are those which have made the longest journey to get here, all the way from the Arctic coast of Siberia.

The Siberian crane, known in China as the white crane, is seen as a symbol of good luck. Each year, almost the entire world population of these critically endangered birds make a 9000-kilometre roundtrip to spend the winter at Poyang.

Like the white cranes, many of south China's unique animals face pressure from exploitation and competition with people over space and resources. But if China is living proof of anything, it is that wildlife is surprisingly resilient. Given the right help, even the rarest creatures can return from the brink.

If we show the will, nature will find the way.

Shangri-La

Beneath billowing clouds, in China's far southwestern Yunnan province, lies a place of mystery and legend.

Of mighty rivers and some of the oldest jungles in the world.

Here, hidden valleys nurture strange and unique creatures, and colorful tribal cultures. Jungles are rarely found this far north of the tropics. So, why do they thrive here?

And how has this rugged landscape come to harbor the greatest natural wealth in all China?

In the remote southwest corner of China, a celebration is about to take place. Dai people collect water for the most important festival of their year. The Dai call themselves the people of the water.

Yunnan's river valleys have been their home for over 2,000 years.

By bringing the river water to the temple, they honor the two things holiest to them Buddhism and their home.

The Dai give thanks for the rivers and fertile lands which have nurtured their culture. Though to some, it might seem just an excuse for the biggest water fight of all time.

Dai lives are changing as towns get bigger and modernize but the Water Splashing Festival is still celebrated by all.

The rivers which lie at the heart of Dai life and culture flow from the distant mountains of Tibet, southward through central Yunnan in great parallel gorges.

The Dai now live in the borders of tropical Vietnam and Laos, but their legends tell of how their ancestors came here by following the rivers from mountain lands in the cold far north. Lying at the far eastern end of the Himalayas, the Hengduan Mountains form Yunnan's northern border with Tibet.

Kawakarpo, crown of the Hengduan range, is a site of holy pilgrimage. Yet, its formidable peak remains unconquered.

Yunnan's mountains are remote, rugged and inaccessible. Here the air is thin and temperatures can drop below minus 40 degrees.

This is home to an animal that's found nowhere else on Earth - The Yunnan snub-nosed monkey. It's found only in these few isolated mountain forests. No other primate lives at such high altitudes. But these are true specialists. These ancient mountain dwellers have inspired legends. Local Lisu people consider them their ancestors, calling them \During heavy snowfalls, even these specialists cannot feed. It seems a strange place for a monkey. Between snows, the monkeys waste no time in their search for food. At this altitude, there are few fruits or tender leaves to eat. 90% of their diet is made up of the fine dry wisps of a curious organism.

Half fungus, half plant - it's lichen.

How have monkeys, normally associated with lowland jungle, come to live such a remote mountain existence?

This is not the only remarkable animal found within these isolated high peaks. - A Chinese red panda.

Solitary and quiet, it spends much of its time in the tree tops. Despite its name, the red panda is only a very distant relative of the giant panda. It's actually more closely related to a skunk. But it does share the giant panda's taste for bamboo. Southwest China's red pandas are known for their very strong facial markings which distinguish them from red pandas found anywhere else in the Himalayas.

Like the monkeys, they were isolated in these high forests when the mountains quite literally rose beneath them in the greatest mountain-building event in recent geological history.

Over the last 30 million years, the Indian subcontinent has been pushing northwards into Eurasia. On the border between India and Tibet the rocks have been raised eight kilometers above sea level, creating the world's highest mountain range - the Himalayas. But to the east, the rocks have buckled into a series of steep north-south ridges, cutting down through the heart of Yunnan, the parallel mountains of the Hengduan Shan.

These natural barriers serve to isolate Yunnan's plants and animals in each adjacent valley. While the huge temperature range between the snowy peaks and the warmer slopes below provides a vast array of conditions for life to thrive.

Through spring, the Hengduan slopes stage one of China's greatest natural spectacles. The forests here are among the most diverse botanical areas in the world. Over 18,000 plant species grow here, of which 3,000 are found nowhere else.

Until little more than a century ago, this place was unknown outside China. But then news reached the West of a mysterious, hidden world of the orient.

- Hidden among the mountains, a lost Shangri-la paradise.

Western high society, in the grip of a gardening craze, was eager for exotic species from faraway places.

This gave rise to a new breed of celebrity adventurers, intrepid botanist-explorers known as \

Yunnan became their Holy Grail.

The most famous was Joseph Rock, a real life Indiana Jones. Remarkable film footage captured his entourage on a series of expeditions, as they pushed into the deepest corners of Yunnan.

In glorious co lour he recorded the plant life he found on special photographic glass plates. Sending thousands of specimens back to the West, the Plant Hunters changed the gardens of the world forever.

Rock's success was born of a massive effort.

For, to find his Shangri-la, not only had he to traverse endless mountain ranges, but some of the deepest gorges in the world.

The Nujiang is called The Angry River. This 300-kilometre stretch of raging rapids is as much a barrier to life as are the mountains above. But the plant hunters weren't the first people to travel here. Along the Nujiang, less than 30 rope crossings allow locals passage across the torrents.

Tiny hamlets cling to the slopes. This morning, it's market day, drawing people from up and down the valley.

PIG OINKS GOAT BLEATS

Hanging from simple rope slings, people have been using the crossings for many hundreds of years. In such narrow, precipitous gorges it's by far the easiest way to get around. Once across, the steep sides mean it's still a hike. Many trek for hours by foot before they get to the market.

The immense valley is home to over a dozen ethnic groups. Some, like the Nu people, are found only here. The markets bring the mountain tribes together.

To continue his expeditions, Rock had to get his entire entourage across the giant Yunnan rivers. He commissioned especially thick ropes made from forest rattan and filmed the entire event. With yak butter to smooth the ride, 40 men and 15 mules made the journey. Not all made it across.

On the far side of the great Nujiang gorge, the Plant Hunters made a remarkable discovery. Far from the tropics, they seemed to be entering a steamy, vibrant tropical jungle, the forest of Gaoligongshan.

The flora here is unlike anywhere else in the world. Next to subtropical species, alpine plants grow in giant form.

- Crowning the canopy, rhododendrons, up to 30 meters high.

In April and May, their flowers turn the forests ruby red, attracting bird species found only here.

Constant moisture in the air means that the branches are laden with flowering epiphytes, fiercely guarded by tiny sunbirds, unique to these valleys.

Nectar feeders, these are the humming birds of the Old World tropics. The forests of Gaoligongshan are home to some of China's rarest wildlife.

This is a female Temminck's Tragopan. She has a colorful male admirer. He's hoping to woo her with his peculiar peekaboo display but she's not about to be rushed.

His colorful skin wattle reflects more light than feathers do. To her, this is like a neon sign. Seeing his chance, the male makes his move.

Constant moisture in the Gaoligongshan forests means that throughout the year there are always fruits on the trees. Such abundance of food encourages a high diversity of fruit eaters more commonly found in the tropics. The black giant squirrel is found only in undisturbed rainforest. At close to a meter in length, it's one of the world's largest squirrels. The mystery is that these forests are growing well outside the tropics. By rights, none of this jungle, or its animals, should be here.

These are bear macaques. They're found only in tropical and sub-tropical jungle. With a tiny home range of just a few square kilometers, they depend on the abundant fruit that only true rainforests can provide all year round.

To the European plant hunters, these northern rainforests must have seemed a fantastic and mysterious lost world. Yet, when they came here, they would have found beautifully constructed ancient stone pathways on which the forest could be explored.

Winding westwards into the hills, these were once some of the most important highways in Asia, the southwestern Tea and Silk Road.

Built thousands of years ago, the southwestern Tea and Silk Road gave access to the world beyond China's borders, carrying tradesmen and travelers from as far away as Rome.

Wars were fought over access to this tiny path, the only sure route in or out of China that was guaranteed to be clear of snow all year round.

So, what causes Gaoligongshan's strange and remarkable climate?

In late May, gusts of wind arrive, bringing with them the key to Gaoligongshan's mystery. The winds are hot and saturated with water. They come all the way from the Indian Ocean. Channeled by Yunnan's unique geography, they bring with them the moisture of the tropical monsoon. The giant river valleys, created millions of years ago, act like immense funnels. The gorges are so deep and narrow, that the moist warm air is driven right up into the north of Yunnan. The result is rain, in torrents!

Four months of daily rainstorms sustain luxuriant vegetation.

The arrival of the monsoon awakens one of the forest's most extraordinary moisture-loving inhabitants.

The crocodile newt is one of the most unusual of the many amphibian species found here. As the rains arrive, they emerge to mate. The newts are said to leave an odor trail that potential mates can follow. The crocodile newt gets its name from the bumps along its back. These are its defense. If grabbed by a potential predator, the tips of its ribs squeeze a deadly poison from the bumps.

The deluge wakes another forest inhabitant.

This one is particularly astounding in its vigor! It can grow up to a meter a day, fast overtaking the other plants around it. The taller it grows, the faster its growth rate, so that in a matter of days it towers above the undergrowth, and continues reaching for the sky. Not bad for what is essentially a grass.

It's bamboo.

Given the chance, bamboo will create immense forests, dominating entire areas. Bamboo forests occur across southwest China, all the way to Shanghai. But probably the highest diversity of bamboos in the world is found on the hills and valleys of Yunnan Though incredibly strong, bamboos have hollow stems, a perfect shelter for any creatures which can find a way in.

This entrance hole was made by a beetle but it's being used by a very different animal. - A bamboo bat.

The size of a bumblebee, it's one of the tiniest mammals in the world. The entire colony, up to 25 bats, fits into a single section of bamboo stem, smaller than a tea cup. It's quite a squeeze!

Half the colony are babies. Though barely a week old, they are already almost as big as their mums. Feeding such a fast-growing brood is hard work. The mums leave to hunt just after dusk each night.

Back in the roost, the young are left on their own. Special pads on their wings help them to grip on the bamboo walls most of the time. The young bats use the extra space to prepare for a life on the wing by preening and stretching. Packed in like sardines, they would make an easy target for a snake. But the snake has no chance of getting in. The entrance is thinner than the width of a pencil. When the mothers return, they can push through the narrow entrance only because of their unusually flattened skulls. But it's still a squeeze.

Bamboos are exploited in a very different way by another forest dweller. Fresh bamboo shoots are an important forest crop.

Ai Lao Xiang is of the Hang tribe, from the mountain village of Mengsong. Roasted, the tender shoots he gathers will make a tasty dish. The Hani have many uses for the different bamboos they grow and find in the forest around. Though flexible enough to be woven, bamboo has a higher tensile strength than steel. Succulent when young, in maturity it's tough and durable, ideal for making a table and strong enough for a pipe to last a lifetime.

The people of southwest China have found an extraordinary number of ways to exploit this most versatile of plants.

THEY SPEAK IN NATIVE LANGUAGE

Part of bamboo's phenomenal success is that it's so tough that few animals can tackle it. Yet, bamboo does come under attack.

- A bamboo rat.

Feeding almost exclusively on bamboo, they live their entire lives in tunnels beneath the forest. The thinner species of bamboo are easy to attack and pull below. She has a fantastic sense of smell and can sniff out the fresh growth through the soil. Bamboo spreads along underground stems. By following these, new shoots are found. Once a shoot is detected, she snips it free and drags it down into her burrow.

This female has a family. At just a few weeks old, the youngsters can already tackle the hardest bamboo stems and are eager to try.

Bamboo's tough reputation is such, that another bamboo specialist was known by the Chinese as, \

The giant panda is famous for its exclusive diet.

Giant pandas are thought to have originated in southwest China, millions of years ago, but they are no longer found in Yunnan. Recently, their specialized diet has had dire consequences.

Bamboo has a bizarre life cycle, flowering infrequently, sometimes only once every hundred years or so. But when flowering does occur, it's on a massive scale, and it's followed by the death

of all of the plants. Sometimes an entire bamboo forest may die.

In undisturbed habitat, pandas simply move to another area where a different bamboo species grows. But as human activity has fragmented their forest home, pandas find it increasingly hard to find large enough areas in which to survive. Wild pandas are now found only in the forests of Central China, far to the east.

But in the hidden pockets of lowland jungle in Yunnan's tropical south, live one of China's best-kept wildlife secrets.

DEEP BELLOW - The wild Asian elephant.

Elephants once roamed across China as far north as Beijing. But it's only in the hidden valleys of Yunnan that they have survived. Elephants are the architects of the forest. Bamboos and grasses are their favorite food but saplings, tree leaves and twisted lianas are all taken, with little care. As they move through the forest, the elephants open up clearings, bringing light to the forest floor. This has a major impact on their home.

The richest forests are now known to be those which from time to time experience change. The Jinou people are incredibly knowledgeable about their forests and claim to have uses for most of the plants that they find there. They have names for them all, those good for eating and some which even have strong medicinal qualities. By working here, the Jinou play a similar role to the elephants, opening up the forest, bringing space, light and diversity. Green, fast growing species are encouraged. Insects are in high abundance here, together with the animals that feed on them.

Knowledge of the forest enables the Jinou to find not just plants, but other tasty forest food too. Forest crabs are common here, feeding on the abundant leaf litter. This will be a tasty addition to the evening meal.

Flowing through Yunnan's southern valleys, the once angry rivers are now swollen, their waters slow and warm.

These fertile lowland valleys are the home of the Dai. The \streams which originate in the surrounding hills. Each family keeps a kitchen garden modeled on the multi-layered structure of the surrounding forests, which the Dai hold sacred.

The gardens are made more productive by inter-planting different crops. Tall, sun-loving species give shelter to plants which thrive in the shade. As companions, the plants grow better.

Yunnan's forests are home to more than a dozen wild banana species and banana crops grow well in most Dai gardens. The huge banana flowers are rich in nectar for only two hours a day, but it's enough to attract a range of forest insects, including hornets.

With their razor sharp mandibles, they find it easy to rob the flowers of their nectar. But hornets are predators too. They hunt other insects and carry them back to their nest.

An ideal target, but this grasshopper is no easy meal. There may be a price to pay. The Dai men, Po and Xue Ming, take advantage of a hunter's instincts.

A hornet sting is agony. But for now it's distracted, intent on cutting away a piece of grasshopper small enough to carry back home -Success!

The white feather hardly slows the hornet, and, more importantly, it can be seen. Now the hunter is the hunted. So long as Po and Xue Ming can keep up!

Back at the nest, the other hornets immediately begin to cut the feather free. But it's too late. The nest's location has been betrayed.

The relationship between the forest animals and the people who live here was never one of harmony. Yet the fact that the Dai and other ethnic groups considered these forests to be sacred, has ensured their survival and now many have been given extra protection as nature reserves.

Ingenuity and hard work pays off at last. The fattened larvae are considered a delicacy by the Dai.

Although these forests have experienced a great deal of change, they are still host to some ancient and incredible relationships.

Almost 60 centimeters high, this is the immense flower of the Elephant yam. Locals call it the \

As the stars rise, the witch begins to cast her spell. The forest temperature drops, but the flower starts to heat up. A heat sensitive camera reveals the flower's temperature rising by an incredible ten degrees Celsius. At the same time, a noxious stench of rotting flesh fills the forest air. As the flower's heat increases, a cloud of odor rises up. The foul perfume carries far and wide. It doesn't go unnoticed. Carrion beetles arrive on the scene. The beetles come in search of a feast of warm decaying flesh, but they've been tricked. Slippery sides ensure they tumble straight into the centre of the monster flower. There's not enough room to spread their wings and the waxy walls ensure that there's no escape. But there's nothing sinister in the flower's agenda. The beetles will be its unwitting helpers.

Dawn arrives, but the flower remains unchanged, holding its captives through the day. As the second night falls, the witch stirs again. In a matter of minutes, the flower's precious golden pollen squeezes from the stamens and begins to fall, showering onto the captive beetles below.

Now, at last, the prisoners are free to go. The flower's wall changes texture, becoming rough to provide the ideal escape ladder. Loaded with their pollen parcels, they can now climb to freedom, just as other forest witches are beginning to open. Seduced by the irresistible perfume, the beetles are sure to pay a visit, so ensuring pollination, and another generation of incredibly big, smelly flowers.

As dawn arrives, forest birds claim their territories in the canopy. BIRDSONG

But there's one call which stands out among the rest -virtuoso of the forest symphony. STRANGE CALL RINGS OUT It's a gibbon.

UNDULATING CALL CONTINUES

Living on a remote mountain range in south central Yunnan is one of the few remaining wild gibbon populations in China.

- The black-crested gibbons of Wuliangshan.

They are confined to these forest mountains, so remote and steep that few hunters ever come here. The Wuliangshan gibbons are unusual for their social structure. Most gibbons live in small family groups consisting of a mating pair and their offspring. But these gibbons exist in troops. One male can have two or sometimes three females and all of these can have young.

Often even the juveniles stay in the community. BABY SQUEAKS

Rarely glimpsed, this baby may be only a day old. If it survives infancy, then it has a promising future in these few valleys with its close-knit family.

GIBBON CALLS RING OUT

Gibbon song once inspired the ancient poets of China, their glorious calls echoing far across the hills. But now, new, strangely quiet forests have come to Yunnan. These trees are here to produce an important and valuable crop.

When the tree bark is scored, it yields copious sticky sap, so bitter and tacky that nothing can feed on it. It's the tree's natural defense against attack. It's collected daily, bowl by bowl. It will be boiled and processed into one of the most important materials to a fast developing nation - rubber.

The expansion of the rubber forests began in the '50s when China, under a world rubber embargo, had to become self-sufficient in this vital product. Beijing turned to the only place where rubber could grow, the tropical south of Yunnan.

With efficiency and speed, some of the world's richest forests were torn up and burned. - Replaced with mile upon mile of rubber plantation.

But there was a problem for the rubber growers. While Yunnan's unique natural forests can survive on the valley slopes which stretch to the north.....just one severe frost will kill off these delicate rubber trees. So Yunnan's terrain puts a limit on how far the plantations can spread, halting at least their northwards advance.

The jungles of Yunnan are increasingly under pressure. HORN BEEPS

New roads crisscross the tiny remnant forests, the infrastructure needed for trade, industry and, increasingly, tourism.

It's a meeting of two very different worlds. ELEPHANT TRUMPETS

That elephants still exist in China is remarkable considering the immense pressures in the world's most highly populated country. The 250 or so wild elephants which still live here are now strictly protected. And each year young are born to the small herds.

If elephants were to survive anywhere in China, it could only have been here, in Yunnan. The same mountains which guide the monsoon rains north and which made Joseph Rock's journeys so

treacherous, also guarded Yunnan's forests and its wildlife.

ELEPHANTS GRUNT AND TRUMPET

For the moment, the mountains are still carpeted in a rich green, deceptive in its simplicity. Below the canopy lies perhaps China's richest natural treasure. Delicate and unique, a complex world of intricate relationships between animals, plants and people, beneath the clouds.

Tibet

The Tibetan plateau is a quarter of China.

Much of it is extremely remote and inhospitable. Its southern border runs through the world's highest mountain range, the formidable Himalayas. Its central part is a windswept and freezing wilderness the size of Western Europe. But this challenging place is home to incredible wildlife. There are more large creatures here than anywhere else in China.

Tibet has been a province of China for more than 50 years, yet it has a unique character, shaped by over 1,000 years of Tibetan Buddhism. This obscure and archaic looking religion has produced one of the most enlightened cultures on earth. Here people have a long tradition of co-existing peacefully with the creatures and landscape around them, a relationship, which has helped to protect their fragile environment.

In this program, we will discover why this harsh land with its ancient culture is vitally important for much of our planet.

It’s the beginning of winter, high up on the Tibetan plateau. The temperature will soon drop to minus 40 Celsius. Out here, life is reduced to a single imperative. -Survival.

For the argali, the world's largest sheep, it means searching for a few tufts of grass. Descending from the hilltops to lower altitudes, the argali band together for safety.

Hopefully, down here they'll be able to find enough food to last them through the rest of the winter. Although this winter landscape looks barren and forbidding, Tibet's remote grasslands support a surprising variety of creatures, though at this time of year they can be hard to track down.

By comparison, Tibet's capital Lhasa is a hive of activity. Lhasa is a focus for large numbers of pilgrims who congregate at the city's temples each day.

Tibet is home to over two-and-a-half million people, most of whom are deeply religious. Though Tibetan Buddhist worship centers on elaborate temples, statues and images, its beliefs are intimately linked with the wild landscapes of Tibet.

The starting point for that relationship is the mountain range that runs along Tibet's southern border. Over3000, kilometers long, the Himalayas are China's real Great Wall. With hundreds of peaks over 7000, meters and 13 peaks higher than 8000 meters, they are the highest mountains on earth.

The Tibetan region contains over 3500 glaciers that cover over 100,000 square kilometers. They comprise the largest area of ice outside the Polar Regions, and nearly a sixth of the world's total. These glaciers are the source of most of the water in the region.

And the Tibetan plateau is studded with glacial lakes. At over 4500metres up, Lake Manasarovar, in the far west of Tibet, is the highest freshwater lake in the world.

In late spring the chilly lake waters are a magnet for breeding birds. The crested grebe woos

his mate with offerings of weed for her nest. Finally the honeymoon suite is ready for action. The grebes are joined by the highest-flying birds in the world. Having spent the winter south of the Himalayas, bar-headed geese make the hazardous mountain crossing each spring to breed on the plateau's lakes.

The geese nest together for safety. But so many chicks hatching at the same time means that it can be tricky finding your parents. Fortunately, once down at the water's edge, there's enough food for all of them.

Fed by the mountain glaciers, the Tibetan plateau even has its own inland sea. This is Qinghai Lake, China's largest. Millions of years of evaporation have concentrated the minerals in the lake, turning the water salty. Rich in fish, its waters attract thousands of cormorants.

But it's not just wildlife that values Tibet's lakes and seas, their life-giving waters are also important to people. Tibetan religion is a unique mix of Buddhism and much older shamanic beliefs that were once widespread throughout the region. This hybrid religion forms the basis of an extraordinary relationship with nature. In shamanic belief, the land is imbued with magical properties which aid communication with the spirit world. Here animal skulls are decorated, and rocks are carved with sacred mantras, groups of syllables that are considered to have spiritual power. The reciting of the mantras is believed to create a magical sound that reverberates through the universe.

The landscape is decorated with multi-colored flags which represent the five elements, fire, wood, earth, water and iron. The flags are printed with prayers to purify the air and pacify the gods, and the wind blows the prayers to heaven. The poles on which the prayer flags are mounted are regularly replenished with fresh flags. The old flags are treasured. Those nearest the top of the pole are the most auspicious, so competition for these can get fierce! The golden dome which is mounted right at the top of the prayer pole is the most sacred object of all. Or it will be, once it's retrieved. The old shamanic beliefs of Tibet ascribed magical powers to the landscape. But there's a far more tangible source of power here which owes nothing at all to magic.

Strewn across the plateau are boiling thermal springs, the evidence of mighty natural forces which have been at work over millions of years. Deep below the surface, the vast continental plates of Asia and India are crashing into each other. The turmoil below erupts in clouds of sulphurous steam. It seems unlikely that scalding mineral springs should support life. But one unlikely creature thrives here precisely because of them.

The hot spring snake is unique to Tibet and is believed to have survived the inhospitable conditions up on the plateau principally thanks to this natural central heating. These cold-blooded snakes hang out in streams and rivers which are fed by the hot springs, where they enjoy a surprisingly productive lifestyle. Slipping into the warm water they wait patiently, bobbing their heads on the lookout for fish.

Thanks to its unlikely relationship with the volcanic forces which built the Himalayas, the hot spring snake is able to survive at altitudes up to 4,500 meters, making it the highest-living snake in

the world.

The slow-motion crash between Asia and India has been going on for 30 million years. The Himalayas are the crumple-zone created by these two colliding land masses, a bewildering maze of mountains and valleys home to elusive wild creatures.

In this rugged and unforgiving terrain, littered with fractured rock and ice-cold rivers, the slightest miscalculation may have fatal consequences.

The snow leopard is the world's highest-living big cat. But there's another, smaller predator that ranges even higher, almost to the roof of the world. At a mind-numbing 8,848 meters high, Everest is one of the most hostile places for life on earth. Hundreds of people have died trying to conquer it. But when climbers first reached the ice fields three-quarters of the way up the mountain, something had already beaten them to it.

This jumping spider is the highest permanent resident on the planet. Totally at home amongst the glaciers of Everest, it scours the slopes for wind-borne prey such as springtails. Chinese call this fierce little hunter the fly tiger.

Jumping spiders are found all over the world. Their eight eyes include an oversized central pair, which act like powerful binoculars to spot potential victims. They use hydraulic pressure to work their legs like pistons, catapulting up to 30 times their own body length.

-The ideal way to get around in rocky terrain.

But like all mountaineers, they always secure a safety line first. A springtail grazes on detritus, unaware that it's being stalked by such an acrobatic predator.

The Tibetans call Everest Qomolangma, meaning \affection for the mountain, however brutal it may appear.

Venture further from the mountains and out onto the open plateau, and life doesn't appear to get any easier. High winds scour the landscape and temperatures can drop from baking to freezing in moments.

This is the Chang Tang, or Northern Grassland. It's so remote that it's been called the Third Pole. It's about 5,000 meters above sea level, way above the point at which altitude sickness starts to affect humans. At this height, most people are gasping for breath. But lack of oxygen hasn't cramped this creature's style. -Chiru(藏羚), or Tibetan antelope, have arrived for the winter rut.

In the energy-sapping thin air, the males must try to control groups of females by constantly rounding them up and corralling them. But the chiru have an advantage, their red blood cell count is twice as high as ours, sufficient to supply their muscles with oxygen even at this extreme altitude.

Nevertheless, it's hard work keeping his harem in check, and the male's life is about to get even harder. Another male is gearing up to steal his females.

With their rapier-like horns, the males won't risk fighting unless they really have to. But if neither backs down, conflict is inevitable. Some of these fights end in death.

While the males fence, the females look on.

Injured and weakened by the battle, the loser will be an easy target for the predators and scavengers that patrol the wilderness.

Out here there's little room for mistakes. With a clear view of the endless plateau below, vultures are quick to spot any opportunity.

A dead yak has drawn a crowd. Vultures aren't famous for their table manners.

The vultures do well here, as the vast Tibetan wilderness is home to many large creatures. Living in herds of up to 200 in the remoter corners of the Tibetan plateau, wild yaks travel large distances, grazing on the alpine tundra. Strong and secure over mountain passes and rivers, the yak is in its element at altitude, so much so that it gets sick if it goes below 3,000 meters. Standing two meters tall at the shoulder and weighing more than kilos, the wild yak is both formidable and aggressive.

But without this fearsome creature, it's unlikely that humans would have survived up here. Once domesticated, the yak is an amazing animal, providing the Tibetans with transport, food, wool for clothes and tents, and manure for fuel.

It's held in such high regard that its fur is even used to decorate the sacred prayer flag poles, and yak butter is used as an offering to the gods.

The yak has even led the Tibetans to buried treasure! In summer, people can be seen scouring the grassland, bent over in deep concentration.

This is the world's weirdest harvest.

Tibetans first investigated this strange root-like organism, known locally as yatsa gunbu, when their yaks appeared to have more energy after grazing on it. Rumors of its amazing properties gradually spread and today the yatsa gunbu is a passport into a shady, underground world. It's possible to dig up 40 of them in a day, the proceeds from which may provide half the collector's annual income.

Yatsa gunbu has been used as a traditional remedy for thousands of years, though only by the very wealthy. It's been bartered for tea and silk, and is worth more than four times its weight in silver. So lucrative is this trade, that sites and information are jealously guarded.

At the nearby market, yatsa gunbu are cleaned, and their true nature becomes clear. Yatsa gunbu translates as \roots of grasses in preparation for its transformation into a moth.

But some winter worms never make it as moths. Instead, a strange growth erupts from their body, appearing above ground in summer. This is the summer grass, a fungus called Cordyceps whose spores have infected the caterpillar, using its body as their host.

Modern scientific tests have shown that substances contained in Cordyceps lower blood pressure and make it easier to breathe. So in recent years, harvesting this natural treasure has grown into a huge and profitable business. Yatsa gunbu sells for big money in the top department stores of Lhasa, and there is a growing market outside of Tibet.

Although Tibet is modernizing fast, it retains a deeply spiritual culture. Even today Tibetan

valleys resound to distinctive and extraordinary calls to prayer.

The Tibetan horn may be the world's most unwieldy instrument, but its sound is unique. Every morning the nuns assemble for practice. The air is chilly, but they soon warm up.

Monks and nuns comprise a substantial portion of society, largely self-contained and isolated. Deep within the monastery is the spiritual engine that drives much of Tibetan culture.

Buddhists believe in an endless cycle of rebirth in which the actions of this life will impact on the next. The goal of Buddhism is to escape from this earthly cycle of pain and suffering by achieving a state of freedom called enlightenment.

The enlightened guides, or spiritual teachers, are called lamas.

The possibility of escaping the cycle of life and death and the promise of enlightenment encourages people to perform activities that benefit all beings.

This belief assigns as much importance to the environment and its creatures as it does to humans, since every living creature is believed to have a soul.

In the remote lands of Tibet, for over 1,000 years this concept has been translated into practical benefits for wildlife, and it starts literally on their doorstep.

Buddhist monasteries have sacred sites, areas where taboos are placed on the hunting and killing of animals. Some creatures have become so tame that the nuns are able to hand-feed them, like these Tibetan eared pheasants. Thanks to handouts from the nuns, these rare birds can survive the worst of the winter. In this extreme place, people with few resources are prepared to share them with their needy fellow-creatures.

The Tibetan example is a model for conservation. This respect for wildlife extends beyond the monasteries and into the wider community.

One of Tibet's most sacred creatures is the black-necked crane. In summer they live and breed out on the plateau, but in winter they congregate on farmland. Seventy percent of the world's population can be found here.

The species was only recently identified by scientists, but it's been known to Tibetans for hundreds of years. In the 17th century, Tibet's supreme lama wrote, \I go no farther than Lithang County.\

And thence, return again.\

Tibetans believed he was predicting the site of his own reincarnation, and in due course his successor was found, sure enough, living in Lithang County.

Even today, black-necked cranes are treated with reverence and are welcomed by farmers as they land in the fields around the villages.

Here they perform their elaborate sky pointing rituals.

After the dignified business of parading, they begin to forage for leftover barley, helped by the pigs which break up the soil.

The farmers are happy to have these sacred birds on their fields.

Within the village, religion is an integral part of life. Each prayer wheel is inscribed with

mantras. Spinning them has much the same effect as reciting the prayers. Perhaps the Buddha would have enjoyed the thought that his teachings could provide so much fun!

Buddhist respect for nature may find expression in practical ways, too. This bird has a broken wing and has been nursed back to health by the villagers. Such kind acts are common where people believe that helping other beings, animals or people, in this life may bring rewards in the next. The culture of veneration and protection extends right across Tibet, helping to preserve a unique yet fragile ecosystem.

Out on the plateau there's a small creature that's at the root of much of the grassland's delicate ecology. Despite summer snowstorms, the pika, a relative of rabbits and hares, is perpetually eating and gathering grass, and digging burrows for its family. The pika's constant excavations aerate the soil, which helps the plants to grow.

In the short summer, the landscape is carpeted with hardy grasses and decorated with endemic flowers. In such a frugal environment, the pika's farming helps to kick start the food chain. But the pika itself is a very tasty morsel.

Its presence has enabled an uneasy relationship to develop between two of the plateau's most opportunistic predators, the fox and the bear.

The Tibetan brown bear, a close relative of the grizzly, tries to dig the pikas out of their burrows. Even hard, frozen soil presents little obstacle to a determined bear. Meanwhile, the wily Tibetan fox trails the bear, hoping to profit from the confusion. True to form, the crafty fox claims the prize.

A combination of inaccessibility and ancient traditions which forbid hunting means that in some parts of the plateau, wild animals have remained relatively undisturbed, even today. But in those areas which are within reach of motor vehicles, these historical safeguards have been undermined.

This change is illustrated in the fortunes of the chiru.

A century ago, millions migrated across the plateau. Unfortunately for the chiru, its fur, known as shahtoosh, or king of wools, is highly prized. In recent decades, poachers have been able to venture deep into the wilderness, killing thousands of chiru. However, the situation is improving. Anti-poaching laws are now actively enforced, so every summer, female chiru can head to the birthing grounds in relative safety. Out on the plateau new-born chiru are vulnerable to predators, so the mothers must try to hide and protect them.

The most recent problem faced by the chiru is the new Tibet-Qinghai railway which cuts right through their traditional migration routes.

Running nearly 2,000 kilometers through some of the highest terrain on earth, the railway is an astonishing technical feat. It's too early to see its effect on the wildlife, but the engineers have made efforts to incorporate underpasses where wildlife can cross the line in safety.

As the modern world increasingly impacts on Tibet, its traditions could be in danger of being eroded. But thanks to the sheer scale of this remote region, there are still many wild places that

have so far remained largely intact.

The least explored area of all is found in Tibet's far southeast.

Here the Yarlung River, Tibet's longest has carved though the Himalayas, allowing monsoon clouds from India to pass through.

This is Tibet's most secret corner.

According to legend, the Yarlung gorge was rendered magically invisible in the 8th century and can only be seen by those who have attained sufficient spiritual knowledge and wisdom.

At two days' walk from the nearest road, this hidden region wasn't explored by outsiders until the 1990 s. Thanks to the annual monsoon the whole landscape is covered in lush forest.

The scale of the gorge is breathtaking. As the Yarlung River cuts through the mountains, it's created the world's deepest gorge, three times deeper than America's Grand Canyon. This vast and mysterious place provides a vital clue to Tibet's importance for the rest of the world. The monsoon which sustains this lush and fertile valley owes its very existence to the Tibetan plateau.

Like a giant hotplate, the plateau heats up in the spring and summer. The change in air pressure draws in warm moist air from the Indian Ocean in the south. Thanks to this, over a billion people from India to Burma benefit from the monsoon rain that this wind brings with it. Tibet is the engine that drives the fertility of a whole subcontinent.

But Tibet has an even greater role in the ecology of the region.

Clues to this function are found in a legend that pre-dates even the ancient Tibetan culture, and which still draws pilgrims from all over the world.

Several world religions believe in a mythical mountain that's equivalent to the Garden of Eden. Its peak has four faces, aligned to the points of the compass, and from its summit four rivers are said to flow to the four quarters of the world. Thanks to its life-giving waters, this mountain is known as the axis of the world.

In one of the remotest areas of Tibet there's a place where this legend takes physical form. That place is Mount Kailash. By an uncanny coincidence, Mount Kailash perfectly matches the legend of the mythical axis of the world. Its four faces are roughly aligned to the compass, and four major rivers flow from its foothills.

These are some of the most significant rivers in Asia, the Yarlung, which becomes India's Brahmaputra, the Indus and Sutlej which flow to Pakistan, and the Karnali, a major feeder for the Ganges.

Thanks to its connection with the mythical mountain, Kailash is so sacred that it's never been climbed. It's Tibet's most important pilgrimage site. For Tibetans, pilgrimage is a journey from ignorance to enlightenment. A pilgrimage around the sacred mountain is believed to wipe out the sins of a lifetime, increasing the chance of a better re-birth. Most pilgrims time their visit for the most important festival in the Tibetan calendar.

For over 1,000 years they have gathered at the foot of Kailash for the Saga Dawa Festival to celebrate Buddha's enlightenment. The festival climaxes with the raising of the newly dressed

altar, a 25-metre flagpole. The full entourage of Tibetan monks make the most of the occasion, with music, prayers and blessings. Hundreds of fresh prayer flags are prepared and added to the pole. The head lama's sacred scarf adds the final touch to the proceedings.

But the significance of Mount Kailash isn't confined to Buddhists alone. Other faiths venture to this remote place, many from far beyond the Himalayas. Threatening to upstage the Buddhists, the Hindus arrive, adding their own mix of colour and music. When suitable respect has been paid, it's time for the newly dressed prayer pole to be raised. The pole must end up straight or it will be a bad omen for Tibet.

At last the pole stands true and the new prayers can be blown to the heavens. Around this point, the power of the Tibetan landscape and the beliefs of many cultures converge.

More prayers, written on pieces of paper called wind horses, are thrown into the air and flutter upwards towards the peak of Kailash, where the gods of the different faiths are believed to reside.

Here at the axis of the world, is a rare vision of harmony. For a few, there is one final but essential task to perform. Buddhists believe in the concept of rebirth, and at Kailash, the journey from one life to the next is marked with an ancient but outlandish ritual. Tibetans believe there's no need to keep or bury the bodies of their dead, since a departed life will already have kindled a new one elsewhere.

The word for burial in Tibetan means \line with the concept of compassion for all beings.

By doing good deeds, Buddhists believe that they can contribute to the process of enlightenment. So a sky burial at Kailash contributes to a brighter future. There may be legends of mythical mountains and rivers that form the axis of the world. But the Tibetan plateau itself, with its mountains, glaciers and rivers, and as the engine that drives the monsoon, lays fair claim to being the real axis of the world.

Apart from feeding the rivers of India and Pakistan, Tibet's glaciers are the source of even more great rivers. Vietnam's Mekong, Burma's Salween, and the Yangtze and the Yellow, both of which flow into China. Each year enough water flows from the Tibetan plateau to fill the entire Yellow River, the mother river of Chinese civilization. Today in China alone, million people depend on water from the Tibetan plateau.

With its profound effect on Asia's weather and water systems, the Tibetan plateau helps to sustain almost half of the world's population. - For the moment at least.

Close to the summit of Mount Everest, a forest of ice once covered much of the area. But now, thanks to climate change, much of it has gone. Within the next 30 years it's predicted that eighty percent of the Tibetan glaciers could disappear. In many ways, Tibet's fragile environment is the barometer of our world.

What happens to it today, in time will affect us all.

Beyond the Great Wall

NARRATOR: The Great Wall of China was built by the Han Chinese to keep out the nomadic tribes from the north. They called these people barbarians, and their lands were considered barren and uninhabitable.

Northern China is indeed a harsh place of terrible winters, ferocious summers parched deserts. But it is far from lifeless. With colorful places surprising creatures amazing people and strange landscapes. The further we travel, the more extreme it becomes. So how do people and wildlife cope with the hardships and challenges of life beyond the Wall?

The northern limits of Ancient China were defined by the Great Wall which meanders for nearly 5,000 kilometers from east to west. The settled Han people of the Chinese heartland were invaded many times by warlike tribes from the north. The Great Wall was built to protect the Han Chinese from invasion. To meet those fearsome northerners and the wild creatures who share their world, we must leave the shelter of the Wall and travel into the unknown.

Northeast China was known historically as Manchuria. Its upper reaches are on the same latitude as Paris but in winter it is one of the coldest, most hostile places on the planet. Bitter winds from Siberia regularly bring temperatures of 40 degrees below zero. Dense forests of evergreen trees cover these lands. And the rugged terrain is made even more difficult by impenetrable ravines.

We start our journey on a frozen river snaking between China's northeastern-most corner and Siberia. The Chinese call it the Black Dragon River. The people who live here aren't exactly fearsome warriors. They're too busy coping with the harsh winter conditions and they respond to the challenge in some creative ways.

(TYRES SQUEAKING)

The Black Dragon River is home to one of the smallest ethnic groups in China. -The Hezhe People.

It's not just bicycles that seem out of place in this icy world. Fishing boats and nets lie abandoned, a long way from open water.

(CHATTERING)

Underneath a meter of solid ice swim a huge variety of fish, including 500-pound sturgeon, enough to feed a family of Hezhe for weeks. But how can they catch their quarry? First they must chisel a hole through the ice to reach the water below.

(SPLASHING)

Then they need to set their fishing net under the ice, a real challenge. A second hole is made, 20 meters away from the first and a weighted string is dropped in. Then, a long bamboo pole is used to hook the string and pull the net into position beneath the ice.

After a few days, the nets are checked. These days, almost nobody catches a rare giant

sturgeon. The Black Dragon River has been over fished like so many others. But even these smaller fish are a welcome catch. Frozen within seconds, the fish are guaranteed to stay fresh for the wobbly cycle ride home.

The forests that lie south of the Black Dragon River are bound up in snow for more than half the year.

It's deathly silent.

Most of the animals here are either hibernating or have migrated south for the winter. But there is an exception. Wild boars roam the forests of the northeast. Like the Hezhe people, the boars find it difficult to gather food in winter. To survive, they follow their noses, among the keenest in the animal kingdom.

(GRUNTING)

They will eat almost anything they unearth. But one energy-rich food source is particularly valued. -Walnuts. When a lucky boar finds a walnut, there's bound to be trouble.

(SQUEALING)

But despite the squabbles, wild boars are social animals and gather together in groups. Staying close together may help them to keep warm in the extreme cold. But there is another reason for group living. More ears to listen out for danger. Siberian tigers also live in these forests.

-But these days, only in captivity.

There may be less than a dozen wild Siberian tigers left in China. Though there are many more in breeding centers. This enclosure at Hengdaohezi started breeding tigers in 1986 to supply bones and body parts for the Chinese medicine market. Trade in tiger parts was banned in China in the 1990s and the breeding centre is now just a tourist attraction.

The forests of the northeast stretch to where the Chinese Russian and Mongolian borders meet. Here, a surprising herd of animals is on the move. The reindeer were introduced to China hundreds of years ago by the nomadic Ewenki people who came here from Siberia.

(WOMAN CALLING) (BELL DINGING) (CALLING)

It's late April, and the women are calling in their reindeer, which are semi-wild, and have spent all winter away in the forest. This is a very special relationship. Each reindeer has its own name and many were hand-reared by these women. Finally reunited after months apart, they will now remain together until autumn.

(SPEAKING CHINESE)

The Ewenki women are anxious to check the condition of their animals and to see which of the reindeer might be pregnant.

(LAUGHING) (WOMAN SINGING) (SINGING)

Eighty-one-year-old Maliya Suo is one of only 30 Ewenki people still living the nomadic life in these cold northern lands. Almost all her fellow Ewenki have given up the forest life to settle in concrete houses in modern cities. The reindeer herders are now almost as rare as wild Siberian tigers.

There's about to be a new addition to the family. The women act as midwives to the newborn calves, helping to nurture them through their first precious minutes of life. But the world around them is changing fast. This could be the last generation this ancient partnership will endure. This is hardly the image of the dangerous tribal people that the Great Wall was built to keep at bay.

Along China's border with North Korea is this region's most famous mountain. - Changbaishan.

Its name means Ever-White, and it harbors the world's highest volcanic lake. Even in mid-May there is still ice everywhere. But there are signs that the seasons are changing. Warmer winds arrive from the south, and within a few short weeks Changbai Mountain is transformed.

Water begins to flow down the mountainside once more, replenishing the landscape. It's June, and insects emerge to take advantage of the abundance of flowers. The warm weather sees the arrival of migrant birds. Stonechats that have spent the winter in the south of China return here to raise their chicks. With so many insects around, the stonechats may have several broods.

Heading west from Changbai Mountain, the forests give way to rolling grasslands. The Great Wall stretches off into the distance, defining the southern limits of the vast Mongolian Steppe. North of the Wall are huge areas of grassland but one place on our journey is particularly significant.

In the tall grass, a family of red foxes is raising its cubs. Today they have this meadow pretty much to themselves.

(HORSE SNORTING)

But it wasn't always the case. Eight centuries ago, this place would have been teeming with people. Now these ruins in a field a short distance from Beijing are all that remains of the great city of Xanadu, once the summer capital of China. Within these walls it is said that the leader of the Mongolians, the mighty Kublai Khan, welcomed Marco Polo to China. Mongolian warriors established the greatest empire in history, stretching to the borders of Europe. Fear of this warrior tribe is the main reason the Han Chinese built the Great Wall.

The cornerstone of the Mongolian's supremacy was their relationship with horses. This is what brought them such success in war. The Mongolian raiders traveled light, and rode with spare horses so they could move huge distances, strike and then retreat quicker than their opponents.

At the heart of Mongolian culture is horse racing. The annual Nadam Festival, held each July, is a chance for young Mongolians to show off their horsemanship. It's said that Mongolian people are born in the saddle. Even as children, they are consummate riders.

(PEOPLE CHEERING) (CHATTERING EXCITEDLY)

Horsemanship was the core of the Mongolians' success as warriors in the past, and is central to their lives as nomads today.

(SHOUTING)

In an area of grassland known as Bayanbulak, families of nomadic Mongolians are gathering. (BLEATING)

The name Bayanbulak means \homes to graze their livestock on the lush summer pastures. The search for fresh fodder for their animals keeps them on the go and being able to move home so easily is a real advantage.

(COWS MOOING)

It takes only a few minutes for the Mongolian family to set up their yurts. But the Mongolians don't have this place all to themselves. The rich resources also attract a huge variety of birds. Demoiselle cranes, wading birds and waterfowl migrate here from all over Asia, drawn to the rivers and wetlands fed by glacial melt water from nearby mountains.

(HONKING)

This place is known in China as Swan Lake. It's the world's most important breeding site for whooper swans, and arguably, mosquitoes as well. The pastures at Swan Lake provide endless amounts of lush grass for birds to nest in and for livestock to eat. It would seem there's plenty for everybody. But occasionally they can get too close for comfort.

Eight hundred years ago, the Mongolians were the most feared people on earth. But they have a spiritual side as well. The birds of Swan Lake have little cause to worry. The Mongolians protect the swans, and venerate them, calling them Birds of God.

The Great Wall's journey through northern China continues westward bisecting a landscape that becomes increasingly parched. Our journey has brought us halfway across northern China and the grasslands are becoming hot, dry and desolate.

Wandering these wastes are creatures that look more African than Asian. These are goitered gazelles, skittish and easily startled. When threatened by danger, they're as fast as a racehorse. But in this intense heat, they favor a gentler pace. There's little standing water here, but the gazelles have a remarkable ability to extract moisture from dry grass. Although finding enough worth eating keeps them constantly on the move.

Even out here in the semi-deserts, the Wall continues its long march. Here, it's made of little more than compacted earth. But with hardly any rain falling, it's suffered very little erosion over the centuries. Hundreds of thousands of people lost their lives building it. Yet it seems hard to believe that anyone felt that these distant wastelands needed protecting. But the Wall still has one final surprise.

This is Jiayuguan, the mighty fortress in the desert. Built in the Ming dynasty over 600 years ago, legend says that the construction of the fortress was so meticulously planned that 100,000 bricks were specially made and only one brick was left unused. This fortress marks the end of the Great Wall of China.

- The greatest man-made barrier on earth.

But ahead lies an even more formidable barrier. - A vast no-man's land of deserts that stretch westward to the borders of Central Asia.

Jiayuguan Fortress was considered to be the last outpost of Chinese civilization. Beyond this point lay utter desolation.

China's largest desert, the Taklamakan, lies out here. Its name has been translated as \in, and you never come out.\hostile to life. Yet there was a route through the desert. For those brave enough to risk their lives for it.

People were lured into the horrors of the deserts because the Chinese had a secret so powerful that it changed the course of history. The key to that secret lies in the distant past.

Legend has it that around 5,000 years ago, a princess was walking in her garden when something unusual fell into her tea cup. A magical thread was extracted and it became more prized than gold or jade. The thread was silk. Incredibly, such a beautiful substance and all the history behind it comes from a humble little insect.

- The silkworm.

Silk moths lay several hundred eggs, and the tiny caterpillars that emerge eat nothing but mulberry leaves. After 50 days of gluttony they've grown 10,000 times heavier. By this stage, 25% of their body mass is made up of silk glands. In the process of turning into adult moths, they spin a cocoon from a single strand of silk which can be over 1,000 meters long. It was the legendary strength and brightness of silk fibers that made it so sought after. For over 5,000 years, people built great fortunes and mighty kingdoms on these delicate threads. And the desert routes those ancient traders took became the fabled Silk Road.

The principle of extracting raw silk hasn't changed since its discovery. Harvested cocoons are dropped into boiling water which unravels the long filaments. These are then gathered and spun into raw silk thread.

Here at Hotan, on the ancient Silk Road, silk weaving is still a cottage industry, done the old-fashioned way on wooden looms.

For the ancient Silk Road traders, the problem was still how to get the valuable silk from the fortress at Jiayuguan through the deserts to the markets of Central Asia and beyond.

(CAMELS GRUNTING)

Those early travelers heading west on the Silk Road were setting off on the worst voyage imaginable through some of the most terrible places on earth. - Starting with the world's tallest sand dunes. Strong winds whipping in from the west blow the sand into ever higher dunes. Over millennia, mega-dunes build up. - Walls of sand soaring to over 500 meters tall. Camels are the only beasts of burden that can tackle these monstrous dunes. Their feet are wide and splay outwards to stop them sinking in loose sand.

(MAN CALLING)

(CAMEL GRUNTING)

The wind that whips the sand into dunes has created other bizarre shapes in China's western deserts. Mysterious giant structures, known as Yardangs, were sculpted by flying sand.

(WIND WHOOSHING)

The wind brought other hazards to travelers in these deserts. Marco Polo wrote, \the stray travelers will hear the tramp and hum “of a great cavalcade of people away from the real line of march \

“And when day breaks, they find that a cheat has been put on them.” “And that they are in an ill plight.” (HUMMING)

To this day, no one knows what causes the sands in some parts of the desert to sing. (HUMMING CONTINUES)

No wonder travelers call this place Fury of God and Sea of Death. But the most severe problem was lack of water. The reason this place is so intensely dry can best be appreciated from a satellite view. China's deserts are the farthest place on earth from any ocean. This lack of water is what created the Taklamakan. An area the size of Germany, covered in sand dunes, through which the Silk Road traversed, this is the world's largest shifting sand desert. Most living creatures would die here. But the camel is uniquely equipped for desert survival. Its nose humidifies the dry desert air as it breathes in then dehumidifies it on the way out, conserving precious water. The camel's thick fur keeps it warm at night while reflecting sunlight by day and its body temperature can rise by six degrees Celsius before it even begins to sweat. With these adaptations, it can go for days without drinking.

For the camel trains, travel through the desert is about moving between one lifesaving oasis and the next. When they finally do reach a drinking hole, camels can drink up to 60 liters of water in 10 minutes.

Without oases, life in the Taklamakan couldn't exist and travel would be impossible. But nothing is permanent in the desert. The shifting sands and the extreme climate mean that these precious water sources can disappear.

This is exactly what happened at Aydingkol Lake. The lake bed is the second-lowest place on earth at 154 meters below sea level. It's the hottest place in China with air temperatures recorded as high as 50 degrees Celsius and ground temperatures up to 80 degrees. Yet not far from Aydingkol is a surprise.

- A thriving human settlement in the desert.

This is Turpan oasis. And it's famous in China for an unexpected product. - Grapes.

But how on earth can a water-hungry crop grow in such abundance in a desert? The secret lies below ground. A subterranean network of canals known as karez is used to channel water around Turpan's streets and into the vineyards. But where does the water come from? The clue lies on the

desert floor in these lines of holes which mark the course of the subterranean waterways.

Over two millennia ago, local people carved more than 3,000 kilometers of these canals beneath the desert, diverting water from the distant mountains. - Channeling the flow underground means that less water is lost to evaporation in the desert heat.

(PEOPLE CHATTERING) In August, the grapes are harvested. (MEN SHOUTING)

This rich bounty does not go unnoticed. In the lush vineyards of Turpan, one animal is thriving. Red-tailed gerbils are hardy desert creatures, but those in Turpan have never had it so good.

(MAN SPEAKING CHINESE)

Once the grapes have been picked, some are sold in the market. But most are hung up to dry in special drying houses. This place is far too tempting for any rodent to resist. Red-tailed gerbils are excellent climbers. But why bother when there's plenty of bounty lying around on the ground, unguarded? Rather than suffering the extreme environment in which they live, the wildlife and people of Turpan have found innovative ways to cope with conditions beyond the Wall.

But not all desert communities were as resourceful as Turpan. Between here and China's western borders, lie the ruins of many great cities. In their day they were vibrant, thriving places. But in the 5th century, the Silk Road's fortunes took a turn for the worse. Once again a princess was involved. She smuggled silkworm eggs out of China. The secret of silk was a secret no more. And China's stranglehold on this lucrative trade was over.

Even when Marco Polo passed along the Silk Road in the 13th century, many of these cities had been dead for over 500 years. But the Silk Road's most famous city managed to survive. Where the desert ends beneath vast mountain ranges, China's westernmost point is only a stone's throw from the borders of five Central Asian countries.

This is Kashgar, where east meets west.

The silk that traveled along the Silk Road ended up here where it's still traded today.

NARRATOR: Kashgar is famous for selling everything under the sun. The local Sunday market is one of Asia's largest and most exuberant gatherings. But looking around the market, it's hard to believe you're actually in China. Kashgar is a melting pot of non-Chinese ethnic people.

- Uyghurs, Tajiks, Kyrgyz, Uzbeks, and many others.

Here, our journey heads northwards into one of China's wildest places.

Leaving Kashgar and the Silk Road behind, we travel into the Tian Shan, or Heavenly Mountains. This great mountain range defines the border between China's most north-western province and neighboring Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan.

Its majestic peaks are nearly as high as the Himalayas forming a natural great wall. For much of the year it's bound up in ice. But the glacial melt water allows evergreen forests to grow. - A far cry from the deserts south of here.

These mountains are the gateway to some of China's most surprising people and places. In the upland valleys, a family of Kazakhs has been grazing their livestock all summer on the lush alpine meadows. It's autumn, in a few weeks' time winter snows will seal the mountain passes. So the Kazakhs have decided to break camp, and move while they still can.

Turning their backs on the mountain pastures, they have many long weeks of travel ahead of them along well-worn trails. Their destination could hardly be more different from the Heavenly Mountains' lush pastures.

(MAN WHISTLING)

These paths head into one of China's wildest and least known places. This is the Junggar Basin.

- An arid land that lies at the westernmost edge of the great Gobi Desert. - The most northerly desert in the world.

The Junggar is a place of surprises. This bizarre landscape is called the Five Colored Hills. And though very little lives here now, the ancestors of Tyrannosaurus Rex once roamed these hills, their fossils only discovered in 2006.

But the Junggar is not entirely lifeless. In the darkness, a little Roborovski's Hamster emerges to search for food. They're the world's smallest hamsters, the size of a Ping-Pong ball. And they live in family groups of around 10.

Unlike the Kazakhs, hamsters can't migrate to avoid the severity of winter. They have to prepare for difficult times by storing up provisions to spend the season underground. Anyone who has kept a pet hamster knows what an energetic little creature it can be. In a single night, a hamster may cover the equivalent of four human marathons. But foraging far and wide creates a problem.

How to carry the harvest back to its nest?

Here the hamster's famous flexible cheek pouches come into play. They can be stuffed full of seeds for carrying back to the burrow. Underground, the family has special food chambers to store the bounty. This supply will have to last them through the lean and cold times ahead. Winter is on its way.

Within a few short weeks, the Five Colored Hills are blanketed in snow, driven by icy winds from Siberia. Despite being at the same latitude as Venice, Asia's northern deserts have no nearby sea to warm them and so suffer bitterly cold winters. When it melts next spring, the snow will provide moisture for grasses and other plants to grow. Like almost everywhere beyond the Wall, the harsh conditions force people and wildlife to keep moving to find enough to survive.

(WOMAN SPEAKING CHINESE)

The Kazakhs have arrived from the Tian Shan Mountains to graze their animals on the meagre pickings in the Junggar. But the Kazakhs don't have this place all to themselves. Their winter migration routes take them past a fenced enclosure in the desert. The horses on this side of the fence aren't domestic animals like those belonging to the Mongolians and Kazakhs.

These are the last wild horses on earth. Millions of them once ranged all the way to Europe.

But now they barely number in the hundreds. For part of the winter the wild horses are quarantined to stop them mating with the Kazakhs' horses. That way the gene pool of the rare wild animals can be kept pure. There is a bigger problem, however. The livestock and the wild horses compete for the same food. Many Kazakh families and their flocks will pass through here over the winter. By the time the wild horses can be released from the pen, much of the best forage will be gone. When there's so little to go round in the first place, it doesn't take much for the situation to turn critical. Even in the least inhabited parts of China, wildlife and people come into conflict in the struggle to survive. Yet in this barren landscape, a remarkable association between people and wildlife persists.

(CHIRPING)

- A tradition harking back almost 6,000 years.

Eighty-two-year-old Ziya carries on a tradition that has made the Kazakhs famous throughout China. Every winter for most of his life, Ziya has gone hunting with a golden eagle.

This eagle is around five years old. It was taken from the wild as a chick and raised by Ziya who trained it to return to him after each flight. He will keep this bird for a total of 10 seasons before setting it free.

Foxes were once the favorite quarry for eagle hunters. These days they almost never catch anything. As in many parts of China, wildlife is far scarcer here than it used to be. When Ziya finally releases this eagle, it will be the end of his hunting days.

Many of the younger generation of China's nomads are moving to modern cities and leaving their traditions behind, their lives no longer ruled by the changing of the seasons.

Back in the northeast, in mid-winter, the Great Wall still dominates the landscape. Originally built to keep out dangerous warriors, today it is little more than a curiosity. The Han Chinese, whose ancestors built the wall, now live in great cities like Harbin, far to the north.

Each year, the artists of Harbin get ready for a special winter celebration. Giant blocks of ice from nearby rivers undergo a magical transformation. Tourists flock to Harbin from all over China to see the spectacular carvings, and the ice city that has sprung up all around.

(SCREAMING GLEEFULLY)

It takes 10,000 people 18 days to construct this icy wonderland. It's impressive enough by day. But the magic of this place only becomes apparent once the sun goes down.

Northern China can be a harsh place, but also a place of great beauty.

-The Harbin Ice Festival shows how attitudes have changed since the Great Wall was built. No longer are the extremes of life beyond the Wall merely to be feared. (WOMEN LAUGHING)

Now it is possible to celebrate them, too.

Land of the Panda

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 civilization, which spans more than 5000 years. To outsiders this is a mysterious land. It contains dazzling man-made structures. And it is 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 program 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 70% 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, \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 civilization. - 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 lies the Qinling Mountains. At 1,500 kilometers 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 minus10 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 meager 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 meter-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 maneuver the bamboo with 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 specializes 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 practicing for over 20 years. The most important part of his diagnosis is the pulse, examined in several places. Dr So also observes the color 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 civilization, 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 programmed has been remarkably successful. In 2006 the reserve 16 reared 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 21st 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 neighboring 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 colorful 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 meters. 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 behavior 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 recognized 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 color. 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 harbor 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 behavior, 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 neighbor 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 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 Quantum 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 neighborhood 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 meters 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.

Tides of Change

From the eastern end of the Great Wall, China’s coast spans 14,500 kilometers and more than 5,000 years of history. This is the area which shows the greatest contrast between China's past and its future.

Today China's eastern seaboards home to 700 million people, packed into some of the most dazzling hi-tech cities on earth. Yet these crowded shores remain hugely important for a wealth of wildlife.

Now, as ancient traditions mingle with new aspirations, is there any room at all for wildlife on China's crowded shores?

In northern China's Haling Nature Reserve, a pair of red-crowned cranes have staked out their nesting territory in the stubble of a commercially managed reed bed. For centuries, cranes have been revered in Chinas symbols of longevity. Their statues were placed next to the Emperor's throne.

The cranes have cause to celebrate. This chick is a sign of hope in difficult times. Red-crowned cranes are one of the world's most endangered species.

Over the last century, China has lost nearly half of its coastal wetlands and most of what remains is managed for the benefit of people, not wildlife.

A few months from now, this chick and its parents will face a long migration south to escape the harsh northern winter. Their route will take them along a coast which has been greatly affected by human activity. Along their journey, the cranes will be joined by many thousands of other migrating birds.

All heading south across the Bahia Gulf and along the shores of the Yellow and East China Seas, some even reaching as far as the South China Sea in search of a safe winter haven. The annual bird migration has been going on for thousands of years. Here at Mount Jinping on China's northeast coast, there is surprising evidence that people have lived here almost as long. Seven thousand years ago, members of the Shao Hao tribe carved magical symbols representing significant elements of their daily lives.

The petroglyphs show wheat sheaves connected by lines to human figures, the first known recordings of cultivation in China. Familiar with the spectacle of yearly bird migrations, the Shao Hao people chose a symbol of a bird as their totem.

Mount Jinping lies near the Shandong peninsula, an important wintering site for migrant birds, and even today there are still communities along this coastline who retain a special affinity with their local birdlife.

Yandun Jiao village, on the north-eastern shore of the peninsula, is famous for its traditional seaweed-thatched cottages. On a chilly morning in early spring, Mr. and Mrs. Qu venture out at first light armed with the traditional seaside accessories of bucket and spade.

As the Qus head down into the harbor, a flock of whooper swans, known affectionately here as \

The Qus and their neighbors search for tube holes in the mud at low tide, the sign of cockles and razor shells hidden deep below. While gathering shellfish is a popular pastime, the main business of Yandun Jiao happens further out at sea. As the boats set out, with Mr. Qu on board, the swans set a parallel course.

The whole of the bay is a gigantic seaweed farm. The men work all day cleaning and tending the kelp fronds that are grown on ropes linked to a vast armada of buoys. The swans eat native seaweeds growing on the surface ropes rather than the valuable crop of kelp, so they do no harm to the commercial operation.

In the afternoon, as the wind picks up out at sea, the workers and swans return to shore. While the culture of seeking balance with nature goes back a long way in China, it is rare to see such harmonious relationships on China's crowded coast.

As evening draws on, the Qu family prepare their evening meal of cockles, steamed bread and seaweed.

Leftovers are given to the village children to feed the swans. It's fun for the kids and provides an extra energy boost for the birds as they face another cold night.

The swans have been using this sheltered beat as a winter refuge for many generations. As long as the tradition of respect for nature persists, this remarkable association between the Yandun Jiao community and their winter angels looks set to continue.

Out in the Bahia Gulf, northeast of the swan village, a small rocky island provides a quiet resting spot for migrating birds.

But Shihao Island has hidden dangers. Pallas' pit vipers trapped here 6,000 years ago by rising sea levels have evolved a sinister lifestyle.

For 10 months of the year there is nothing substantial to eat on the island, so the reptiles conserve their energy by barely moving at all. As the sun warms their rocky home, the snakes climb up into the bushes and trees. But they aren't here to sunbathe. More and more vipers appear until virtually every perch where a bird might land has been booby-trapped. Then the waiting game begins.

The serpents' camouflage is remarkable, but so are the birds' reactions, as this high-speed shot reveals.

The birds will only stay on the island for a couple of weeks. But although the snakes have been starving for months, their only hope of bagging a meal is to be patient and sit tight. The slightest miscalculation and the snake is left with a mouthful of feathers.

The dropped meal is tracked down mainly by smell, the viper using its forked tongue to taste the air until it is close enough to see its quarry.

The final challenge is to swallow a meal that's twice the size of its head.

It does so by dislocating its jaws and positioning its preys the beak is pointing backwards.

For the reptiles, this time of plenty is all too brief. In a couple of weeks, the migration will be overhand the birds will have moved on. This could be the snake's last meal for six months. But it isn't just islands that experience cycles of feast and famine. The sea, too, has its seasons, a fact well known to fishing communities along the neighboring coasts.

In Chuwang harbor, the start of a new fishing season provides the excuse for a massive party. But for boat owner Mr. Zhao, it’s a day of prayer as well as celebration. Zhao hopes that by presenting gifts and showing respect to the sea goddess, he can help ensure a prosperous and safe year ahead for him and his crew. Meanwhile, drums, firecrackers and fireworks reflect the ancient belief that loud noises will frighten off dangerous sea devils and bad fortune. Occupying centre stage is a representation of the sea dragon, mythical ruler of water and weather.

In the calm of the evening, Mr. Zhao and his family light paper boat lanterns. Each flickering flame carries a wish to the sea goddess, a tradition passed on from parents to children over countless generations.

On China's crowded coasts, fishermen need to be extremely resourceful. Hauling in the nets is hard work, and so far there's not a fish in sight. - Only jellyfish.

Each year, millions of jellyfish are carried south with the currents in the Bahia Gulf. The ecological story behind this event is complex, but by no means unique to China.

Jellyfish are fast-breeding plankton feeders. In recent years, human sewage and fertilizers from intensive farming have increased plankton blooms in the Gulf, providing extra jellyfish food. -While over-fishing has reduced their enemies and competitors.

It’s a phenomenon that has become increasingly widespread across the world's seas. However, what is seen elsewhere as a problem, in China is perceived as an opportunity.

Back on shore, mule carts transport the jellyfish to nearby warehouses where they will be processed and sold as food all over China.

-Four generations tuck into a bowl of sliced jellyfish, the recipe for a long and healthy life.

Leaving the Bahia Gulf behind, migrating cranes, spoonbills and ducks are joined by other birds, all heading south in search of a safe winter haven. The birds' migration route follows the coast of the Yellow Sea down into Jiangsu Province, a fertile agricultural landscape with some of the last remaining salt marshes in China.

At Dafeng, a small salt marsh reserve is home to an animal which is lucky to be alive. The Chinese see these Milu as a curious composite animal, with a horse's head, cow’s feet, a tail like a donkey and backwards-facing antlers. In the West, we know it as Peer David's Deer, after the first European to describe it.

During the rut, stags decorate themselves with garlands of vegetation collected in their antlers. Fierce battles decide mating rights. The females still have last year's fawns in tow. They haven't been weaned by the time of the rut and band together in large crèches, only returning to

their mothers to feed. This unique behavior helps to keep them clear of the aggressive males. Today, there are just 2,500 Milu in China, but it is remarkable that there are any at all. In the early 1900s Milu became extinct in the wild, but luckily, some of the Imperial herd had been sent as a gift to Europe. Those at Woburn Abbey, in England, prospered. And in the early 1980s, of the deer were returned to their homeland where they continue to thrive.

The migrating cranes have so far traveled over 2,000 kilometers southwards along the coast. Passing the Milu Deer Reserve at Dafeng, they are approaching another salt marsh which will provide the perfect conditions for them to spend the winter.

This is Yancheng, the largest coastal wetland in China, visited by an estimated three million birds each year. Crane chicks that were only born seven months ago have now completed the first leg of a round trip which they will repeat every year.

The hardy cranes can cope with winter temperatures which may drop below freezing. However, other migrating birds like the endangered black-faced spoonbill, are less cold-tolerant and will continue even further south in search of warmer climes.

At this point, many of the migrating bird flocks are barely halfway along their southward journey. Ahead of them lies a new challenge, China’s greatest river, the Yangtze, and the venue for a very different kind of migration.

Each year, millions of tons of cargo travel up and down the river, making this one of the busiest waterways in the world.

These are Chinese mitten crabs, named for their strange hairy claws. They may migrate as much as 1,500 kilometers from tributaries and lakes to the river mouth, where they gather to breed.

A similar migration is made by the giant Yangtze sturgeon, which can reach four meters long and weigh half a ton. In recent years, its numbers have declined dramatically as its migration is impeded by ever more river dams. But it isn't just animals like the sturgeon that are in trouble, the entire Yangtze River ecosystem is being poisoned.

In spite of being the subject of an ambitious clean-up plan, today the river is reckoned to be the biggest single source of pollution entering the Pacific Ocean.

Situated right at the mouth of its estuary, Chongming Island provides a vital resting and feeding spot for migrating shorebirds, and a place which offers welcome evidence of changing attitudes towards the Yangtze's beleaguered wildlife.

For centuries these coastal mudflats have attracted hunters, like Mr. Jin, who have honed their trapping skills to perfection to put rare birds on the tables of Shanghai's elite. For 40 years Mr. Jin has used a net, simple decoy birds and a bamboo whistle to lure passing birds towards his nets. It takes both patience and consummate skill.

But, all is not as it seams’ Jin, like many of the best conservationists, is poacher turned gamekeeper, using his hunting skills to benefit his old quarry. The staff here at Dunstan Bird Reserve will measure, ring and weigh the trapped birds before releasing them unharmed. The

information gathered by Mr. Jin and his colleagues helps to protect over 200 different species of birds which visit the island each year.

Just south of Chongqing Island lies China's largest coastal city -Shanghai.

Situated on a major migration route for birds as well as river life, Shanghai is now preparing for an even bigger invasion. Barges loaded with building materials constantly arrive in the city's docks, feeding one of the greatest construction booms in the world.

Last year, half the world's concrete was poured into China's cities, all in preparation for the biggest mass migration of people in the history of the world.

In the next 25 years, well over 300 million people are predicted to move from rural China into cities like Shanghai. The migration of people from country to city’s being mirrored around the world, and by 2010 over half of the world's population will be urban dwellers.

As night falls, Shanghai reveals its true colors. China's fastest-growing financial center’s in the midst of a massive boom. With an estimated population of more than 20 million, Shanghai is officially China's large stand certainly its most dazzling city.

But there is an environmental cost. Shanghai residents now use two and a half times more power per head than their rural cousins. The city's seemingly insatiable energy demands currently require the output of 17 power stations. South of Shanghai the city lights gradually fades we enter an ancient world.

This is Fujian Province, a rugged terrain guarded by sheer granite mountains which have helped to forge and preserve some of China's most ancient sites and traditional cultures. Towering above the coast, the 1400-meter-high Tami Mountains are known to the Chinese as \the Sea”.

Moist sea breezes condense on the cool mountaintops and combine with well-drained acid soils to produce the perfect growing conditions for acid-loving plants like wild azaleas. It’s also home to camellias, including the most famous of all - The tea plant.

Similar growing conditions all along the Fujian coast make this the treasure chest for China's tea, the heart of an industry dating back almost 4,000 years.

- One of the most traditional tea-growing cultures in the areas that of the Kejia people. Every morning, goats are let loose among the tea terraces, a centuries-old tradition. This might seem surprising given goats' reputation for eating anything green, but tea isn't as defenseless as it looks. Tea leaves are loaded with bitter chemicals designed to repel browsing animals. It works on the goats, who leave the tea untouched and instead eat up the weeds, fertilizing the tea plants with their droppings. The surprise is that we humans should find the same bitter chemical cocktail utterly irresistible.

Among the Kejia people, tea-growing is a family business. Women do the picking, while the men process and pack it Mr. Zhang belongs to a Kejia family that has lived and worked for

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