Emperor Penguin: 215 Days From Egg to Survivor — Born into the Antarctic Cold | Wildlife Documentary

230 days on ice at minus 60 degrees. Only a few find the light of the open ocean. To survive for Aptenidae's history, escaping death once is not enough. They must outlast the brown school, the southern giant petrel, the kelp gull, the leopard seal and the killer whale again and again. This is the 230 day journey of the survivors. Across the ice field at minus 40 degrees, hundreds of calls ring out simultaneously. Each voice is an acoustic fingerprint. No two are alike. In a land with no trees, no rocks, no nesting material, Aptenidae's forestry has only one place to entrust a life, on its own feet. In that instant, if the egg touches the ice for too long, the embryo will freeze. The temperature difference between the brood patch and the surrounding environment is nearly 80 degrees. One second of error and four months of starvation endured by the male ahead will have meant nothing. One egg is lost. Within this huddle, hundreds of similar scenes are unfolding simultaneously. Clumsy males, tiny cracks, predators waiting overhead. Only the males with the best egg holding skill and the thickest fat reserves will carry an embryo through to hatching day. Beside the freshly hatched egg, a few other emperor pangolins still lie motionless in the cold. No sound, no crack, the shells slowly turning grey as the life inside quietly fades away. Within a mass of thousands, mates find each other through voice alone. Each call unique, etched into memory from before the winter. After seven months apart, a family reunites in an instant. A chick lying on ice at minus 40 degrees has just two minutes before its body freezes solid. But the more immediate danger is the beak of Caionis albis. Across the entire colony, Stercorarius macromychae and Macronectus giganteus account for nearly one third of all chick deaths each season. The survival of an actinidites forsteri chick depends greatly on whether it knows to stay within the creche. The gaps between meals grow longer. This is the final lesson the parents teach their young, the lesson of hunger. Because once they leave the colony, there will be no one left to bring food back for them. Having just escaped the leopard seal, a shadow far larger appears from the deep water. Orchinus orca, the apex predator of the southern ocean, is approaching at a speed that cannot be outrun. Two hundred and thirty days from one egg balanced on a father's feet to an independent hunter in the open ocean. Only those who survived truly understand the real price of the ocean's A dark shape has just appeared on the horizon. Vulpes lagopus, the arctic fox, the most silent nest raider of the tundra. Its nose has already caught the scent of new life. And on that exposed mound of earth, there is nowhere to hide a single egg. But the tundra never rests quietly. Stercorarius longicodus, the long-tailed skua, is circling in pairs above the nest. Their tactic is not strength, but distraction. And the seven eggs below are a reward worth the risk. Inside the thin calcium shell, a 45 gram creature is using its egg tooth, the only tooth it will ever lose after a few days, to drill through into its own world. This is the first battle of a hugoscandiacus, and also the easiest battle it will ever face. Hypothermia. When body temperature drops below 35 degrees, blood vessels constrict, the heart slows, and the creature sinks into a sleep from which it will never wake. The tundra does not need talons to kill. One night, colder than usual, dispersing before learning. This is the unique strategy of Buboscandiacus, and also a cold-blooded gambol. If a predator finds the nest, they will not lose the entire breed at once. Each chick must face the tundra alone. There are wounds the body cannot heal on its own. After the attack by Falco rusticulus, the last energy reserves of the small chick were exhausted. In nature, the line between surviving and not surviving is sometimes just one meal. The meal it no longer has the strength to hunt for itself. One in seven. This is the ratio of the Arctic Goat. Not injustice, but the cold calculation of a land where every calorie must be earned, and every mistake must be made. Ninety days have ended, but for Buboscandiacus, the true journey of survival has only just begun. There is a bird that roams the open ocean throughout the entire winter. Then in spring, thousands of individuals simultaneously return to the exact same narrow ledge, the place where they were born. No GPS, no map, only the genetic memory of 20 years. Uria algae is the only bird in the world that lays its bed directly on bare rock. No nest, no leaves, not a single feather. An evolutionary mistake? No. This is a survival strategy refined over millions of years. But no evolutionary strategy is sufficient against the dark shape approaching from the direction of the sun. Uria algae can dive to 180 meters, deeper than many research submarines. To do so, the heart rate must drop in half, blood is directed to the brain and heart, and other organs nearly cease functioning. Every dive is a deliberate stopping of the heart. Falco peregrinus, the fastest predator on the planet. A diving speed of 300 kilometers per hour. It does not need to land. Only one stripe, one life. This is the strangest moment in the life cycle of Uria algae. The chick does not yet know how to fly and will never learn to fly on this cliff face. It must jump. It must free fall 200 meters down to the sea before its wings have had time to fully grow. The ocean does not forgive. On the cliff face there are eagles and falcons. Below the water there are hunters weighing 300 times as much as a single chick. 90 days, four eggs, one life surviving. Four years from now, when its wings are strong enough, it will return to the exact same ledge from which it jumped and lay one egg on bare rock. The cycle is not a victory. It is the persistence of life, repeating itself over and over again in spite of everything.