Mexico's Underwater Wildlife Kingdom | Free Documentary Nature

Forbidding as it is beautiful, this simmering cauldron of life has but one rule, adapt. It rewards the strong with a sliver of the ecosystem. All others scratch out a living or perish. Its deepest secrets are known only to the creatures that call it home or ply its waters. It has the youngest and most diverse sea on earth. Thousands of species in a quest for survival, some still unknown to man. The greatest of these are charismatic megafauna, creatures that inspire wonder, joy, fear. Baja California, Mexico. Born seven million years ago when it began breaking away from the mainland. The 800 mile long peninsula is flanked by the Pacific Ocean on the west and the Sea of Cortez in the east. A chain of rugged mountain ranges runs down its spine, stretching from greener northern lands through unforgiving deserts to its southernmost tip. Spanish explorers called it Finisterra, the end of the earth. Sculpted by wind and wave for some five million years, this is where the Pacific Ocean meets the Sea of Cortez. Legend has it that Spanish conquistador Hernan Cortez was asked to describe this landscape. He crumpled up a piece of parchment and laid it on the table. The scorching heat and hard packed soil of Baja's deserts have given rise to 700 plant species found nowhere else. Inland, the average rainfall can be as little as two inches per year. Summer brings 100 degree days for weeks on end. But plants are the masters of adaptation. Each has a few tricks in its survival kit. Some keep competitors away with a poisonous root system. A thick blanket of thorns for shade. Tiny leaves that catch the sun but limit water loss. Grooves and channels exquisitely designed to carry even a drop of dew down to the roots. The most efficient cacti can survive on one-tenth the water of thirsty flora. The greatest of them all defies everything Baja can throw at it. Unlike trees, the mighty cardone opens its pores in the cool of night to take in carbon dioxide, the basic building block for all plants. Out here, water loss can be a death sentence. So in the heat of the day, the cardone's waxy skin is sealed tight. The stored carbon dioxide and sunlight fuel photosynthesis and growth. These are the largest cacti in the world, reaching nine feet around and 60 feet high. That can take 100 years. Wait for rain is everything and everyone springs into action. Time is of the essence. Flowering plants rush to bloom and pollinate. Others have a few weeks before the sun steals their ponds and puddles. Most of the rainwater runs off the hard soil and heads to the coast. A colony of magnificent frigatebirds has claimed this mangrove forest. Named for swift ships once used by pirates, the frigatebird is notorious for bullying smaller birds and stealing their food. It's mating season. Males inflate their red throat sacks and prepare to serenade the females circling overhead. Perch is essential to the show and worth fighting for. The females are looking for just the right song and dance and only they know exactly what that is. A female flies in for a closer look at a suitor and isn't impressed. Her prince charming is down there somewhere. This isn't a newlywed squabble. It's part of a courtship ritual and a message to the others in the colony. Find your own mate. Once they pair up, the males gather sticks and the females build a nest. She'll lay just one fertilized egg in a season. Their chicks will hatch in about two months. In the meantime, magnificent frigatebirds are lousy neighbors, stealing sticks, entire nests, and beating up on anyone in reach. These oceanic birds have evolved to claim their slice of Baja. Darwin called them the condors of the sea. Their legs are too short to walk on land. Their feathers have no oil and quickly become waterlogged when swimming. So they have become agile and powerful flyers with a wingspan of seven feet. A mangrove is an ecosystem unto itself. An entire food chain lies hidden below the surface. Bacteria, algae, plankton, crabs, and fish all stake their claim in the shadows. 30 feet at the widest, the elaborate root system holds the evergreen trees up like pilings driven into the sand. The roots anchor the plant against hurricanes and provide it with fresh water by filtering out salt. This durable shelter is also a breeding ground and a nursery for dozens of species. Most return to deeper waters. 75 to 90 percent of tropical fish spend at least part of their life cycle in mangroves. The broken rocky terrain of the seafloor is a reminder of the shifting continental plates that created Baja. In geologic time, the peninsula was ripped from the mainland in the blink of an eye. Its mountains formed underground, thrust skyward from the broken earth. All of it still heading westward at a breakneck pace, 50 millimeters a year, about the speed your fingernails grow. For a swimmer, the most dangerous place in the water is where crashing wave meets rock. But not for the California sea lion, the undisputed king of the coastline. They effortlessly navigate powerful currents and surging waves. These acrobats are the fastest pinnipeds or flipper-footed mammals in the world. They top out at 25 miles per hour and are easily differentiated from seals by their ear flaps. Females can reach six feet long and weigh 220 pounds. Males reach seven feet and as much as a thousand pounds. The strongest bull male in these parts is indeed the king with a harem of 30 or so females. But his kingdom comes with a heavy price. Endless patrolling for predators or males who want your job is exhausting. Most bulls last just a few weeks before a rival pushes them out. These powerful carnivores know they aren't at the top of the food chain. Sharks cruise the colonies eager to snatch a careless pup. Juveniles stay close to shore and mom. There are ways to take a breath without taking your eyes off the playground or mischievous little ones. This sea star is about to have a bad day. Play with just about anything, even an angry damselfish defending its territory. Sometimes you just can't reach the itch unless you're itching for a fight. Mob battles prepare juveniles for adulthood. Fish are the sea lion's staple. Adults will venture into the abyss in search of squid or octopus. These champion deep divers can collapse their lungs to avoid decompression sickness and dive to 900 feet. The rocky shoreline gives way to great stretches of sandy bottom. A colony of shy garden eels snatches plankton from the water and melts away into the sand. Others build their homes even upon our disasters. The Sea of Cortez smashed this 300 foot long ferry on the rocks 30 years ago. It can take decades for the ocean to absorb the toxic soup of a massive shipwreck. At first, the steel skeleton is a refuge for weary travelers. Tiny crustaceans attach themselves providing a reliable source of food. When the corals arrive, the wreck becomes an artificial reef, a breeding ground, a hunting ground. Predator or prey, nearly every living thing in the Sea of Cortez depends on a single tireless force for survival. The current, it is the lifeblood of the sea. These juvenile porcupinefish are riding an invisible highway to their next destination. Most currents run horizontally. Here, they flow deep and wide. Even on the calmest days, the conveyor belt is always running. As the Pacific Ocean rises and falls with the tide, it pushes and pulls water to and from the Sea of Cortez. Sun warmed water rises to the surface and the wind pushes it southward. All of this movement transports water on an epic scale, drawing nutrients up from the deep, a nectar of organic matter and microscopic organisms. Fan corals along the sea walls grab their fill from the stream. Just as the air we breathe must have the right mix of gases, currents ensure a proper mix of water chemistry. They carry vital oxygen and food to every corner of the sea. The breath of life flowing over hill and valley, nourishing 5,000 species of fish and invertebrates, the most diverse sea on Earth. No creature here lives independently. Evolution has given everyone a job, and if they don't show up for work, neighbors can suffer. Seagrasses slow the current and make it drop sediment, so corals miles away don't get smothered. A cleaning crew of surgeonfish grazes on algae, helping keep it in check. The parrotfish prefers brute force. Its powerful beak-like jaw shears away at chunks of rock and hard coral. Bony throat plates pulverize it to extract every bit of nutrient. It took a few million years, but this crew built your favorite tropical beach one bite at a time. The food web is fine-tuned and ancient. Remove the sharks for fin soup, and too many parrotfish devour the coral. Allow farm runoff to supercharge algae growth, and you get a massive bloom, dead zones of oxygen-depleted water. Even the rocky islands have a role. About three dozen dot the Sea of Cortez. Built by explosive volcanic activity, some stretch hundreds of feet up from the sea floor. Most are barren, but lifeless, they are not. As the current courses through the deep, it strikes the islands and brings cold, nutrient-rich water to the surface. Algae and tiny shrimp like plankton thrive in the upwelling. Where plankton is abundant, hungry fish come calling. Mobulas appear from the depths in packs of hundreds, sometimes thousands. Two feet across, they glide through the water column, funneling krill into their mouths. The mobula inhabits subtropical waters worldwide. Here, they rely on the Sea of Cortez as a mating and feeding ground. These waters are rich with phytoplankton, simple organisms that rely on sunlight to power photosynthesis. Most are too small to be seen with the naked eye, but your life depends on them. Research indicates that phytoplankton produce at least half of the Earth's oxygen, more than every great forest combined. Plankton blooms, draw mobula to the surface, for a feast and a spectacular show. ...holding six feet out of the water. Theories include parasite removal, courtship displays, or scaring food down into the mouths of the pack. Much about this graceful ray remains a mystery, but the demand for their body parts is high. Gill plates are used in Chinese folk medicine. Their cartilage is cheap filler for shark fin soup. At most, females produce one pup a year. Replenishing their ranks may be a losing battle. The island's plankton buffet also draws little filter feeders, sardines, anchovy, and herring. Hatched among the sheltering rocks, they begin schooling within weeks and never stop. They feed, spawn, migrate, and dodge predators en masse. Silver scales reflect sunlight one instant and blue water the next. Individual fish blend into the darting, flashing schools, reducing the chance of being eaten from 30% to nearly 1%. Still, they remain high on the menu for the birds hidden atop these islands. Pelican chicks wait for their parents to return with a fish dinner. Born virtually helpless, they're camouflaged as guano-covered rock. A hungry gull would be glad to snatch one. The pelican may look like a whimsical drawing, a hodgepodge of parts, but it has changed very little in the past 30 million years. As far as evolution is concerned, the pelican was nearly perfect when our ancestors were still living in trees. With a wingspan of nearly seven feet, they glide low over the water, a squadron of dive bombers looking for flashes of silver. Keen-eyed frigate birds and cormorants notice pelicans on the move. They've caught a massive school of herring out in the open. Pelicans are one of only two diving pelicans in the world, plunging from as high as 100 feet in the air. They strike the water with incredible force, stunning fish six feet deep. Air sacs under the bird's skin absorb the shock of the dive like a layer of bubble wrap. Unlike the buoyant pelican, the cormorant is built for deep dives. These ancient birds arose some 70 million years ago. Its ancestors dove the seas of Eurasia when T. rex ruled the land. Dense bones and wettable feathers allow it to swim hundreds of feet on a single breath. The cormorant slices through the water like a submarine, stirring with its tail. They cruise along, target a fish, then hit the gas. The brown pelican was nearly wiped out in the 1970s by the pesticide DDT. Unleashed on the food chain, DDT was delivered to these birds by the herring. Their eggs became fragile, generations crushed by their own parents. Once teetering on the edge of extinction, the brown pelican has fully recovered. Left to its own devices, nature doesn't allow holes in the food web. Every plant and animal is a specialist with a set of tools for survival. Hunters need speed. Ambush predators dress for success. Slow-moving vegetarians grow poisonous spines. If you travel the open water, swim with a buddy or arm yourself with a knife-like barb. In every ecosystem, something sits or swims atop the food chain. Here, it's Carcharodon carcharus. At 18 feet and 4,000 pounds, the great white shark need only fear humans. It is a 400-million-year-old masterpiece of engineering. Its skin isn't slick or slimy. Tiny tooth-like scales cover the shark's body, cutting through the water in ghostly silence. Its sense of smell stands supreme, honing in on an injured fish or sea lion colony miles away. Sensory organs along its body detect minute vibrations in the water. We have five senses. A shark has seven. The great white's list of skills borders on the miraculous. But it's not the only ancient mariner in the Sea of Cortez. Sea turtles are among the greatest endurance swimmers on Earth. Some travel 10,000 miles a year. This green sea turtle has picked up hitchhikers along the way. At five feet and 400 pounds, it's safe from all but the largest sharks or killer whales. There are seven species of marine turtles. Six of them nest on Baja's beaches, returning to the very place they were hatched 50 years earlier. These reptiles were once so abundant, Spanish explorers joked they could walk from island to island without touching the water. Today, only 10% of the world's sea turtles remain. For a thousand times a thousand years and more, Baja has hosted the greatest show on Earth. Comb jelly flashes a rainbow of color, sunlight reflected from the oar-like hairs paddling it through the water. At one time, scientists thought sponges were the oldest life forms. New DNA research suggests comb jellies may have evolved first more than a half billion years ago. The bizarrely beautiful mola mola, or ocean sunfish, is also a voracious jellyfish eater. Mature at 11 feet and 2,000 pounds, they are the heaviest bony fish in the ocean. The mola mola may not win any beauty contests, but it is deceptively powerful. They can launch 10 feet out of the water, knocking parasites off their skin. That whale's song is the most complex in the animal kingdom. Only the males sing, likely looking for a mate. In the right conditions, their ballad can be heard 10,000 miles away. More species of whales migrate to Baja to feed, give birth, or mate than anywhere else on the planet. Creatures here don't just fill a role assigned by nature. They can learn to cooperate. Striped marlin have driven a school of sardine up from the deep, trapping them on the surface. The fish head for shore. Sea lions cut them off at every turn. The carnivores have them surrounded. The sardine's last line of defense is the bait ball, a dazzling vortex of fish. Measuring at 10 feet and 400 pounds, striped marlin can hit 50 miles per hour. Only its cousin, the mighty sailfish, is faster. Marlins circle and plunge into the bait ball, slicing and stunning prey with its bill. This battlefield is more like a ballet. Striking a fellow dancer at top speed could severely injure or kill them both. Choreographed on the fly, the attacks are relentless. The feeding frenzy lasts until the predators are full or the fish slip away. The sardine have escaped, for now. If you can't outrun the hunters, take shelter where you can find it. In open water, a stray piece of sargassum will have to do. Every bait fish in the neighborhood soon begins piling in. Then comes the school of sardine on the run. The roiling, flashing mass is a beacon to every predator in sight. The skipjack tuna circling below make an initial run at the sardine, as if to test their reflexes. The massive bait ball splits in half. The sardine make a break for it, most escaping into the deep. Battered and bruised, they leave a cloud of scales in their wake. Magnificent frigatebirds and seagulls hit the sardines from above, plucking them from the waves. There is no safe haven in these waters. Carnivores are everywhere. Schools of scalloped hammerhead sharks cruise seamounts, extinct volcanoes that didn't quite reach the surface. During the day, they conserve energy by swimming in the zone where rock slows the current. These are night hunters, and built for it. Like other sharks, sensory organs on its head detect electrical fields, finding squid in the dark, or stingrays hidden under sand. Yet even the most powerful shark is all but helpless against its tiniest enemy, parasites. Unchecked, they can infest nearly every organ, inside and out. But the hammerhead has friends among the fish. The sharks glide through cleaning stations, their body language signaling that it's safe to approach. Angel and hogfish pluck parasites from the shark's skin. A moment of symbiosis between predator and prey. These sharks have their own navigation system, a GPS of sorts. Instead of satellites telling them where to go, they follow the Earth's magnetic fields. Year after year, generation after generation, hammerheads swim the same paths through the ocean. And it may be their undoing. Fishermen and poachers can better predict where and when to find them. The scalloped hammerhead is now endangered. Spotted, bottlenose, and common dolphin also enjoy Baja's bounty of herring. These mammals are the most intelligent creatures in the sea. They have signature sounds, or names, to identify fellow pod members. We've known for decades they use echolocation, like bats, to find food and navigate in dark or murky water. But their clicks and whistles are far more complex than we imagined. Recent studies suggest that dolphins don't just see with sound. They create three-dimensional images in their minds and transmit those images to others in the pod. Some dolphins use tools, and some are sushi chefs, carefully cleaning the ink and bone from a cuttlefish before eating it. Millions of years ago, this tower of rock bubbled up from the seafloor as lava. Sea mounds are like an oasis in the desert, offering food and shelter to creatures great and small. For plankton eaters, it's a drive-through window. Just pull up, and the current delivers all you can eat. A hundred species of rays, this is the king of them all, the giant manta. They soar through the water with unparalleled grace. Loops on the side of their head direct plankton-rich water into their mouth. Gill plates capture the good stuff. Giant mantas have no barb. At 22 feet across and 5,000 pounds, they don't need one. Mantas migrate vast distances to seasonal feeding grounds. And like a glamorous movie star, they come with an entourage. Remoras stick to their skin with suction cups, grabbing a free ride and meals. Juvenile fish cruise in the manta's wake for an easy swim across the ocean. These giants of the deep can live for 40 years or more, if we let them. They too are being hunted for their gill plates, livers, and fins. But even the giant manta makes way for a gentle leviathan. At more than 30 feet and 20,000 pounds, whale sharks are the largest fish in the ocean. These filter feeders don't trap food in gill plates. They ram through the water, which flows out of their gills, trapping a ball of plankton in their mouth. And if they find a rich patch of shrimp, soup, or fish eggs, they hover in place and vacuum it up. Baja's biodiversity extends far beyond these volcanic oases, the Sea of Cortez, or its desert landscape. The peninsula's west coast is home to some of nature's crown jewels, three massive lagoons forged by plate tectonics and the Pacific Ocean. 40-ton, 45-foot-long gray whales begin arriving in January to give birth and mate. It's as if mother whales ordered up custom-built nurseries. Extra salty water helps newborns float and swim. And though killer whales hunt calves in open water, they won't enter these shallow lagoons teeming with protective moms. Safe for now, mothers swim their calves back and forth, building up their endurance. The most pristine nursery of all is San Ignacio Lagoon, the last untouched gray whale sanctuary on Earth. Killers discovered San Ignacio in 1860, and it ran red with blood for nearly a century, until hunting gray whales was banned. Today, the lagoon draws whale watchers. With an estimated lifespan of 80 years, this mother may well have seen the slaughter. She interrupts their workout to greet the species that drove hers to the edge of extinction. And if there's any doubt that the whales initiate contact, watch this calf approach each person in turn. Mom says playtime's over. When April comes, they must be ready for the 3,000-mile swim north to Arctic seas. Returning home, gray whales will swim against the California Current. Nearly 3 billion gallons of water flow down North America's west coast every second, carrying nutrients from Alaska to Baja, a dinner bell beckoning the hungry from far and wide. The California Current also feeds great forests of kelp in northern Baja. These aren't plants, but algae. They thrive in cold Pacific waters with plenty of sunshine. And like a woodland forest, it has seasons. Spring winds churn the water, bringing nitrogen and phosphorus up from the deep. With enough sun and fertilizer, these giant kelp can grow two feet a day. Gas-filled bladders hold the towers aloft, some 150 feet tall. Down below, palm kelp thrash about in the current. Red algae makes the most of the dim light. Each is anchored by holdfasts, root-like fingers gripping the rock. Kelp is an ecosystem engineer. Just as a dam-building beaver turns a stream into a pond, kelp creates a complex habitat in open water. A hundred different species of fish and invertebrates can inhabit a single strand. Their shadows draw visitors of every kind, some seeking shelter, others on the hunt. A fried egg jellyfish pulses through the water column. To humans, its sting is mild. But their 20-foot tentacles spell doom for smaller jellies and plankton. And when darkness falls, the forest reveals its secret garden. Nocturnal anemones emerge and carpet the rocks. They wait for fish or shrimp to touch a tentacle. Like a jellyfish, each arm is covered with tiny cells that fire poison-filled darts into prey. It's like getting hit with hundreds of tasers. This anemone has caught a 20-foot-long string of cells, and its neighbor is helping tear it apart. Stunned and paralyzed, the victim is slowly dragged into the anemone's mouth and digested. The anemone garden is about to host an epic invasion. An army is on the move, but they don't intend to make war. Opalescent squid descend on the kelp forest by the hundreds of thousands. They're here to mate. Males latch on to females from behind, their legs flashing crimson. The female builds a capsule of eggs as the male fertilizes them. Her materials, design, and handiwork are ingenious. A sheath of protein protects the eggs from the harsh environment, yet allows water and oxygen to flow. Inside, fungus-killing bacteria flourish, likely preventing deadly infections. When the egg case is built, she anchors it to the sand. It will withstand more than a month of punishing tides and currents. Like salmon, opalescent squid are terminal spawners. They will spend every last ounce of life producing about 20 egg cases. Soon, scavengers will arrive to feast on the dead and dying. But viewed through a squid's eyes, this is a field of victory. Their offspring will hatch in about five weeks and take shelter in the kelp. When winter comes, nutrients and sunlight wane. The algae grows weak and brittle. Storm surges tear down great swaths of the forest. The kelp must wait for spring currents and sunlight to return. The next generation will build its great ocean cathedral. Baja Mexico is one of nature's great experiments. Forged in a frenzy of cracking earth, liquid rock, and pounding ocean, its majestic landscape commands respect. Its vibrant waters defy imagination. Baja bears the scars of human endeavor. But it is a living, breathing reminder of what planet Earth does best. And a promise of what could be.