Wild Korea: Sea Women and Hidden Forests | Full Documentary

Korea, an ancient mountain kingdom. A land divided north and south by conflict. But in the natural world, beyond the battle scars, there is another side to Korea. In the south are pockets of untouched wilderness and fascinating creatures with a deep connection and to each other. A place where nature and mankind have lived in harmony for centuries. This is wild Korea. Korea lies on the eastern edge of Asia. The peninsula is 700 miles long and 150 miles across and is split into two nations. But long before modern conflict divided the land, tectonic plates collided to create a dramatic landscape. More than 60 million years ago, this jagged beast was born. Known as the dinosaur ridge, it still dominates Korea's east. In the central region, lush temperate forests support all manner of life. Further south, these mighty evergreens give way to fertile wetlands and long muddy estuaries mark where the land has surrendered to the sea. The creatures here certainly have their quirks. The same is true for much of Korea's wildlife. The island province of Jeju is home to a resident population of Indo-Pacific bottlenose dolphins. These dolphins have access to thousands of miles of open ocean, but they choose to live here in the bountiful waters around these volcanic islands. Bottlenose dolphins are highly social creatures and live in tight-knit matriarchal pods. Group members communicate almost constantly and each dolphin is identified by its own signature whistle. And they are quick to recognize the presence of any strangers in their territory. Today, their curiosity is piqued by a presence here that is almost as ancient as their own. Dolphins can be wary of divers, but not of this one. She, like them, dives free, exploring the depths on a single breath. The pod have grown up sharing these waves with an all-female free diving community known as the haenyeo, or sea women. The dolphins take an interest as she scours the seabed in search of its natural treasures. They live in harmony as they have done hundreds of years. South Korea is the site of many ancient palaces, the imposing legacy of the powerful dynasties that once ruled here. The palaces of the Choson kings are now home to a family of a different kind, a family of raccoon dogs. Though they are named for their resemblance, they are much more dog than they are raccoon. This opportunistic family have left their usual forest dwelling for the high life of the palace grounds. For the most part, mom, dad, and their three pups live a charmed life. But this is prime property, and there are other rival groups in the area who want in on the action. With young pups in the group, the family's father must be extra vigilant. Raccoon dog dads are known to be particularly protective. At around four months old, pups become more independent and learn to forage for themselves. But hunting insects requires a little practice. Raccoon dogs will eat almost anything, and for an inquisitive pup asking itself, can I eat this? The answer is almost always yes. Tonight, the family smells something extra special on the menu, a swarm of cicada nymphs emerging from the ground. For the next few hours, the family will enjoy a lavish banquet of juicy beetles. It happens during a short window in the summer when hundreds of cicada nymphs emerge en masse. For the raccoon dogs, it's a feast not to be missed. The nymphs have spent five years slowly growing in the soil, but for many, their first moments above ground will be their last. Such rich rewards attract other hungry rivals. A pack of young males from the far side of the palace grounds, they too are eager to have their fill. In his search for more beetles, the usually wary father has strayed into harm's way. He is outnumbered and in real danger. Mother and pups retreat to a safe distance. For them, the risk is too great. Their father escapes. Injured, but fortunate to be alive, his mate tends to his wounds. The palace may provide rich feeding grounds, but such wealth comes at a price. In the commotion, some of the cicadas escape the banquet, and they prepare for one of the greatest transformations in nature. After years of lying in wait, the lucky ones will get their wings. During metamorphosis, they are at their most vulnerable, but up here at least, they are safe from the hungry pups. They will devote the last chapter of their life, just one month, to finding a mate. Whilst the palace has held on tightly to its history, its surroundings have been transformed into the fast-paced city that is Seoul. It is easy to see why the raccoon dogs seek refuge behind the palace wall, but in the more remote parts of South Korea, there are places where humans and nature coexist in perfect harmony, like the island of Marado in Jeju province. Beyond the cliffs and caves, there's a small community. The haenyeo, or sea women, as they are known here. Today, they are preparing for an important dive. It's an all-female workforce. There are males on the island too, but in Jeju province, the sisterhood drives the local economy. There are few divers under the age of 50. Anyone under 70 is considered youthful. At this time of year, the waters here provide an abundant crop of conch, a highly valuable mollusk. The haenyeo only harvest the conch for their meat after the breeding season to ensure the harvest remains sustainable. Joon Jong Kim is captain. She decides if it's safe to dive. Wolsoo Ra is the oldest living haenyeo. In fact, she is the oldest diver anywhere in the world. She is now 94 years old. The captain has decided they will dive. Conditions are not ideal, but the potential reward is worth the risk. An experienced haenyeo can dive to depths of 20 meters and hold her breath for more than two minutes. But this places significant stresses on the body. There is a very real risk of blackout as the haenyeo repeatedly travel between the surface and the seabed. This is a profitable business. They may collect up to 50 kilos of conch at a time. As they dive, their heart rate slows. Blood is shifted from the extremities to their core, increasing the availability of oxygen. The haenyeo benefit from this adaptation to enable them to keep working on their long, cold dives. But it's exhausting, even for the younger divers. She may not be able to hold her breath for as long as she once did, but at 94, Wolsoo Ra is still capable of diving all day. The women work together against a rising tide. The waters here are changeable, and the longer they stay, the greater the risk. But with the season short, the women must persist. They will reap the harvest while it is there. Sunshine Bay on the southern coast. Each day, the tidal waters retreat to reveal over eight square miles of thick mud, a unique habitat that's neither land nor sea. Only recently has the ecological value of mudflats been recognized. A staggering 50% of the Earth's oxygen is produced by phytoplankton, microscopic algae that are found here in great abundance. They are known locally as the lungs of the Earth. Plankton is far from the only life here. The mud of the bay is rich in nutrients and supports one of the most diverse ecosystems in Korea. Over 200 species of crab and even greater numbers of fish make their home here. Mudskippers are the misfits of the aquatic world. They spend almost as much time out of the water as they do in it. And that's possible as long as they remain moist, allowing them to absorb oxygen through their skin. They have other adaptations too for living on land. Modified fins allow them to walk and jump. There are several different species of mudskipper here. Shuttle's hawkfish is amongst the smallest. This male is just five centimeters long and has only just reached sexual maturity. Now this handsome young hopeful must find himself a mate. The mudflats are rife with predators and rivals. He'll have to run a dating gauntlet. That means dodging aggressive males while seeking out a single female. If he fails to impress, contrary to popular belief, there are not plenty more fish in the sea. Still there's nothing like a challenge to focus the mind. His first hurdle, finding a single lady. After that, by far his biggest challenge is persuading her that he's the one. 70 miles north is the Upo, the largest natural swampland in South Korea. This ancient wetland has a history of 140 million years and being home to many rare species, it's a protected conservation zone. In summer, much of Upo is carpeted with lilies. One of the most prolific is the ancient and aptly named prickly water lily. The jacana bird has developed exceptionally long toes to spread its weight across the thin lilies and create a bridge above the spikes. Even for the jacana, it takes a little practice, but their reward is an abundance of insect life on the surface of the water. As night falls over the wetlands, another type of predator takes their place on the lilies, a raft spider. For an ambush predator, location is everything. Therefore, he positions herself where the traffic is busiest. Highly sensitive to vibrations, these spiders can detect potential prey beneath the surface of the water, but this is no ordinary insect-eating spider. It has bigger fish to fry. She's poised, ready to strike. The first attempt fails, and the prey escapes. Patience, however, is the fisherman's best weapon. She bides her time. Success. The spider immediately sinks its hollow fangs into the prey to deliver a lethal dose of venom, and it's over within a matter of moments. 20 miles away is Chunam Reservoir, the site of one of Korea's most spectacular natural events. A cloud of baikal teal, all soaring in perfect unison. Chunam Reservoir is the largest migratory bird sanctuary in South Korea. The lake never freezes, making it a perfect winter stopover for many migrating birds. Each year, around a million of these water birds arrive in Korea. They migrate from eastern Siberia in search of warmer climes, in dense formations, wingtip to wingtip. This hypnotic spectacle has earned these visitors a unique place in the heart of Korean culture. In this part of the world, many birds are seen as sacred. One of the most revered species lives in the mountainous forests of central Korea. Amongst the dense woodland, an ancient tradition endures. That of the falconer. Park Yong-sun has recently captured a goshawk from the wild, and is crafting a sijimi. Equipment like this cannot be bought. Each falconer must learn to craft his own. It's a part of the tradition. The feather and bell help falconer Park to track his bird, and the bullhorn tag shows that the bird belongs to him, at least for now. Goshawks are as individual as we are. Some are nervous, others are stubborn. So the falconer must learn to tailor his approach. More than anything, falconry requires trust. Park Yong-sun has spent many, many hours with this hawk to build that bond. But however strong their connection, it is also fleeting. The most important tradition of Korean falconry is that the falconers do not keep their birds for life. They accept that a hawk is wild, and can never be fully tamed. The goshawk has short, wide wings, allowing it to pass through gaps at speeds of up to 40 miles an hour, and a long, rudder-like tail for sharp turns. That makes it an extremely agile hunter. In Sancheon Bay, it's the mating season for mudskippers, and the young male is still searching for a suitable mate. With so much competition, it appears the odds are stacked against him. In his quest, he must cross open water to reach a potential mating site on the far side. He skips as fast as he can. There are predators in these waters. He makes it across, but is not yet completely out of harm's way. Other species of mudskippers can be territorial. Some are highly aggressive, like the much larger blue-spotted variety. He wisely moves on. Eventually, the young male spots a patch he likes the look of. Far fewer rivals. This will do very nicely. A single lady. Now, just a small matter of his courtship dance. He gives her his best wiggle. She seems unimpressed, but he shuffles a little closer and tries again. How could she resist those eyes? She's much larger, so this is very much her decision to make. But just when it looks like the young male's luck has run out, she appears to have a change of heart. He sucks her face, and she's not completely put off. The pairing has been agreed, but the next stage won't happen in front of an audience. Their mating will take place below ground, away from prying eyes, and safely inside a mud burrow. Traveling north from the mudflats of Sunchon is a very different environment. Sixty percent of South Korea is forested, and much of its biodiversity is found in these ecosystems. This peculiar-looking hunter is a beetle larva. It's following a trail across the forest floor. A slime trail left by its intended prey. The hapless marsh snail produces a foaming mucus in an attempt to confuse its attacker. The larva injects paralyzing digestive fluids directly into the snail and begins to feed. It may seem like one of nature's cruel battles, but the beetle must feed to fulfill its role in life. The nutrients it has gained will help its transformation. Bioluminescent chemicals in its abdomen begin to glow. It is a firefly larva, and once freed from its casing, it lights up the dark skies. A spectacle South Korea is renowned for. It is one of the most magical of natural sights. Back in the southern province of Jeju, the conch season is drawing to a close. For many years, the island was known as kundo, or forbidden, because of the treacherous conditions here. The sea is rough, but the haenyeo have been diving all day. There is still an abundance of conch to collect. They are highly sensitive to any change in the underwater currents. Even a small change down here can signal life-threatening conditions. Are tenacious. And today, despite the increasing risk, they decide to stay in the water. But now they must work quickly. Finally, with their nets filled, they decide their work is done. Exhausted from hours of diving, they are vulnerable. Until they reach the shore, the dangers persist. Having lost one of their number last year, the women know all too well the cost of making a mistake now. With a final effort, they drag their heavy nets out of the water. All that remains now is to weigh the day's catch. The signs are good. The harvest has been a successful one. The conch collected today will support these women and their families. The risks that they have taken have paid off, but the day has taken its toll, more so for some than others. The haenyeo will return to dive again, but perhaps not all of them. While Su Ra has worked in the waters of Marado for 80 years, sharing them with the others that live here, she hopes that the knowledge she has gained will be passed on and that the haenyeo culture will continue to prosper here, existing in harmony with the seas. The traditional ways of life that endure in Korea today remind us that people have thrived in the forests and mountains for millennia, living harmoniously with the natural world and its many fascinating inhabitants. In Korea today, as in much of the developed world, things are changing quickly, but wild Korea still has its treasures and its place in the country's heart.