How Caribou Brave the Arctic Winter _ Animal Empires 105

Twice each year, in Canada's frigid north, millions of caribou embark on an epic journey. The largest mass migration of any mammal walking the earth. On the California coastline, massive elephant seals meet to breed and battle after months at sea. Monarch butterflies flutter thousands of kilometers in a multi-generational marathon. These creatures survive incredible migrations, overcoming deadly obstacles, crossing oceans and continents to ensure the future of the species. Inside the different realms of the wild kingdom, members of a single species assemble in droves. One flock, herd or troop reigns supreme. These are the world's great animal empires. Nunavik, the most northern reaches of the Canadian province of Quebec. This is the tundra, a wild, empty expanse of land. But it won't be empty for long. It's late August, a restless time here. This caribou is heading south, sometimes called reindeer in other parts of the world. Caribou got their name from a Mi'kmaq First Nations word meaning one who paws at the ground. They scrape the ground with their hooves to dig up lichens that comprise the bulk of the caribou's diet. He stands one and a half meters tall at the shoulder, the third largest member of the deer family. He spent the past five months in the farthest northern reaches of his range. But as the days grow shorter, it's time to move on to sparse forests called taiga, a thousand kilometers south where he will spend the winter. And he's not alone. This is the Leaf River Herd. It's an animal empire on the move. The largest caribou herd in North America, estimated at 330,000 animals. The herd marches in long strands, stretching for kilometers on wide expanses of open land, coming together at narrow passes and obstacles. And the Leaf River Herd is only one of many. Millions of caribou migrating to cross the tundra each spring and autumn. The greatest land migration on Earth. Caribou are an important cultural and dietary keystone to the people of the North. One Inuit story says the first woman on Earth dug a hole in the ice to fish. From the hole, she pulled every animal in the world. The last to come was the caribou. She ordered the caribou to multiply. Soon, they covered the land. Enough caribou to feed all of mankind. Unlike other deer, both male and female caribou can grow antlers. But only some does grow them, and they're proportionately small compared to most deer. The males are much larger for jousting with other bucks. Only the moose can boast a more impressive rack. Three months ago in spring, the Leaf River Herd moved north. The females led the migration, searching for the perfect place to have their babies far away from forest predators like wolves. Now, as winter closes in, food in the north is becoming scarce. They've got to move. They'll be bringing a new generation with them. There's not much time to grow up. At just two weeks old, these fawns must struggle through their first southern migration. With Junior in tow, the return will be far more dangerous and slow going. The tree line is hundreds of kilometers away. The survival of the empire depends on the females' ability to get their young back to the forest alive before winter. Each day presents mortal danger. Death could come in the form of a broken leg or a prowling bear. Or it could be something even bigger, like a river. In northern Quebec, the Leaf River Caribou Herd's migration meanders through the village of Kangersouk. The herd's route changes every year, but the migration dates back millennia, before there were any towns here at all. It wasn't long ago that people here lived out on the land, following and hunting the herd. Towns were built in the mid-20th century, and the nomadic way of life came to an end for most. But the north is changing once again. Caribou herds are shrinking everywhere. The Leaf River Herd is the largest left in North America. Even their numbers are down more than a third in recent years. The nearby George River Herd used to number nearly a million. But in just two decades, the population collapsed by 98%. From 800,000 caribou to just 15,000 today. Nobody is sure why the herds are shrinking. The likely cause is a combination of commercial hunting, industrial development, disease and deforestation. In response, the Inuit have suspended their hunt in the past few years. It's the first time anyone can remember that the Inuit haven't hunted the George River Caribou. Caribou are uniquely specialized to survive here in the north. The short, hollow hairs of their outer coat provide insulation against the cold. Their entire body, even their muzzle, is fully furred. Their long legs and huge stride cover massive expanses of ground. Even as babies, caribou are born to run. At just one day old, a caribou fawn can outrun an Olympic sprinter. These fawns are just two weeks old and well into their first migration south. Mother and baby form a bond from birth and recognize each other by sight, sound and smell. The fawns stay by their mother's side as much as possible through the journey. The route isn't easy. The ancient paths lead to a place where the open tundra tumbles down a massive rock face. The yawning valley of the Payne River divides the landscape. In open plains, the herd splits into smaller groups, sticking mostly with members of their own gender, in gatherings of a few dozen to a few hundred. But here, there's just one safe path from the highest elevation down to the riverbank. This is a bottleneck in the migration. One by one, the herd trickles down the hillside like a mountain stream. A river blocks their path. Rivers can be more dangerous than any predator. Hundreds of caribou die attempting these crossings every year. It will take three full days for the entire herd to cross this river. Instincts in their stomachs drive them on. For more UN videos visit www.un.org