Narrator: On the map of North America,
the Mississippi river and the Rocky mountains
roughly divide the continent into three parts.
Before civilization made its mark on the land,
all the territory east of the great river
was virgin forest and rolling meadow.
West of the rockies lay pine woods,
rugged peaks, and barren desert.
And down the middle of the continent
stretched a broad, treeless plain,
the American prairie.
Through all this vast area
flowed a network of streams and rivers,
making it an immense grassland,
green and flourishing.
On this sea of grass
the pioneers launched their white-topped prairie schooners.
Their destination was Oregon, and the route they followed
took them across the entire width of the trackless plain.
Under broad, blue skies,
they pushed off toward the far horizon
into the great unknown.
It was an incredible journey
where distances were measured in months instead of miles.
Now and again, a timeless landmark would rise abruptly
to break the monotony of the prairie scene.
Such was courthouse rock.
Against the evening sky,
the silhouette of chimney rock was unmistakable.
But between the scattered guideposts,
there was always the prairie
days of prairie.
Weeks of prairie.
Then after two months of weary travel,
Scotts Bluff, 500 miles from home.
Yet the journey was just beginning.
The sight of a prairie river cutting through the grassland
was always a welcome relief.
Here the pioneer and his trail-worn oxen
refreshed themselves in the silvery waters.
A thousand miles out stood independence rock.
This was the halfway mark --
The point of no return.
Another in the long succession of milestones was Devil's Gate.
Beyond, the continental divide.
And beyond that, Oregon and journey's end.
Here and there, deep-grooved in the face of the prairie,
some of the old wagon trails still remain
to mark the passing of an era.
But long before the wagon trains rolled west
toward the setting sun,
it was the Red man who claimed this vast domain as his own.
To him it was a land of plenty.
And in his primitive way, he kept a record
of the abundance nature gave him.
He tells of tatanka, the buffalo,
who roamed the prairie in numbers beyond counting,
providing hides for his tepee,
meat for his campfire, sinew for his bow.
And of the fleet tahincha sandla, the antelope.
And kichiwaboose, the rabbit.
He speaks of the little dog who barks, the prairie dog,
his friend and neighbor.
And there was a legion of others, furred and feathered.
Some the Indian held in awe and reverence,
and some he hunted to survive.
For this was his paradise to use as he chose --
His happy hunting ground created on earth.
But all this was only yesterday.
There was an earlier time,
a time without record or remembrance,
when nature alone held dominion over the prairie realm.
Of the teeming millions of wild creatures
that thrived in that bygone day,
only a few scattered remnants survive.
Still, it's enough for us to gain a glimpse of the past
and, for a little while in this true-life adventure,
recreate the wondrous pageant that was nature's prairie.
It's a day in early spring.
And high above the grassland along the ancient flyways,
the home-coming birds wheel and turn
in a processional of the sky.
[ squawks ]
Some of these migratory birds will merely pause here
on their way to the Arctic tundra.
Others will stay over for the season
and make the prairie marsh their nesting grounds.
[ chirping ]
The ducks are among the first to arrive.
With careless grace they swoop down
for a routine landing on the placid waters,
but soon find this is a trip that ends in slip.
These early birds were a little too early.
Most of the ponds are thawed, however,
and latecomers make a more dignified arrival.
To these marshes come fowl of every description.
Wild geese, many species of ducks,
cranes, grebes, and swans
all join in a light-hearted hubbub of gossip and chatter.
Once the greetings are over, the birds begin to regroup
and pair off for the spring courtships.
Each species follows its own peculiar mating ritual.
But year in, year out,
the weird wooing of the western grebes
is always an outstanding performance.
When the time comes for homemaking,
the red-necked grebe builds a floating nest
with the pond as a protective moat.
This year, as usual, the grebes face a predicament.
Since hatching occurs at odd intervals,
they have the double problem of incubating their eggs
and feeding their chicks at the same time.
Still, they have a system.
They simply divide their duties.
And while mother sits on the nest,
father takes care of the food supply.
Or sometimes it's vice versa.
At the home of the pied-billed grebes,
it's father who's presiding
over the unhatched half of the family.
Like most males, he's rather careless about domestic chores
and wanders off with an egg
still clamped in his chest feathers.
Well, that's typical.
Perhaps if he had to lay these eggs, he'd be more careful.
Mother makes a hurried check.
One, two, thr-- Oh, here we are.
"I declare, these husbands,
always leaving things for someone else to pick up."
Among the vanishing species,
the whooping cranes are nearest to total extinction.
Only a few dozen of these birds are known to exist.
Contributing to their decline
is the fact that they lay only one egg a year.
Each mating season,
in keeping with their physical grace and beauty,
they perform a stately dance.
Their relatives, the sandhill cranes,
add an extra gesture to the family dance,
for the male, in a burst of enthusiasm,
tosses a beakful of twigs into the air
to express his admiration for his lady.
For some reason, this sets her all a-dither,
and soon they're both walking on air.
[ chirping, drumming ]
When the grouse goes a-wooing, it's usually early morning,
and his soulful serenade can be heard from miles around.
[ chirping, drumming continue ]
This is the male sage grouse.
[ chirping, drumming ]
To create this odd effect,
he expels air from the chambers on his neck.
[ cooing ]
The trysting place of the prairie chicken
is called a booming ground,
and he sounds often much the same manner.
[ cooing ]
and so does the sharptail.
[ cooing ]
The Indian knew the grouse as mush koudasa,
and in his tribal dances
he imitated these eccentric rhythms.
The symbol of the vanishing prairie is the buffalo.
And yet there was a time within the memory of man
when 60 million and more grazed on the open range,
literally blackening the plain.
But with civilization came a wave of destruction,
and now only a few remnant bands remain.
But each spring with the new grass,
there comes a time of hope,
for the grass means good pasture,
and each season another generation.
The arrival of a buffalo calf is always an important event,
another guarantee that the species will survive.
Instinctively, the cows seem to understand this,
for their newborn receive the best of maternal care.
It's an event as old as time, yet always new --
The mysterious moment of birth.
And here is the actual drama --
the coming into the world of a buffalo calf.
This is a time of suspense,
this bringing into being of a new life,
for the calf is helpless during the first few seconds.
His fate hinges on his mother's immediate response
to ancient instincts.
As quickly as possible,
she must remove the membrane masking his face,
or the calf will suffocate.
Instinctively, she consumes the tissue for two reasons --
Because there must remain no vestige
of this scene to attract predators,
and since the tissue helps induce her milk supply,
it becomes a direct benefit to her calf.
Next she stimulates circulation with a vigorous massage.
In these next few seconds lie the delicate balance
between life and death.
Should the calf live, he must be healthy and strong,
for the herd will not tolerate cripples or weaklings.
At last, mother's devotion has its reward.
Her baby will live.
Now, let's see.
Four legs, two ears, one head.
Why, he's a perfect baby. No need to worry about him.
Within minutes after his birth,
the youngster begins to shift for himself.
Like all new babies, he's born hungry.
But before he can nurse, he has to stand.
And first he must concentrate
on getting these wobbly legs under control.
In the process, he discovers
that life has its ups and downs.
He needs lots of encouragement, and he gets it.
Indeed all the mothers in the neighborhood
seem anxious to help a new baby.
A few more wobbles and he makes it.
But all this effort has left him
badly in need of nourishment.
He knows by instinct that he must nurse.
But the question is, "where"?
He begins by attacking the problem wrong-end, too.
Then he tries the right end of the wrong mother.
This is downright discouraging.
Wonder how a fellow gets his breakfast around here?
Oh, so that's how it's done.
And so with a little cooperation from mother,
he takes his first meal.
When the calves are strong enough,
the herd moves on.
As they travel from river to river,
from waterhole to waterhole,
the buffalo use the same trails over and over again.
Centuries later, when man "the invader" came,
these were the indelible trails
that guided him in his search for water.
Vanishing, too, from the prairie scene
are the great herds of pronghorn antelope
that once made the grassland their home.
Native to the American plain,
the pronghorn can be found nowhere else.
Graceful, agile, fleet of foot,
they can outrun the fastest horse.
To protect himself
from the relentless advance of civilization,
the bighorn sheep literally took to the hills.
And when he deserted his ancestral range on the prairie,
he developed an uncanny skill
in adapting himself to his new home.
The bighorn is a true mountaineer.
Even the lambs seem to defy gravity
as they scale the sheerest cliff.
Here in his rocky outpost on the continental divide,
the bighorn sheep makes his last stand.
This inaccessible high country is the final stronghold
of another vanishing species, the mountain lion.
He plays an unexpected but legitimate part
in the prairie pageant,
for there was a time when he roamed
far and wide over the plain.
Now he's the wanderer of the hills,
never staying long in any one place.
Sometimes the range of a single animal
will cover several hundred square miles.
He has many names --
puma, panther, catamount, cougar.
But the more common name, mountain lion,
perhaps fits him best.
In some localities, he wears the brand of outlaw.
But nature labels no creature either good or bad.
To her, all are equal
and must be given an equal chance to survive.
The cat family faces the same problems as all the others --
Self-preservation and protection of the young.
The den offers only temporary shelter to the kittens,
for they're born nomads,
and soon forsake their birthplace
to follow the mother on her travels.
The female, devoted to her young,
rarely leaves them unguarded.
But now and then she must make a hunting trip
to provide the family with food.
The mature lion is a marvel of coordination and power --
200 pounds of sinew and muscle.
Here is animal grace unsurpassed.
In spite of her prowess, however,
the mountain lion must work hard
at her role of family provider.
Nothing comes easy, even for her.
The mountain lion kills for one reason --
That she and her young may live.
And a deer passing through her territory
must reckon with her need.
The deer, sensing this is dangerous ground,
treads lightly.
The cat always tries to move in close
so the chase will be short.
Now the deer catches the scent,
but for a split second hesitates.
A fatal mistake,
for the lion can close the final ground
with amazing speed.
To the kittens watching nearby,
this is an object lesson in the technique of the hunt.
Someday they must learn to do this for themselves.
And now that the youngsters
have begun their training period,
mother will spend much of her time
schooling them in the art of survival.
Here she makes them understand that dinner is waiting
and leads them toward the kill.
Since mountain lions have no permanent home,
the family will settle near the food supply
for as long as it lasts and then move on.
When all have had their fill,
the mother cat covers the remainder,
saving it for another meal,
for the lion is by no means a bloodthirsty marauder.
As long as there's food at hand,
she will not kill again.
Kittens are kittens, whatever the kind,
and young mountain lions have all the usual traits
of the cat family.
Oftentimes during school hours, mother will call recess
to let them have their moments of play.
Naturally, one of their favorite pastimes
is tree climbing.
Mother leaps to the rescue.
But just a shake-up.
No harm done.
Until the kittens lose their spots,
their badge of babyhood,
mother will continue to fuss and worry over them.
But the time comes when mother cuts the apron strings
and the youngsters are put on their own.
The newfound freedom often begins with a frolic.
[ frog croaks ]
Actually, they're entering
the most trying period of their lives,
for they soon discover that food, any food,
isn't easy to come by.
Like all cats, they have an inborn distaste for water.
But a fish dinner isn't to be sneezed at.
So they wade right in.
Luckily, they've picked the spawning season.
And as the fish work their way through the shallows,
the young anglers manage to snag a meal.
In the art of hunting,
these youngsters still have much to learn.
At this stage of the game, they'll chase anything,
even a squirrel.
Now, it obviously takes a good cat
to outclimb a squirrel on his home grounds.
In fact, it takes much better cats than these
to even stay in a tree.
Like some tawny ghost,
the mountain lion patrols her range.
In all the wild,
no other creature moves with such silent grace.
Her keen sense of sight and smell
keep her sharply aware of all that surrounds her.
Now, directly in her path, a newborn fawn lies hidden.
Sensing his peril,
he knows by instinct he must lie perfectly still.
And nature has given him another defense.
His spotted coat is a natural camouflage
that makes him almost invisible in the thick foliage.
The lion knows there's something somewhere nearby.
But as yet, she can't see it.
She watches for a telltale stir,
listens for the slightest sound.
But the fawn stays put.
Finally, the lion decides it was all a mistake and moves on.
A puzzle in this game of life and death
is the fact that the lion never caught the fawn's scent.
But this is still another way nature protects her young.
At this age, the fawn has no scent to give it away.
In nature, breathless moments and narrow escapes
are all part of the daily routine.
Sometimes there are tragic endings.
But just as often there's a happy reunion,
and danger past is soon forgotten.
In contrast to the many footloose animals
that wander far and wide over the plain,
the prairie dogs are permanent settlers --
The original homesteaders.
They build whole cities underground,
and every spot of newly turned earth
means another family residence.
Once these subterranean towns honeycombed the plain
for hundreds of square miles,
and the population was counted in the millions.
Cousin of the ground squirrel,
these little rodents have a doglike habit of barking.
[ high-pitched barking ]
Thus, the name prairie dog.
With each family, the maintenance of the underground home
is a matter of constant concern.
They practically never stop digging
but are forever building new burrows or repairing old ones.
In their diligence, there's always a design,
for each project is carefully planned.
A major item is the floodproof dike
that surrounds each entrance.
This protective collar of earth is quite an engineering feat,
where a fellow has to use his head.
Tamping the dirt firmly in place
gives it strength and permanence.
Then there's grass to be gathered --
Lining for the underground bedrooms,
for there's no denying
that a prairie dog loves his comfort.
This is his home and his haven --
Protection from his enemies,
refuge from the rigors of winter.
Here his young are born,
and sometimes the nursery gets a little crowded.
Still, there's always a quiet corner
where little sleepyheads can catch their 40 winks.
[ light snoring ]
By this time, however, most of the youngsters
have heard spring's alarm clock
and are bubbling over with animal energy.
About six weeks old now,
they've yet to see the strange world upstairs,
and they're curious.
The burrow is a maze of complicated passageways,
intersections, entrances, and exits.
It practically takes a prairie-dog road map
to find one's way around.
Hmm. Dead end.
Well, back to the crossroads.
"Hey, mom, which way is up?"
Mother's planned an outing for today,
so it's everybody upstairs for the first trip above ground.
All ready? Let's go!
Gangway!
One side, please.
Oops! Sorry.
[ barking ]
and so out they come
into the bright, new world of fresh air and sunshine.
Soon it's time for a picnic lunch,
and what a lunch --
All kinds of new and exciting flavors.
Actually, mother's weaned them
in preparation for this diet of greens,
and they take to it with gusto.
Suddenly, they make an incredible discovery.
There are other things in the world besides prairie dogs.
A family of cottontails has moved in next door.
When the new neighbor has a little trouble washing his face,
the youngsters are only too glad to help.
As a rule, the prairie dog is friendly and peace-loving.
But like all homesteaders, once he stakes out a claim,
he jealously guards it against trespassers.
Sometimes it's another prairie dog
from a nearby colony.
In these skirmishes,
the home guard is usually victorious.
But there are other trespassers not so easily discouraged.
And from one day to another,
the prairie dog never knows who they will be.
Today it's a family of burrowing owls.
They've moved into the community
to take over an abandoned burrow.
Here, in this ready-made lodging,
they raise their young.
As fledglings, the owls are still earthbound,
so this becomes a sort of proving ground
where they spend hours learning to fly.
Sometimes it's a question of whether the premises
were truly abandoned by the original owner.
[ chattering ]
It's the age-old argument
of the homesteaders versus the claim-jumpers.
[ chattering ]
So far, it's a standoff.
But when mother owl arrives,
the issue is settled once and for all...
In favor of squatter's rights.
Along with the burrowing owls comes another intruder --
The rattlesnake.
[ rattling ]
all creatures seem to fear the rattler instinctively.
And, young as they are,
the owls sense he's not to be trusted.
[ hooting ]
The birds are relatively safe, however,
for the snake much prefers a diet of rodents --
A gopher or perhaps a baby prairie dog.
It's a wise mother who keeps a close watch over her brood.
If the reptile moves in too close,
she tries to head him off.
[ barking ]
[ rattling ]
To protect her young, she'll face anything.
[ barking ]
Out here in the open, the rattler is on borrowed time.
He can't stand too much direct sun.
Soon he's forced to call it quits and look for shade.
And whenever he moves in,
another prairie dog is dispossessed.
[ rattling ]
[ rattling continues ]
Favorite prey of the rattlesnake
is the pocket gopher.
To protect himself, the little rodent
rarely travels on the surface of the ground
but feels much safer when he's dug in.
The young prairie dogs aren't aware
that he's a chronic worrier
and try to strike up an acquaintance.
They soon discover he's decidedly antisocial.
Once the tunnel entrance is properly plugged,
he's free to go below.
But this time, he loses his bearings
and blunders into the prairie-dog tunnel.
"I say, don't remember digging this."
When the tenant on the floor below
discovers his roof is leaking dirt,
he starts to tidy up.
"Easy there, partner. These are private diggings."
It's the unhappy fate of the prairie dog
to be forever plagued with just about everything
that walks or flies, creeps or crawls.
Indeed, he's become a vanishing species
simply because so many predators make a career of pursuing him.
Worst of all is the black-footed ferret.
A relative of the weasel,
this is another species fast disappearing
from the american scene.
Nature designed this animal for hunting underground.
Thus, he's a particular threat to prairie dogs.
He can follow the twists and turns
of even the most elaborate burrow with no trouble at all.
Still, the chase is always a guessing game
with every crossroad another dilemma.
Sometimes when the quarry heads for the attic,
his pursuer decides to look in the cellar.
And in the confusion, the frantic ferret is apt to find himself
right back where he started from.
Among the prairie dwellers,
the coyote stands out as a figure familiar to all.
Theirs is a rugged life, especially for a mother.
Providing food for her young is a full-time job.
For the pups, the problems of the hunt are of small concern.
They let mother do the worrying
while they pass the day in odd coyote contests
such as "Who can sit on the ants the longest?"
[ barking ]
of course, all this exercise
leads to bigger and better appetites,
and mother is continually forced to redouble
her efforts in the field.
The coyote hunts mostly small rodents,
including prairie dogs.
It takes some doing, however,
to break through their elaborate alarm system.
[ barking and whistling ]
It isn't often that a prairie dog is taken by surprise.
[ barks ]
These near misses are an old story to the coyote.
But with all her patience,
she's quick to take advantage of any opportunity.
And sometimes, quite by accident,
the badger becomes her accomplice.
This is the female badger,
and she, too, is a persistent hunter of prairie dogs.
Powerful in build, with feet designed for digging,
she could make short work of a burrow with one exit.
So the farsighted prairie dog
always provides his home with several exits.
While the badger is devoting her efforts to one hole,
the prairie dog's apt to be calmly watching from another.
But too much self-confidence can be dangerous.
Now the coyote's strategy pays off.
Still, cornering a prairie dog and catching him
are two different things.
Moreover, the rodent's razor-sharp teeth
are formidable weapons,
enough to make even a coyote pause.
He may be small in size,
but there's no limit to his courage,
especially when it's a fight for life.
The coyote tries to outmaneuver him, catch him from behind,
but the wily prairie dog always faces the danger.
For the coyote, it's just another one that got away.
All part of the day's work.
Since she always hunts on a percentage basis --
So many failures for each success --
The coyote's willing to take her chances
with just about anything that comes along.
Given half a start, she'll even take on a jack rabbit.
Finally, with further pursuit sheer folly,
the coyote gives up the chase.
But this was one Miss too many, even for a coyote.
And when she happens upon an ancient enemy,
she's in a proper mood for trouble.
Members of the dog family
share an intense dislike for reptiles.
The coyote's no exception.
She considers the elimination of a rattlesnake
both a duty and a pleasure.
The snake is quick,
but he can't see movement directly behind his head.
The coyote keeps darting in, aiming for the blind spot.
Then one quick, short snap, and it's over.
Still, there's no use taking chances,
so she adds a few more nips and a flip just for good measure.
Meanwhile, the badger's still hard at work
trying to dig out that pesky prairie dog.
By this time, she's attracted quite a group of spectators.
Now it looks like the digging crew is going to be doubled.
But the newcomer proves to be a moonstruck male
bent more on romance than hard work.
One look at this burrowing beauty is all he needs.
He falls in love head over heels.
To take her mind off her work, he invites her for a stroll.
She quickly agrees.
After all, you can dig for prairie dogs any day.
And now, for the prairie dogs, comes a rare moment.
Peace and quiet settles over their home on the range.
It's a time for rejoicing.
[ whistling ]
On the sidelines,
the prairie falcon seems to have an ear for music.
Or maybe it's an eye for a meal.
[ whistling continues ]
In any case, when he takes to the air,
the concert's automatically over.
"Now it's down the hatch, everybody.
This bird means business."
On silent wings, the falcon hovers -- waiting.
And sure enough, there's always somebody
just a little more curious than cautious.
"All right, mister, just try that once more.
The -- oop!"
For the most part, the prairie dog does a good job
of protecting his home and family against all comers.
But when he has to contend with a herd of buffalo,
he's ready to admit he's at a slight disadvantage.
The buffalo like to wallow in soft earth.
The pile of dirt around a prairie-dog burrow
is just made to order.
This bothersome habit not only flattens his protective dike.
Sometimes it nearly flattens the prairie dog.
Finally, the prairie dog loses all patience
and determines to drive the monsters out by force.
When this fails, he resorts to a war of words.
[ barking ]
But it's no use.
You just can't insult a buffalo.
In nature's range wars,
the prairie dog is so often a contender,
he rarely gets a chance to be a spectator.
But in midsummer, during the buffalo mating season,
he has a ringside seat
for the heavyweight battle of the bulls.
[ bellowing ]
[ bellowing continues ]
Two tons of bone and muscle meet head-on.
[ snorting and grunting ]
The objective here is to catch an opponent
on the downhill slant,
then hurl him to the ground and gore him.
This is the age-old struggle for survival on an epic scale,
and now nature supplies a fitting accompaniment.
[ thunder crashing ]
The sound of the summer storm is the one thing
that strikes terror into the heart of the buffalo.
Lightning lashes the parched plain.
The prairie, like a giant tinderbox,
bursts into roaring flame.
[ crackling ]
In blind panic, a rabbit runs straight into the wall of fire
and, by some miracle, emerges singed but safe.
At the prairie-dog colony,
the burrow itself acts as a natural firebreak.
But there are others not so fortunate.
For them, there's only one place of refuge --
A prairie pond.
But wherever nature sets the spark,
she can always quench the flame.
Now she opens her floodgates
and drenches the prairie with a driving cloudburst.
Her remedy is effective but harsh,
for down the barren slopes,
rivulets begin to broaden and spread.
The gullies fill to overflowing.
And soon, all across the prairie
the deluge rolls on unchecked.
At first, the rains were welcome,
but now they become another catastrophe.
And yet, as always, nature endows her creatures
with the ability to meet any crisis and survive.
In this case, one must simply know how to swim.
It's an accomplishment nature gives all her species.
When their life depends on it,
even confirmed landlubbers manage to keep afloat.
When the rising flood reaches the prairie-dog town,
it seeks out the burrows built in the low places.
Then, throughout the colony,
wherever a family has failed to make a dike,
the water attacks the unprotected homes.
It's a hard decision to make, leaving the old homestead,
but they have no choice.
Nature has decreed a change.
They must build their homes somewhere else.
Some of the diehards need a lot of convincing.
But eventually, wetter and wiser,
they strike out for higher ground.
And so, on nature's prairie, everything has its place,
even catastrophe and disaster.
And the raging flood is as much a part of her mysterious plan
as the wind and the grass
and the howling of the coyotes at a prairie moon.
[ howling ]
In the high country
that lies along the fringe of the prairie,
[ cracking ] a strange sound ricochets from peak to peak
and signals the last act in nature's drama.
It's the rutting season of the bighorn sheep.
[ crack ]
Here on these wintry slopes
occur the strangest of all mating combats --
The resident rhapsody of the battering rams.
[ crack echoing ]
And now from out of the misty past,
the pendulum of time swings back again to the present,
where the prairie of the pioneer and the Indian
lives only on the pages of history.
But nature's prairie, in part at least,
still survives.
The buffalo still plods the primeval plain.
The prairie dog sleeps in his burrow.
These and many others have endured,
for nature preserves her own
and teaches them how to cope with time
and the unaccountable ways of man.
Mankind, in turn, beginning to understand nature's pattern,
is helping her to replenish and rebuild
so that the vanishing pageant of the past
may become the enduring pageant of the future.