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Hi, I'm Hugh Bonneville.
Official YIFY movies site: YTS.MX
I'm about to take you on a journey into the heart
of southern England to an ancient forest
that's changed little since the last ice age.
Its woodlands and heaths are full of wildlife,
among them, five different species of deer.
That's why back in the 11th century, William the Conqueror,
then king of England, claimed these lands
as his own private hunting ground.
I can remember coming here as a child and marveling
at the sight of wild ponies galloping across the heath.
You're about to witness one of Britain's treasures.
The real magic of a year in the New Forest.
This is a special land.
A place of gentle mists alive with the atmosphere
of days gone by.
Where the dragon-eyed goshawk rules
the evergreen canopy from its lofty nest.
And the understory below is home to bold fox cubs
and fighting fallow deer.
It's a special place to grow up in.
But old England can spring many a surprise
for these children of the New Forest.
Weather is fickle and can change in an instant.
Like wild creatures everywhere,
these animals will need more than luck
to see them through this one magical year
in the Crown's ancient forest.
Sometimes March can bring a breath of spring,
but not this year.
A freezing blast from the east forces
the wild ponies into a huddle.
These compact little horses embody the spirit of the forest.
They're all mares and most are expecting spring foals.
Ponies have lived here for thousands of years.
They're a distinct breed native to southern England.
They shaped the landscape by grazing,
keeping the clearings open and the trees in check.
The ponies await the return of spring
and a reawakening of the heathland.
April is just around the corner.
A chestnut mare pulls away from the herd seeking solitude.
Heavy with foal, she's heading into the heart of the wood.
In the quiet secret hours of the morning
her foal is born.
Just hours old, the newborn shivers in the chill
of this special morning.
He's vulnerable lying like this.
He rises shakily.
And first touch seals their special bond.
This young pony is one of a lucky band.
Not many foals get to run wild in a rich place like this.
His home, the New Forest National Park,
nestles in southern England not far from London.
It's a patchwork of ancient woodland,
boggy areas known as mires,
and the largest area of rare lowland heath
in all of Western Europe.
Covering over 150 square miles it stretches
from Salisbury Plain to the Solent strait
which joins the English Channel.
It was originally established as a royal hunting ground
by the 11th century Kings of England.
There's no hunting here anymore,
but the land remains unplowed and unfenced,
enabling all animals to roam freely.
People make a living here, too.
They're called the commoners.
Locals who've inherited an ancient right to graze
their livestock in the forest.
3,000 head of cattle are in their charge.
They also own the free-ranging ponies.
More than 5,000 of them.
Most male ponies have just one year to run wild and free
before being rounded up and taken off the forest.
Only a handful of stallions will be selected to run
with the mares and sire foals of their own,
but that's a long way off for now.
As the rising sun breeds much needed warmth
into the wild wood, it's time for mother and foal
to meet the herd, their close kin.
How the colt develops now will determine his future.
The early signs are good.
He seems confident, walking and trotting well.
In William the Conqueror's day,
he would have needed this pace to outrun predators
like wolves and lynx, but they're long gone.
There's peace in the forest today.
Spring is still proving cold in the New Forest this year,
but nothing can halt the advance of the breeding season.
Hidden in a towering stand of conifers, a rare goshawk,
the bird with dragon red eyes,
warms her three newly hatched chicks.
In the cool air their soft down isn't enough
to protect them for long without her.
Piercing calls alert her to her partner's return.
The New Forest is a goshawk stronghold,
close to 5% of the entire UK population lives here.
For the first two weeks of the chicks' lives,
the burden of hunting falls entirely
on the much smaller male.
His territory spans more than 14 square miles
of conifer forest and ancient oak woods.
His every moment is focused on providing for his family.
A favorite of falconers, his ancestors would have flown
with royal hunting parties here.
It's his second kill of the day.
Just days old, the chicks aren't strong enough
to feed themselves.
But even now they're in a serious competition
with each other.
If the food supply decreases, the smallest will perish.
Already the first born dominates.
The male must keep hunting to keep all three alive.
The foal is now two days old.
Still stiff from 11 months in the womb,
he's finding his legs.
There's a whole new world out there to explore.
A character is already emerging.
He's bright and curious.
Good signs.
Young horses eat solid food early,
almost as soon as they can walk,
but learning what's good is a matter of trial and error.
Not every plant tastes as good as it smells.
Pine needles are aromatic,
but too spiky for a young mouth.
Foxglove is deadly, best to avoid.
These days of fun and games won't last long.
His time under his mother's protection is limited.
To ensure his place in the forest
he needs to build strength and spirit fast.
The heady smell of wild garlic signals warmer days.
A herd of female fallow deer and their yearlings
hide deep in the wild wood.
They're a tight family unit generations strong.
For now they keep their distance from the bucks.
Many will soon give birth.
Hunted here for over a thousand years,
they still need to be cautious.
Nearby a dog fox has hungry mouths to feed.
He's no threat to the does,
but a fox can take a new born fawn.
Playing in the shadow of their oak tree den,
his seven week old cubs are just beginning
to make sense of their world.
With five youngsters, the challenge for this family
is finding enough food to go round.
Like the goshawks, these siblings are in
a fight for survival.
Already one cub dominates and has earned
the right to eat first.
As storm clouds build, the fickle spring weather
makes raising a family all the more difficult.
Prolonged cold and wet can kill vulnerable youngsters.
The chestnut mare leads her foal into the lee of the woods
trying to protect him from the approaching storm.
Winds lash the forest with brutal gusts
40 miles an hour strong.
Rocking in their large tree nursery,
there's real danger for the goshawk chicks.
Nests are lost every year in spring storms like this one.
With dawn, calm returns to the New Forest.
The goshawks' choice of nest site,
protected by the encircling canopy,
has seen the chicks through the overnight storm.
For these rare hawks once persecuted almost
to extinction by 19th century game keepers,
each youngster is precious.
But at the forest's edge, the storm has claimed a victim.
A bereaved mother calls for her lost young.
Just a few feathers are all that remain of her brood.
But one family's tragedy is another's good fortune.
This scavenged meal could offer a lifeline
to the fox family.
In May the wild woods transform with
a carpet of sweet bluebells.
The bracken growls tall,
giving cover to a newly born fallow deer.
The fawn will stay here almost motionless
for at least a week.
The mother keeps her distance,
ensuring the hiding place remains secret.
Her bark warns the newborn: danger.
Hidden in the bracken the fallow deer fawn
is down wind of the fox, so can't be detected by smell.
She must simply lay low.
The dog fox's struggle to hunt
is having serious consequences.
Five cubs have now become three.
Now nine weeks old, the cubs will soon be weaned.
The dominant cub's natural tenacity
is already forging his destiny.
He'll be the first to feed if his father
finds success elsewhere.
The dog fox may have failed in the forest,
but perhaps the open heath will yield better results.
For a few months ground nesting birds
are easy pickings here.
The New Forest is one of the few places in the south
of England where curlews come to breed.
Their nests no more than a depression on the ground.
But as their numbers decline due to habitat loss
and human disturbance, it's getting harder for the fox.
Curlews aren't the only rarity here.
The lowland heath is a sanctuary for many creatures
that depend on this habitat.
A rare sand lizard hides in a miniature forest
of early flowering heather.
Fresh from his spring molt and adorned
with a smartly burnished skim of vivid green,
this male is hoping to impress a female.
A wiggle of her tail signals she's ready
and their courtship begins with a rapid pursuit.
He bites her, a signal he's ready to mate.
As their name suggests, the lizards lay their eggs
in patches of sandy soil.
She'll bury them there to be warmed by the sun's rays
in the first leg of their cold blooded journey through life.
By June, the foal is looking less like a baby.
Now two months old and increasingly independent,
he's learning to socialize.
In a foretaste of what's to come,
he tries to dominate a young filly.
They may be reunited in the future,
but only if the young male makes the grade.
Each year, the commoners pick just a handful of colts
to raise as breeding stock to maintain
the pure New Forest bloodline.
These adult stallions are let loose in the forest
for nine weeks only to sire the next generation.
The young foal's future will be decided long before
his first birthday.
100 feet up in their conifer nursery
the three goshawk chicks are doing well.
So far food supplies have been good this year.
They're all a decent size and adult feathers
are now peeping through their down.
The demands are growing on the parents.
Both adults now hunt round the clock
from the farthest limits of their territory.
The male brings in a young robin,
then heads straight back out to hunt
in the distant oak woods.
Hunting further afield ensures that when the chicks
finally fledge they'll have a ready supply
of prey close to the nest.
The summer solstice is fast approaching.
With the forest at its most verdant,
the rule of light is now in the ascendant.
After weeks of concealment,
the fallow deer fawn finally emerges from the bracken.
In a woodland clearing the sisterhood of does
welcomes her into the herd.
Gathered with the other youngsters in a forest creche,
many eyes will watch over her.
These days will be the most carefree of the fawns' lives.
It's early July and the forest is drying out.
No rain has fallen for nearly a month.
As the sun sucks moisture from the earth
the mare's herd gathers at one of the last
reliable water sources: a valley bog known as a mire.
These lowland mires formed at the end of the last ice age.
They're some of the last of their kind in Europe.
The lifeblood of the New Forest,
this primeval world stays waterlogged year round.
In the acidic water here, organic matter no longer breaks
down and over time forms peat.
The mires offer rich hunting grounds for waders
like snipe and they're home to almost 30 different species
of damsel and dragonflies.
As temperatures soar, the mare and foal seek out shade
in the conifer forest.
Lethargic in the heat, the colt has barely enough energy
to wipe away the flies.
Nearby the goshawk family has continued
to prosper despite the heat.
All three chicks are still thriving.
Their white down has now been almost completely replaced
with flight feathers.
Wing muscles are getting stronger
and the nest edge wobbles have turned into longer hops
with a more assured sense of balance.
All three are starting to make short practice flights.
At this age, their sexes become clearer.
The single smaller male carefully keeps his distance
from his larger, more aggressive sisters.
To encourage their brood to fly
the parents now limit their food drops.
But they'll keep a close watch on them
even once they've fledged
and still bring them an occasional meal.
This squirrel may be one of the last offerings
given at the nest.
The bickering continues with the biggest female chick
claiming the prize.
The little male loses out again,
but his days of being picked on are almost over.
Soon he'll try hunting for himself.
It's now midsummer's day and the sun endures for 16 hours.
It's time to go.
A new generation of dragon eyed hawks
stakes its claim to the hunting ground of kings.
Their parents have done exceptionally well
to raise three chicks this year.
A welcome addition for a species once on the brink.
After weeks of intense heat,
the drought finally breaks.
Quenching the earth's thirst.
The foal seems to frolic in sheer joy,
reveling at the sensation of sweet cooling rain.
The stallion in him is really emerging now.
Headstrong, powerful.
It's time for the mare to slowly wean him off her milk.
The carefree playtime of summer is nearly over.
He's just two months away from the roundup
that will decide his future.
The rain triggers one of the national park's
most spectacular transformations.
The blooming of the heather.
It offers a rich source of nectar for insects
like the rare silver studded blue butterfly.
The ponies graze here, too,
helping to keep the heathland open and the forest at bay.
Finally free of his sisters, the male goshawk fledgling
is already confidently hunting here.
Tiny, newly hatched sand lizards need to keep
their wits about them.
But it's likely the young hawk's future
lies far from the New Forest.
The thriving goshawk population here means
he will almost certainly seek out a realm
of his own elsewhere, possibly hundreds of miles away.
The thunder of hooves brings summer to an end.
It's September and the commoners have returned
for the annual roundup.
Called The Drift, more than 30 take place across the forest.
It's a tradition started five centuries ago
when Tudor England faced the threat of invasion.
With extra horses needed, New Forest ponies were rounded up
by Royal command and pressed into service
for the defense of the realm.
Today, the drifts enable the commoners to check
their ponies' health and to remove some
of the colts from the forest.
Many will become riding ponies.
For now, the foal escapes,
but his time in the forest is running out.
As days shorten, temperatures fall.
The forest transforms into a sea of gold.
It's a time of plenty in the ancient woods.
Beech, hazel and oak shed fruit to offer up
a forest floor banquet.
But too many green acorns can poison the ponies.
Fortunately, help is at hand.
Pigs have much stronger stomachs.
Across the forest the commoners release hundreds
of them every September in a tradition known as the pannage.
Pigs and ponies aren't the best of friends,
but the horses have to live with these piggy neighbors
for 60 days.
Wise to the acorn's poison, pigs gobble up
the nutritious nuts but spit out their toxic skins.
The foal has never seen a pig before
and he's not at all sure about them,
but it seems the pigs are in a playful mood
so the ponies will need to get used to their antics,
for the next few weeks, at least.
Concealed in the fading bracken,
a young fox gives both pigs and ponies a wide berth.
In search of earthworms, he hunts alone,
likely the sole survivor of the litter born in
the oak wood earlier in the year.
The biggest challenge for this youngster lies ahead:
to find a home of his own.
Woodland territories are fiercely contested
in the New Forest, but as the strongest cub of the litter,
hopefully his tenacity will see him through.
As the days shorten one of the New Forest's
greatest natural spectacles begins.
The fallow deer rut.
Roaring and strutting, the mature bucks march
to their rutting stands just as they have
since the days of the medieval kings.
Fawns need to be wary.
A collision with 170 pound buck could be fatal.
The bucks, surging with hormones,
try desperately to claim the prime patch
of the lekking ground.
Battle commences.
A bout like this can last for over an hour.
Sheer attrition has worn the challenger down.
The victor holds firm, marking the ground with his scent,
staking his claim to the forest rutting stand.
The old buck has barely slept for days.
Each female is only in season for 24 hours.
Over the coming weeks he will attempt to mate
with as many does as he can.
Starving himself, there's no time to feed.
By the end of the rut the bucks are utterly spent.
Many are injured.
It will take them months to recover.
As winter descends,
another rich year in the New Forest draws to a close.
The fallow deer have separated once again.
Many of the does now carrying the old buck's bloodline
into the future.
The goshawks with the dragon red eyes
will soon reclaim their canopy nest
to prepare for another brood.
Perhaps one day their fledglings will return
to claim these forests as their own.
Out on the heath, a stallion colt awaits his destiny.
Independent, brave, and strong,
his days in the New Forest will soon come to an end.
But he may yet return as a proud stallion
galloping freely in this exquisite, timeless forest.
The ancient hunting ground of kings.
We've had a glimpse into the secret lives of
so many animals here in the forest.
It really is a wonderful haven for British wildlife.
But increasingly this landscape is under pressure.
The New Forest is one of Britain's most popular
national parks with an astonishing
15 million visitors each year.
These numbers can disturb the animals
and damage their ancient habitats.
So please let's all play our part in protecting
this magical place for future generations to enjoy.