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Once upon a time,
in the heart of Africa,

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there was a lake of fire.

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The lake's water burned
with color,

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scarlet and crimson,

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and in its stillness,
held heaven's reflection.

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After months without rain,
there came a season of drought.

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And the lake dried
and turned white as ash.

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But in the desolation came
the promise of another season.

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A season of color and life,
a season of beginning.

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Lake Natron,
in northern Tanzania,

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lies at the very center
of East Africa's Great Rift Valley.

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This is a raw and unfinished land.

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Ol Doinyo Lengai rises from
the lake's southern shore,

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a living volcano,
restless and impatient.

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Hidden deep in its dark core,

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a chamber of magma burns
with primeval energy.

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For the local Masai tribe,

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Lengai is simply where God lives.

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Natron is a vast, shallow lake,

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40 miles long
and no more than six feet deep

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and so toxic with soda salt that
almost nothing can live in its water.

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But each year,
For only a few weeks,

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rain comes to Natron...

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and a grand act
of creation takes place,

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one of Africa's last great mysteries.

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And with the rain come the flamingos.

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Somehow, they know the time
has come to return to Natron.

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They have abandoned a dozen other
lakes along the Rift Valley

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and flown hundreds, even
thousands, of miles to be here.

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Each bird has its own story,

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its own secret life.

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And each story is one that
began here at Natron,

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with the rain.

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The rain triggers the growth
of algae in the water.

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When the flamingos eat
the algae, they transform.

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Their feathers, eyes and legs
flush with crimson.

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It is their color they find
most attractive about each other.

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After all, this is why
they have come to Natron,

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to find a mate.

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Slowly, almost politely, they begin.

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Every movement, part of a courtship.

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A choreography.

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A growing dervish of desire.

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One by one,
the flamingos find each other.

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A pairing to last the season.

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A pairing that begins
with a moment.

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There is a myth told by the Masai

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that the flamingos are made
from the water's salt.

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That they are the children
of the lake.

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But the truth is no less extraordinary,

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and something that
only happens here at Natron.

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A secret island emerges
from the middle of the lake.

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As the rainy season ends

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and the furnace sun
resumes its rule,

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Water evaporates so quickly
that a residue of salt

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forms on the surface.

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Each day, the sun bears down

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and the salt thickens into sheets,

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like plates of salt ice that
shift and grind in the wind.

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The sheets drift,

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blending into a series
of small islands as they go.

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The wind pushes the islands
towards the center of the lake.

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After several weeks
of intense evaporation,

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the water in the center of the
lake is only a few inches deep.

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The floating salt islands run
aground on the emerging mud

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and soon accumulate
into a single island of salt,

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ten miles wide.

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Here, remnant water congeals
into sulfurous pools,

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and the temperature regularly
rises above 130 degrees.

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No land animal could travel
Or survive here.

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But to the flamingos,
this strange, new world

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is a gift.

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There are two million lesser
flamingos in East Africa,

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and every one of them is born here
on Natron's secret salt island.

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The expectant parents build their nests
from the salty lake mud.

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Even though the salt island is vast,

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as social birds, the flamingos prefer
to group closely together

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and define the boundaries
of their chosen nest sites.

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The nests are almost a foot high,

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Drier and a few degrees cooler
than the floor of the salt island.

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The salt bakes, bleaches
and hardens into a cradle.

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After the nest, comes the egg.

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And then, there
is nothing to do but wait...

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for one, long, hot month.

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Finally, a small
but determined beginning.

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A new life,
one that will start today,

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and might, if she's lucky,
last for 40 years.

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A whole new story.

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Her very first cries are unique.

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This is her own voice,
and how she and her parents

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will always be able
to recognize each other.

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Within a few hours,
Her down dries in the hot sun,

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and she tries to stand.

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Something that will take
only a little more practice.

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Then it's time for food,

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a high-energy liquid
made from the lake's algae,

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but also containing traces
of her parent's own blood.

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For these first days,
she has the constant presence

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of one or other of her parents.

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This is a time of bonding
and intimacy.

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The dark hollow
Under her mother's wing

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is a favorite place to hide
from the fierce sun.

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While still small, the chicks
stay in their parent's shadows

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Or on their nest mounds.

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Anything to stay cool.

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At about a week old,
her legs are strong enough,

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and, with a little encouragement,

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she decides to leave the nest.

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Her world expands,
one unsteady step at a time.

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Now that she can walk,
Her relationship with her parents

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will become more and more
about separation.

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Like every other chick,

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Her inclination is to be with others.

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The comfort and familiarity of her kind.

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For a life that is not so much
about the individual,

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but a collective.

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Up to half a million adults and chicks

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live in this season's noisy
and boisterous nursery.

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But the island can also
be harsh and unkind.

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An impermanent place of salt
and extreme heat.

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When the chicks walk through
the puddles of thick, salty water

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that are all around, a thin band of salt
sometimes forms on their ankles.

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If it does or not
seems a matter of luck.

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But the more these chicks
wade into the water,

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the more the salt accumulates
and hardens into a cement shackle

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that cannot be broken.

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High above the colonies,
the marabou storks appear,

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circling like storybook witches.

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They have come
from far beyond the lake

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with their own mysterious knowledge
of what happens at Natron.

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Very quickly...

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their intentions become clear.

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Almost insatiable, a few marabous

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can kill hundreds of chicks,

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scattering and scaring off the parents.

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With their gentle, curved beaks,

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the flamingos are no match
for the marabous.

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But every once in a while,

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a parent wins a reprieve
for her chick.

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One day, the chicks
have had enough.

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Perhaps some instinct
tells them of a better place.

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Somewhere beyond the salt.

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Suddenly,
in their hundreds of thousands,

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they abandon their nursery.

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Guardian birds lead them away

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and out across the miles
of the salt island,

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perhaps on routes they took themselves
when they were chicks.

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But there are those
who are left behind,

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too weak or too injured
to make the journey.

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Stories that barely began.

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Each day, the surviving chicks
continue on across the burning miles.

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Though they are reunited each evening
with their parents for rest and food,

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it is the guardian birds
who lead this daytime march

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and make sure even the smallest
find their way.

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But the group can't wait for everyone.

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The chicks burdened with salt shackles

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fall further and further behind.

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But, for the hundreds of chicks who die,

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thousands will make it.

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How far they've come.

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The groups merge
and gather momentum

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as if, at last,
they sense the destination.

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And, reaching the edge
of the salt island,

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find the lake
with its cool, blue water.

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And she has made it, too.

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Cautiously at first...

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but then...

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up ahead...

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there are the others.

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Leaving the salt island,

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the chicks enter
the wider kingdom of the lake.

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Here, a very different world
awaits them.

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A living landscape,

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complex and animate.

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The Rift's escarpment rises
a thousand feet above the lake,

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a rock wall severed
by deep canyons.

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Here, amid the shadows
and the swifts,

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water gushes out from hundreds
of underground springs.

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The water is rich
in sodium carbonate,

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a mineral that creates the
salty chemistry of the lake.

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Dozens of springs and rivers
feed into a series of marshes

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that border the lake.
Almost all of Natron's life

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depends upon the relatively fresh water
of this abundant green maze.

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And, for the next few months,
so too will the chicks.

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Each morning,
the parents leave their chicks

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on the muddy shore
below the marsh.

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They spend the day almost
completely unsupervised.

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They learn to feed themselves.

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Their beaks are developing the
filters and distinctive shape

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that will allow them to separate the
algae they need from the mud and silt

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of the marsh.

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Her super soft down
is the perfect insulation

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against the strong sun.

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00:51:58,742 --> 00:52:01,250
But it requires frequent grooming,

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00:52:01,314 --> 00:52:06,228
not only to keep it healthy, but to
encourage the growth of adult feathers.

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00:52:29,350 --> 00:52:33,400
Without those feathers, she can't fly...

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00:52:33,771 --> 00:52:36,230
no matter how hard she tries.

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00:52:51,150 --> 00:52:54,714
There are plenty of things
to want to fly away from.

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00:53:00,942 --> 00:53:04,371
The mongoose that lives
in the marsh, for instance.

200
00:53:49,820 --> 00:53:52,030
As the chicks change and grow,

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00:53:52,257 --> 00:53:54,514
life in the marsh goes on.

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00:53:56,457 --> 00:53:59,800
Routine, yet quietly full of wonder.

203
00:55:15,670 --> 00:55:17,520
At three months old,

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00:55:17,685 --> 00:55:20,330
she has grown more sure of herself

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00:55:20,514 --> 00:55:22,580
and her place in the marsh.

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00:55:37,300 --> 00:55:42,080
Now, her down has transformed
into a juvenile plumage.

207
00:55:43,314 --> 00:55:45,220
And one by one,

208
00:55:46,057 --> 00:55:48,840
her wing feathers have fledged.

209
00:56:20,730 --> 00:56:24,714
The day comes when she discovers
Her wings are strong enough,

210
00:56:27,760 --> 00:56:30,628
and a whole new way of being

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00:56:30,742 --> 00:56:32,628
is suddenly possible.

212
00:56:33,685 --> 00:56:38,390
A flight that at first stays
close to the lake and the marsh,

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00:56:38,580 --> 00:56:41,000
the familiar places
of her life.

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00:56:41,900 --> 00:56:44,800
But a flight that
will soon release her

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00:56:45,514 --> 00:56:49,342
above the earth, above
everything she has known.

216
00:57:34,410 --> 00:57:36,220
No longer a chick,

217
00:57:36,520 --> 00:57:40,142
but a young bird
whose wings have given her

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00:57:40,228 --> 00:57:42,514
the whole Rift Valley.

219
00:58:01,840 --> 00:58:05,400
Every 30 years, Lengai erupts.

220
00:58:09,420 --> 00:58:12,440
Deep in the volcano's molten core,

221
00:58:12,600 --> 00:58:15,571
lava is pulverized by pressure

222
00:58:15,630 --> 00:58:19,550
into ash and thrown upward
into the air.

223
00:58:23,830 --> 00:58:26,657
The ash contains sodium carbonate,

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00:58:26,800 --> 00:58:30,628
the exact mineral
in the lake's water and soil.

225
00:58:31,485 --> 00:58:35,028
It is as if each aspect
of the lake's landscape

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00:58:35,090 --> 00:58:37,657
is simply a different form.

227
00:58:37,710 --> 00:58:42,260
A different incarnation
of the same basic element.

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00:58:44,100 --> 00:58:46,520
Natron is one place,

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00:58:46,790 --> 00:58:49,930
water, earth and air.

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00:59:16,730 --> 00:59:20,914
And the flamingos born
on the lake's salt island,

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00:59:20,950 --> 00:59:24,040
transformed by its salt water,

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00:59:24,457 --> 00:59:27,560
embody Natron in a living form.

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01:00:41,990 --> 01:00:46,914
The flamingo's ceaseless journeys
among the many lakes of the Rift Valley

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01:00:46,950 --> 01:00:49,571
are nomadic rather than migratory.

235
01:00:49,570 --> 01:00:53,250
For the flamingos
move of their own accord.

236
01:01:00,160 --> 01:01:03,542
Natron, Bogoria, Embakai.

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01:01:04,060 --> 01:01:07,428
Magadi, Nakuru, Manyara.

238
01:01:08,060 --> 01:01:10,800
They come and go as they want.

239
01:01:10,880 --> 01:01:15,090
Their presence, the sudden
and complete possession of a lake.

240
01:02:12,840 --> 01:02:16,885
But every lake has
its storybook witches.

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01:04:39,880 --> 01:04:42,630
This time, she keeps her story.

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01:04:42,890 --> 01:04:45,480
She keeps her secret life.

243
01:04:53,640 --> 01:04:56,314
Just as they arrived at Natron,

244
01:04:56,542 --> 01:05:01,200
like a magic act, the flamingos
suddenly disappear.

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01:05:52,880 --> 01:05:56,470
Born of salt, they possess the sky,

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01:05:56,628 --> 01:05:58,770
they absorb the color of the water

247
01:05:59,050 --> 01:06:03,070
and their feathers
burnish crimson as the phoenix.

248
01:06:05,010 --> 01:06:08,590
Their lives are
continual transformation.

249
01:06:08,810 --> 01:06:13,630
And even in death, their forms shift
to something other.

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01:06:14,960 --> 01:06:17,771
Their feathers, bones, color,

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01:06:17,870 --> 01:06:20,820
their life force returned
to the lake.

252
01:06:50,380 --> 01:06:55,400
As the seasons change, microscopic life
in the water blooms.

253
01:06:55,470 --> 01:06:58,514
Natron becomes a lake of fire.

254
01:07:30,340 --> 01:07:33,860
After six months without
a single drop of rain,

255
01:07:34,685 --> 01:07:37,600
the color fades and bleaches.

256
01:08:05,371 --> 01:08:07,500
The ash of the volcano blends

257
01:08:07,510 --> 01:08:11,160
with the salt of the lake
and the dust of the earth,

258
01:08:11,380 --> 01:08:15,857
scattering in the
restless dry season wind.

259
01:08:21,710 --> 01:08:24,200
Natron's elements shape-shift,

260
01:08:24,542 --> 01:08:26,700
one into the other.

261
01:08:26,971 --> 01:08:30,828
Ash, dust and salt.

262
01:08:55,260 --> 01:08:59,140
But even this season
of silence will pass.

263
01:09:12,730 --> 01:09:16,820
The story of the bird
is a promise to us.

264
01:09:17,514 --> 01:09:19,485
Nature's affirmation.

265
01:09:32,428 --> 01:09:34,885
In winter or in death,

266
01:09:35,570 --> 01:09:40,142
in times of desolation,
the rain will arrive.

267
01:09:41,430 --> 01:09:44,710
The call of the birds will be heard.

268
01:09:45,257 --> 01:09:50,228
And everything,
everything can begin again.

269
01:10:30,390 --> 01:10:32,030
Lightning bird.

270
01:10:32,340 --> 01:10:35,520
Fire bird. Phoenix.

271
01:10:36,060 --> 01:10:39,080
She will return on crimson wings

272
01:10:39,114 --> 01:10:41,571
and make a nest among the ashes.

273
01:10:48,285 --> 01:10:51,971
And the children of the lake
will be reborn.

274
01:13:35,600 --> 01:13:39,428
Once upon a time,
in the heart of Africa,

275
01:13:39,714 --> 01:13:42,085
there was a lake of fire.