BBC纪录片《美丽中国》（《野性中国》）英文解说词第6集-Tides of Change

Tides of Change

From the eastern end of the Great Wall, China’s coast spans 14,500 kilometers and more than 5,000 years of history. This is the area which shows the greatest contrast between China's past and its future.

Today China's eastern seaboards home to 700 million people, packed into some of the most dazzling hi-tech cities on earth. Yet these crowded shores remain hugely important for a wealth of wildlife.

Now, as ancient traditions mingle with new aspirations, is there any room at all for wildlife on China's crowded shores?

In northern China's Haling Nature Reserve, a pair of red-crowned cranes have staked out their nesting territory in the stubble of a commercially managed reed bed. For centuries, cranes have been revered in Chinas symbols of longevity. Their statues were placed next to the Emperor's throne.

The cranes have cause to celebrate. This chick is a sign of hope in difficult times. Red-crowned cranes are one of the world's most endangered species.

Over the last century, China has lost nearly half of its coastal wetlands and most of what remains is managed for the benefit of people, not wildlife.

A few months from now, this chick and its parents will face a long migration south to escape the harsh northern winter. Their route will take them along a coast which has been greatly affected by human activity. Along their journey, the cranes will be joined by many thousands of other migrating birds.

All heading south across the Bahia Gulf and along the shores of the Yellow and East China Seas, some even reaching as far as the South China Sea in search of a safe winter haven.

The annual bird migration has been going on for thousands of years. Here at Mount Jinping on China's northeast coast, there is surprising evidence that people have lived here almost as long. Seven thousand years ago, members of the Shao Hao tribe carved magical symbols representing significant elements of their daily lives.

The petroglyphs show wheat sheaves connected by lines to human figures, the first known recordings of cultivation in China. Familiar with the spectacle of yearly bird migrations, the Shao Hao people chose a symbol of a bird as their totem.

Mount Jinping lies near the Shandong peninsula, an important wintering site for migrant birds, and even today there are still communities along this coastline who retain a special affinity with their local birdlife.

Yandun Jiao village, on the north-eastern shore of the peninsula, is famous for its traditional seaweed-thatched cottages. On a chilly morning in early spring, Mr. and Mrs. Qu venture out at first light armed with the traditional seaside accessories of bucket and spade.

As the Qus head down into the harbor, a flock of whooper swans, known affectionately here as "winter angels", are waking out in the bay.

The Qus and their neighbors search for tube holes in the mud at low tide, the sign of cockles and razor shells hidden deep below. While gathering shellfish is a popular pastime, the main business of Yandun Jiao happens further out at sea. As the boats set out, with Mr. Qu on board, the swans set a parallel course.

The whole of the bay is a gigantic seaweed farm. The men work all day cleaning and tending the kelp fronds that are grown on ropes linked to a vast armada of buoys. The swans eat native seaweeds growing on the surface ropes rather than the valuable crop of kelp, so they do no harm to the commercial operation.

In the afternoon, as the wind picks up out at sea, the workers and swans return to shore.

While the culture of seeking balance with nature goes back a long way in China, it is rare to see such harmonious relationships on China's crowded coast.

As evening draws on, the Qu family prepare their evening meal of cockles, steamed bread and seaweed.

Leftovers are given to the village children to feed the swans. It's fun for the kids and provides an extra energy boost for the birds as they face another cold night.

The swans have been using this sheltered beat as a winter refuge for many generations. As long as the tradition of respect for nature persists, this remarkable association between the Yandun Jiao community and their winter angels looks set to continue.

Out in the Bahia Gulf, northeast of the swan village, a small rocky island provides a quiet resting spot for migrating birds.

But Shihao Island has hidden dangers. Pallas' pit vipers trapped here 6,000 years ago by rising sea levels have evolved a sinister lifestyle.

For 10 months of the year there is nothing substantial to eat on the island, so the reptiles conserve their energy by barely moving at all. As the sun warms their rocky home, the snakes climb up into the bushes and trees. But they aren't here to sunbathe. More and more vipers appear until virtually every perch where a bird might land has been booby-trapped.

Then the waiting game begins.

The serpents' camouflage is remarkable, but so are the birds' reactions, as this high-speed shot reveals.

The birds will only stay on the island for a couple of weeks. But although the snakes have been starving for months, their only hope of bagging a meal is to be patient and sit tight.

The slightest miscalculation and the snake is left with a mouthful of feathers.

The dropped meal is tracked down mainly by smell, the viper using its forked tongue to taste the air until it is close enough to see its quarry.

The final challenge is to swallow a meal that's twice the size of its head.

It does so by dislocating its jaws and positioning its preys the beak is pointing backwards.

For the reptiles, this time of plenty is all too brief. In a couple of weeks, the migration will be overhand the birds will have moved on. This could be the snake's last meal for six months. But it isn't just islands that experience cycles of feast and famine. The sea, too, has its seasons, a fact well known to fishing communities along the neighboring coasts.

In Chuwang harbor, the start of a new fishing season provides the excuse for a massive party. But for boat owner Mr. Zhao, it’s a day of prayer as well as celebration. Zhao hopes that by presenting gifts and showing respect to the sea goddess, he can help ensure a prosperous and safe year ahead for him and his crew. Meanwhile, drums, firecrackers and fireworks reflect the ancient belief that loud noises will frighten off dangerous sea devils and bad fortune. Occupying centre stage is a representation of the sea dragon, mythical ruler of water and weather.

In the calm of the evening, Mr. Zhao and his family light paper boat lanterns. Each flickering flame carries a wish to the sea goddess, a tradition passed on from parents to children over countless generations.

On China's crowded coasts, fishermen need to be extremely resourceful. Hauling in the nets is hard work, and so far there's not a fish in sight.

- Only jellyfish.

Each year, millions of jellyfish are carried south with the currents in the Bahia Gulf. The ecological story behind this event is complex, but by no means unique to China.

Jellyfish are fast-breeding plankton feeders. In recent years, human sewage and fertilizers from intensive farming have increased plankton blooms in the Gulf, providing extra jellyfish food.

-While over-fishing has reduced their enemies and competitors.

It’s a phenomenon that has become increasingly widespread across the world's seas. However, what is seen elsewhere as a problem, in China is perceived as an opportunity.

Back on shore, mule carts transport the jellyfish to nearby warehouses where they will be processed and sold as food all over China.

-Four generations tuck into a bowl of sliced jellyfish, the recipe for a long and healthy life.

Leaving the Bahia Gulf behind, migrating cranes, spoonbills and ducks are joined by other birds, all heading south in search of a safe winter haven. The birds' migration route follows the coast of the Yellow Sea down into Jiangsu Province, a fertile agricultural landscape with some of the last remaining salt marshes in China.

At Dafeng, a small salt marsh reserve is home to an animal which is lucky to be alive.

The Chinese see these Milu as a curious composite animal, with a horse's head, cow’s feet, a tail like a donkey and backwards-facing antlers. In the West, we know it as Peer David's Deer, after the first European to describe it.

During the rut, stags decorate themselves with garlands of vegetation collected in their antlers.

Fierce battles decide mating rights. The females still have last year's fawns in tow. They haven't been weaned by the time of the rut and band together in large crèches, only returning to

their mothers to feed. This unique behavior helps to keep them clear of the aggressive males.

Today, there are just 2,500 Milu in China, but it is remarkable that there are any at all.

In the early 1900s Milu became extinct in the wild, but luckily, some of the Imperial herd had been sent as a gift to Europe. Those at Woburn Abbey, in England, prospered. And in the early 1980s, of the deer were returned to their homeland where they continue to thrive.

The migrating cranes have so far traveled over 2,000 kilometers southwards along the coast. Passing the Milu Deer Reserve at Dafeng, they are approaching another salt marsh which will provide the perfect conditions for them to spend the winter.

This is Yancheng, the largest coastal wetland in China, visited by an estimated three million birds each year. Crane chicks that were only born seven months ago have now completed the first leg of a round trip which they will repeat every year.

The hardy cranes can cope with winter temperatures which may drop below freezing. However, other migrating birds like the endangered black-faced spoonbill, are less cold-tolerant and will continue even further south in search of warmer climes.

At this point, many of the migrating bird flocks are barely halfway along their southward journey. Ahead of them lies a new challenge, China’s greatest river, the Yangtze, and the venue for a very different kind of migration.

Each year, millions of tons of cargo travel up and down the river, making this one of the busiest waterways in the world.

These are Chinese mitten crabs, named for their strange hairy claws. They may migrate as much as 1,500 kilometers from tributaries and lakes to the river mouth, where they gather to breed.

A similar migration is made by the giant Yangtze sturgeon, which can reach four meters long and weigh half a ton. In recent years, its numbers have declined dramatically as its migration is impeded by ever more river dams. But it isn't just animals like the sturgeon that are in trouble, the entire Yangtze River ecosystem is being poisoned.

In spite of being the subject of an ambitious clean-up plan, today the river is reckoned to be the biggest single source of pollution entering the Pacific Ocean.

Situated right at the mouth of its estuary, Chongming Island provides a vital resting and feeding spot for migrating shorebirds, and a place which offers welcome evidence of changing attitudes towards the Yangtze's beleaguered wildlife.

For centuries these coastal mudflats have attracted hunters, like Mr. Jin, who have honed their trapping skills to perfection to put rare birds on the tables of Shanghai's elite. For 40 years Mr. Jin has used a net, simple decoy birds and a bamboo whistle to lure passing birds towards his nets.

It takes both patience and consummate skill.

But, all is not as it seams’ Jin, like many of the best conservationists, is poacher turned gamekeeper, using his hunting skills to benefit his old quarry. The staff here at Dunstan Bird Reserve will measure, ring and weigh the trapped birds before releasing them unharmed. The

information gathered by Mr. Jin and his colleagues helps to protect over 200 different species of birds which visit the island each year.

Just south of Chongqing Island lies China's largest coastal city

-Shanghai.

Situated on a major migration route for birds as well as river life, Shanghai is now preparing for an even bigger invasion. Barges loaded with building materials constantly arrive in the city's docks, feeding one of the greatest construction booms in the world.

Last year, half the world's concrete was poured into China's cities, all in preparation for the biggest mass migration of people in the history of the world.

In the next 25 years, well over 300 million people are predicted to move from rural China into cities like Shanghai. The migration of people from country to city’s being mirrored around the world, and by 2010 over half of the world's population will be urban dwellers.

As night falls, Shanghai reveals its true colors. China's fastest-growing financial center’s in the midst of a massive boom. With an estimated population of more than 20 million, Shanghai is officially China's large stand certainly its most dazzling city.

But there is an environmental cost. Shanghai residents now use two and a half times more power per head than their rural cousins. The city's seemingly insatiable energy demands currently require the output of 17 power stations. South of Shanghai the city lights gradually fades we enter an ancient world.

This is Fujian Province, a rugged terrain guarded by sheer granite mountains which have helped to forge and preserve some of China's most ancient sites and traditional cultures. Towering above the coast, the 1400-meter-high Tami Mountains are known to the Chinese as "Fairyland on the Sea”.

Moist sea breezes condense on the cool mountaintops and combine with well-drained acid soils to produce the perfect growing conditions for acid-loving plants like wild azaleas.

It’s also home to camellias, including the most famous of all

-The tea plant.

Similar growing conditions all along the Fujian coast make this the treasure chest for China's tea, the heart of an industry dating back almost 4,000 years.

-One of the most traditional tea-growing cultures in the areas that of the Kejia people.

Every morning, goats are let loose among the tea terraces, a centuries-old tradition.  This might seem surprising given goats' reputation for eating anything green, but tea isn't as defenseless as it looks. Tea leaves are loaded with bitter chemicals designed to repel browsing animals. It works on the goats, who leave the tea untouched and instead eat up the weeds, fertilizing the tea plants with their droppings. The surprise is that we humans should find the same bitter chemical cocktail utterly irresistible.

Among the Kejia people, tea-growing is a family business. Women do the picking, while the men process and pack it Mr. Zhang belongs to a Kejia family that has lived and worked for

generations among these same tea terraces. The finest tea needs to be gathered quickly in warm sunshine’s this brings out the flavor-enhancing oils inside the leaves.

This sustainable industry has protected one of China's finest landscapes and one of its most traditional cultures. At the end of the morning's picking, Mrs. Zhang returns home to drop off her tea ready for processing.

This fort-like design has survived from a time when the Kejia needed to protect themselves against hostile local tribes. Each house has three or four levels designed to accommodate 50 to 250 people. The ground floor houses the kitchens and animal stock with access to a well for water. The first floor rooms are used for storage and the upper floors are bedrooms. Some of these remarkable buildings are 800 years old and have survived earthquakes and typhoons.

Once enough tea has been gathered in, the processing begins. Turning green leaves into saleable tea involves at least eight different stages, including drying, bruising, sifting, squeezing and twisting, before the finished product is finally ready for packing.

The Zhang's village produces "little black dragon”, or oolong tea, so called because of the way its twisted leaves unfurl when water is poured over them.

Tea plays a vital part in Kejia life, not only as a source of income, but also as a way to welcome visitors and bring people together. In traditional Chinese life, even the simplest cup of tea is poured with an intricate amount of ritual.

In the past, the Kejia people's other main income came from transporting goods like tea across the treacherous topography of mountains and river estuaries.

Their route was suddenly made easier when, in 1059, this remarkable bridge was built. Made from massive -ton slabs of granite, it is one of China's lesser-known architectural gems.

Luoyang Bridge has withstood earthquakes and tempestuous tides.

Known as "10,000 ships launching”, the bridge's 46 piers have withstood time and tide for almost a millennium. According to folklore, its success is due to a far-sighted piece of bio-engineering. Oysters were seeded on the piers and ever since, their concretions have helped cement the granite blocks together.

Today, oysters are still cultivated herein the traditional way by Hui’an women. Stones  are stood in the mudflats below the bridge to encourage the oysters to grow.

Luoyang Bridge is now mainly used by locals carrying goods across the estuary towards the coastal ports.

For more than 2,000 years, coastal trade in China has depended on a remarkable  and pioneering type of ship, known to us as the junk.

This working vessel follows a general design that’s been in use in Fujian for at least 600 years. Its bows take the form of a beak, with two large painted eyes evoking the traditional seafarers' belief that the bird's image would help sailors return safely, like the migrants that return each spring and autumn.

Tea and other goods were stored in strong bulkheads, each waterproofed and separated from the next to minimize flood damage.

This innovation, introduced to keep precious tea cargos dry, spurred on the improvement of not only Chinese boats, but Western ones, too.

The distinctive rigging of the junk's sails allows easy handling in bad weather, essential along this storm-battered coast.

-Each year from July to November, up to a dozen typhoons, a corruption of the Chinese word for "great wind”, head northwest towards China.

Typhoons are becoming more frequent as sea temperatures rise, aided by a global increase in greenhouse gases, such as carbon dioxide.

But satellite pictures have revealed a surprising twist. It seems that typhoons can pull deep, nutrient-rich seawater up to the surface causing plankton blooms, which in turn soak up large quantities of carbon dioxide.

When a typhoon strikes, one of the best places to be is Hong Kong harbor with its sheltered anchorage.

A centre of international trade, the city is famous for its jumble of skyscrapers and its bustling commercial centre. But there is a side to Hong Kong that's less well known. Behind the urban sprawl lies a swathe of wetlands which include the Mai Po Nature Reserve. Managed principally for the benefit of migrating birds, the reserve maintains a series of traditional prawn farms, known as gei wais, and their adjoining mangroves and mudflats. Every two weeks from November to March, one of the gei wais is drained by opening up the sluice gates.

As the water level falls, birds begin to gather. Herons, egrets and cormorants mingle with a far rarer visitor

- The black-faced spoonbill.

These endangered migrants have traveled the length of the Chinese coastline from Northern China and Korea. Mai Po marks the end of a 2,000 kilometer journey during which the birds may have lost up to a third of their body weight. Four hundred black-faced spoonbills, a quarter of the world's population, pass the winter here.

At low water, trapped shrimps and fish become easy prey, a lifesaver for these endangered birds.

The Mai Po marshes are part of the Pearl River estuary, whose muddy shores abound with crabs, worms and mudskippers.

Exposed at low tide, this smorgasbord of mud-life attracts both waders and the gei wais birds.

Here on the mudflats of Inner Deep Bay, each kind of bird has its own specific feeding zone defined by the depth of the water, the length of its beak and its feeding technique.

Once refueled, they revel in synchronized aerial displays.

More than any other place on China's coastline, Inner Deep Bay demonstrates that, with help, resilient nature can still thrive, even when boxed inland overshadowed by towering cities like

Shenzhen.

Another successful example of man's intervention on behalf of nature can be glimpsed in the waters around Landau Island.

While egrets make the most of an easy meal, other creatures have their eye on the anglers’ catch.

Chinese white dolphins are estuary specialists. Found widely in the Indian and Pacific Ocean, this species is rare in China. The young are born dark grey and become spotted as adolescents, finally turning creamy white as adults, though on some occasions they may blush a delicate shade of pink.

Three groups of dolphins live close to Landau Island. As the tide comes in, they move with it to feed on small fish or squid, which travel with the currents, using echolocation to see their prey through the murky water. They also use sound to communicate.

But they face a deafening problem. The Pearl Estuary has become one of the busiest shipping channels in China, and the dolphins are constantly bombarded with sound. New research suggests that they may now pack more information into shorter calls in a bid to be heard. Local conservationists have now set up a protected zone near Landau Island. So, for now, China's white dolphins are holding on.

South of Hong Kong lies the South China Sea, studded with more than 200 islands and reefs. Potential reserves of fish, oil and gas make each one strategic, and the whole region has become a political hot spots territorial disputes simmer between its many neighboring countries.

The waters themselves are low in nutrients and would be poor in life if it wasn't for the other resource that's here in abundance.

- Sunlight.

In the shallows of the coral atolls, small jellyfish point their tentacles towards the sun. Like many animals here, they depend on a close partnership with microscopic algae, which turn solar power into food. The most famous of these relationships is the reef-forming corals, which provide the foundation of the sea's most dazzling ecosystem.

Their branches provide shelter for a wealth of small and vulnerable creatures, many of them beautifully camouflaged. But the ultimate master of disguise has to be the octopus, able to change not only its shape and colour, but its skin texture, too.

Where the reefs meet deeper waters, upwelling currents carry nutrients to the surface.

Reef fish swim out to gorge themselves on the resulting food, in turn attracting  larger predatory fish to the reefs.

-Trevally prowl in dense packs.

Giant rays sweep in on graceful wings to hover up the remaining plankton, which also attracts the king of fish. Growing up to 12 meters long, the whale shark is a gentle giant and these days, a rare sighting.

As sharks, small and large, are plundered to supply the East Asian shark meat trade, the fate of

these fabulous creatures hangs in the balance.

While healthy coral reefs still survive in the remote islands, the situation close to the Chinese coast is quite different.

The waters along the shores of Hainan, China's largest tropical island, have been fished for thousands of years. As the reefs become less and less productive, fishermen from Tan men harbored all their resourcefulness to make a living.

Dicing with death, they breathe air pumped through hose pepsin a desperate bid to catch the last remaining sea life. Over the years, increased sedimentation and the use of dynamite and cyanide means the corals close to shore are barely hanging on.

Recently the government has recognized that regulation is needed if the local fishery is to survive for the future. Fishing is now banned for two months of the year to allow marine life a chance to breed.

One of the most important tropical habitats for young fish is mangrove swamps.

In the last 40 years, eighty percent of China's mangroves have been destroyed. But at the Dongzhaigang Mangrove Reserve in Hainan, a remarkable conservation initiatives bringing young Chinese volunteers together to plant mangrove saplings in the glutinous mud.

For many of these city-born students, such unglamorous work demonstrates their commitment to their country's environment. Like other heavily populated countries, China today is faced with a challenge. How best to protect nature in an increasingly crowded space?

These wild macaques live on a tiny Hainan Island reserve where they are carefully managed and looked after.

Most of the island's hillsides are covered with tropical woodland, but there are also areas of flower meadows where the monkeys gather to feed.

Each morning, as the tropical sun heats their island, the macaques head downhill in search of somewhere cooler. And what could be more refreshing than a dip in the pool?

To the Chinese, combining a wildlife reserve with a tourist development makes perfect commercial sense, and the monkeys don't seem at all unhappy with the deal. The question is where to draw the line. Like the rest of the world, China is still feeling its way towards a harmonious relationship with nature.

Six hundred years ago the people who lived here carved this calligraphy in the rocks, announcing it to be "the end of the world”.

In recent years that world has undergone a massive expansions tourists from all over China have discovered the delights of Hainan's tropical seaside resorts.

By 2010, China's total tourism revenues expected to hit  ￡75 billion a year.

While insensitive development could destroy China's natural environment, well-managed eco-tourism could provide huge benefits for China's wildlife.

The issues that face China today, increasing pressure on resources and living space and quality of environment, are those that face us all. If there is any country in the world equipped to solve

environmental problems on a vast scale, it has to be China, with its tremendous human resources and powerful political control.

The path it chooses will affect not just its own people and its natural environment, but the rest of the world, too