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DAVID ATTENBOROUGH: Over 60% of our planet
is covered by ocean more than a mile deep.
That, the deep sea, is by far the largest habitat on Earth,
and it's largely unknown.
Join us on a journey to the very bottom of the deep sea,
to an alien world never revealed before.
It's home to some of the strangest animals on Earth.
Fish flash in the darkness.
New species are discovered on almost every dive.
More people have travelled into space than have ventured this deep.
Come on a journey into the abyss.
A *** whale takes a breath.
Its last for over an hour.
It's about to leave the warm, well-lit surface waters
and dive far down into the cold, dark depths of the deep ocean.
At the surface, it took in air at the same pressure as we breathe it.
But it's going to look for food at more than 1,000 metres down,
where pressure is 100 times that on the surface,
crushing the whale's lungs to just one percent of their volume.
For us to follow the whale, we need the very latest submersible.
A reinforced acrylic sphere, with walls 12 centimetres thick
protects a pilot and our cameraman
from the enormous pressure below
and allows the submarine to dive to just over 900 metres.
DIVER: (OVER RADIO) 500 feet.
With every passing metre, pressure increases
and sunlight diminishes.
DIVER: 1,000ft.
DAVID: By 300 metres, it's already very dark
and the temperature of the water is dropping fast.
MAN: The depth is 1,755, temperature is 7 degrees.
DAVID: We are entering the twilight zone,
a weird world of gloom, where many animals
have become completely transparent.
In this twilight, an animal needs to see
and yet, as far as possible, must avoid being seen.
A giant amphipod, 12cm long,
and almost perfectly transparent.
Its head is completely filled
by two huge eyes, with which it strains to detect its prey.
Another twilight monster, Phronima, the inspiration for the Alien movies.
She and her developing pink offspring
live like parasites, in the stolen body of a jelly.
This impressive cutlery set and its huge eyes
make Phronima a powerful predator.
Even really complex animals have become transparent in the twilight zone.
Squids are among the most advanced of invertebrates,
but this one never meets a hard surface in its entire life,
so its body need not be as robust
as that of its shallow water cousins.
There's a rich variety of jellies
that live nowhere else but in the deep sea.
Thousands of tiny cilia propel them through a world without walls.
Invisible in the gloom,
they grope blindly for their prey.
Comb jellies let out long sticky nets to catch passing copepods.
But the most extensive death trap
is set by siphonophores.
This pulsating bell is the head of a colonial jelly
that can be 40 metres long.
Millions of tiny stinging cells drifting through the sea.
500 metres down and in even the clearest tropical waters
only the faintest vestige of the sunlight remains.
So little, that our eyes can't detect it. But others can.
Survival in the twilight zone
is all about seeing, yet not being seen.
Hatchet fish are masters of the game of hide-and-seek.
They have the large sensitive eyes needed for seeking prey,
but their bodies are flat.
And their sides are highly silvered.
(RATTLES)
Head on, they are just visible, thin though they are.
But as soon as they turn,
their mirrored sides reflect remnants of blue light from the surface
and they disappear into the gloom.
Viewed from the side, whole shoals can hide in this way.
But what about from below?
The tubular eyes of many of the predators, even in this gloom,
are able to distinguish their prey
silhouetted against the scarcely detectable glimmer of light from above.
Hatchet fish, however, have a way of confusing any eyes
that might be searching for them from below.
Their bellies carry rows of light-producing cells called photophores.
They can use these to exactly match
the changing colour of light from the surface far above.
This counter-shading breaks up their silhouette,
making them almost invisible from below.
Almost.
But these are no ordinary eyes.
The enormous yellow lenses
enable their owner to distinguish between light produced by photophores
and sunlight.
So, one device for escape is countered by another equally subtle one for attack
in an evolutionary arms race that has been waged for millions of years.
Descend below 1,000 metres, and you enter the dark zone.
No sunlight, whatsoever, penetrates this deep.
The temperature of the water has dropped below four degrees centigrade.
The pressure is more than 100 times that at the surface.
Life becomes ever more sparse.
It's a dark, dangerous world.
Relative to body size, these are the largest teeth in the ocean.
They're so big, that their owner can't even close its mouth.
They belong to the fang tooth.
Unlike most deep-sea fish,
this has powerful muscles and is an aggressive hunter.
With food in such short supply at this depth,
dark-zone predators have to be able to deal with a meal of almost any size.
Many animals here are dark red, like this deep-sea jelly.
Caught in the lights of the submersible,
it's a spectacular firework display of colour.
Normally, no red light penetrates as deep as this,
so animals with red pigment appear completely black down here,
perfectly concealed.
Predators here, however, don't just rely on vision, many have tiny eyes.
Instead, their thin, rod-like bodies are lined with organs
sensitive to tiny movements in the water.
This monster, half a metre across, is a hairy angler.
This is the first time it's been seen.
It's covered with hundreds of sensitive antennae,
each capable of detecting the movements of any prey
careless enough to stray too close to this motionless predator.
But this, surely, must be the strangest
of all the deep-sea fish yet discovered.
A highly-sensitive metre-long tail
hangs down from the head that makes up a quarter of its body.
Its eyes are tiny, but its mouth is truly enormous.
It's called the gulper eel,
because it can engulf a meal of almost any size.
Hanging motionless in mid-water,
its enormous gape enables it to deal with passing prey,
whether it's small or large.
Gulper eels can swallow prey as big as themselves,
which is very useful in a world where you never know
when the next meal is coming along.
Even in the dark zone, there is some light.
Turn off the submersible headlights and you see a pyrotechnic display outside.
These lights are created by animals.
This is bioluminescence.
A deep-sea angler fish flashes in the darkness.
The light is generated by bacteria that live permanently inside the lure,
which attracts prey to these murderous teeth.
There are all sorts of lures out in the darkness.
"Come into my mouth, little fish."
And what is the purpose of this lure,
suspended on a long rod way below its owner's terrifying set of teeth?
It's difficult to be sure.
But then this monster does have another giant, flashing lure,
much closer to its mouth.
These fish are called anglers because they use their lures in much the same way
as fly fishermen use their imitation flies.
For a hunting squid, with huge eyes, this glimmer is intriguing.
It might just be food.
A satisfying meal
for a fish with a highly-extendable stomach.
Attracting a mate in this endless darkness
can be even harder than finding food.
Flashing lures may be helpful in doing this.
Certainly, only female anglers have them.
The tiny males are just a tenth the size of the females.
Their only purpose is somehow to find a mate in the darkness.
She releases chemicals into the water,
which the males scent with a special white organ in front of their eyes.
Having found a partner, the male bites at her belly, with specially-designed teeth.
He needs to get permanently attached.
Within a matter of weeks,
the male is completely fused to the female.
And there he will stay for the rest of his life.
Her blood circulating in his body
provides him with all the sustenance he needs.
In return, she gets a continuous, reliable supply of ***.
A brilliant solution to the problem of finding a mate
in the vast emptiness of the deep sea.
To help in the constant battle between predators and prey,
some fish in the dark zone have developed headlights.
These light-producing photophores beneath their eyes
may be used to search out prey in the darkness.
Most bioluminescence in the deep sea is blue or greenish-blue.
But a very few predatory fish produce red light.
With this, red prey becomes obvious in the darkness.
Red light is rare down here.
And most animal eyes can't see it.
Only these fish can do so.
This gives them a sniperscope,
a headlight invisible to their targets.
This copepod, unalarmed, takes no avoiding action.
Bioluminescence is useful in escape as well as attack.
A shrimp senses a threat.
It spins in the water, releasing a bioluminescent glue.
This acts like a burglar alarm, startling the attacking fish
and leaving it illuminated in the dark
and vulnerable to its own predators.
These twinkling lights in the darkness are produced by copepods.
They probably flash like this to communicate with one another
and confuse their predators.
The most sensitive eyes in the ocean
belong to an ostracod called Gigantocypris.
It's the size of a pea. But that's enormous for an ostracod.
Copepods are a favourite prey
and it actively searches for their flashes in the darkness.
But this copepod has a way of confusing a hunting Gigantocypris.
It discharges a packet of bioluminescent liquid.
The flash is delayed, like a depth charge.
Spinning confused in the water,
Gigantocypris chases after the flashes.
And the copepod slips away, unseen, into the darkness.
The ultimate bioluminescent defence mechanism
has to be the light show created by the deep-sea jellyfish, periphylla.
That, presumably, is the way it scares away its enemies.
These bright lights are all produced by firefly squid.
Normally they live way down, at around 300 metres
beyond the reach of these Japanese fishermen's nets.
But for a few months each spring,
they come to the surface every night.
The brightest lights come from the bioluminescent tips of their two front tentacles,
but its only in the dark of the deep sea
that can you really appreciate the full complexity of their displays.
It's not just their tentacles, but their whole bodies that are covered in photophores.
The exact function is not clear.
The bright tentacle tips may be for attracting mates or dazzling predators.
The rest may be camouflage, providing counter-shading for the squid,
as they journey up into the twilight zone.
Every night in the season,
hundreds of thousands of squid journey up into shallow water to spawn.
Before dawn, they will return to the depths,
leaving their eggs to develop in the shallows.
The daily cycle of the sun has a profound influence on life in the deep ocean.
As the sun sets,
it triggers the largest migration of living organisms on our planet.
One thousand million tonnes of animals travel up from the dark zone
into richer, shallower water every night.
Tiny grazers are first up,
searching for the microscopic plants that only grow in shallow, sunlit waters.
Predators follow the grazers.
An enormous variety of different animals join the convoy,
or feed off it, as it passes.
Many will travel up hundreds of metres
towards the surface and then, at dawn,
finding themselves at greater risk from predators,
the visitors return to the safer darkness of the depths.
The sun's rays only have a direct effect
in the top 100 metres or so of the ocean.
It's only here that photosynthesis
can take place and coral reefs flourish.
Leave this thin, rich slice of life and travel over the outer face of the reef
and you quickly enter a far more demanding world.
Below 150 metres, photosynthesis becomes impossible.
You find no plants, just animals.
Here, the animals are adapted to catch marine snow,
particles of dead animals and plants that drift down from above.
So they depend, second-hand,
on energy captured from the sun by organisms living in surface waters.
Travelling close to the sea floor,
we're going to take a journey to the very bottom of the deep sea.
To a world completely separate from the mid-water above.
At around 300 metres,
the drop-off levels out and we move out onto the continental slope.
This stretches for about 150 miles from the coast,
sloping in a gentle gradient down to a maximum depth of 4,000 metres.
Water temperatures drop down here below four degrees centigrade,
and the pressure can reach upto 400 times that at the surface.
Without the lights of the submersible, it would be completely dark.
The water is crystal clear because there's so little organic matter.
Only three percent of the potential food on the surface waters
reaches the continental slope.
At first sight, it appears a lifeless desert.
But take a closer look and you notice a network of tracks and trails.
There is life even down here.
These animals would die immediately if brought to the surface in nets.
So you can only see them behaving normally from submersibles.
Many are new to science.
The deep sea floor is dominated by echinoderms,
sea cucumbers, brittle-stars and sea urchins.
There are literally millions of them, marching across the sea bed,
hoovering up any edible particles that might be in the sediment.
They come in all sorts of shapes and sizes.
And though they're very thinly spread,
the deep ocean floor is so vast
that these are among the most numerous animals on the planet.
Their spikes are good for locomotion and defence,
but, perhaps, not quite so good when it comes to mating.
Finding a mate in this largely empty sea floor could be a problem.
So some urchins stay together in herds,
to be sure that they're never too far from a potential partner.
Rocky outcrops provide good anchorage for animals
that rely on food that might drift past.
These crinoids or sea lilies look like plants, but are, in fact, animals.
Their long stalks ensure that their umbrella of feeding tentacles
are positioned to best effect in the current.
Particles are swept onto the arms
and carried down to a mouth in the middle of the umbrella.
These sudden movements
swat away tiny amphipods that try to steal the sea lily's captures.
Coral reefs are not supposed to exist in total darkness.
But recently, a new kind of coral was found as deep as 2,000 metres.
In the cold waters of a Norwegian fjord
there was a deep-sea reef 30 metres high and 200 metres long.
This coral gets no energy from the sun,
so it has to be very efficient in catching food.
Its polyps are far larger than those of shallow-water corals.
These are, in fact, the largest coral polyps in the ocean.
They belong to the deep-sea mushroom coral.
Their three centimeter-long tentacles can catch far larger prey
than other corals can.
This necessity to capture every particle of food
that comes within reach in this near-desert
has radically changed many animals.
Most tunicates are filter feeders,
but this one, uniquely, has become a predator
and its greatly-enlarged siphon has been converted into a trap.
Most sea cucumbers stay firmly on the bottom.
But not this extraordinary deep-sea species.
Its skirts of skin allow it to swim hundreds of metres above the sea floor.
Eventually, it will descend and, with luck,
will land on fresh feeding grounds.
This, though, has to be the most extraordinary animal design of all.
It's a polycheate worm
and normally, you would expect the long, pulsating body
to be stuck firmly on the sediment.
This worm, alone in its group, swims in the open water.
Propelling itself with its yellow frill,
it moves about and so finds new sources of food
or maybe succeeds in escaping from a predator.
This is chimaera, a close relative of the sharks,
less than a metre long.
Sensory pits on its chin help it hunt prey on the bottom,
while its surprisingly large eyes may help it spot bioluminescence.
Large fish are rare down here.
There's simply not enough live prey to sustain them.
Most have become scavengers.
A dead tuna has attracted a deep sea conger eel,
and a sixgill shark.
These monsters grow to eight metres long.
Sixgills are living fossils.
For 150 million years, they've existed unchanged,
living in water as deep as 2,500 metres.
Very few people have ever been lucky enough to glimpse these sharks from submersibles,
and we know almost nothing about their behaviour.
The body of a tuna is a substantial meal, but just occasionally,
a really gigantic corpse drifts down to the deep-sea floor.
This is the freshly dead carcass of a 30-tonne grey whale.
It's resting on the sea floor a mile down.
It's only been on the bottom for six weeks
but already it has attracted hundreds of hagfish.
These ancient scavengers are nearly always the first to discover a fallen body
and are attracted from miles around.
They lack jaws, and rasp at the flesh
with two rows of *** teeth on each side of their sucker-like mouths.
Next to arrive, a sleeper shark, a real deep-sea specialist.
They grow to over seven metres long
and have never been filmed at such a depth before.
The gaping wounds in the whale's flank are its work.
Unlike the hagfish, it has powerful jaws,
so is able to rip off huge chunks of meat.
Sharks, hagfish and a whole succession
of different deep-sea scavengers
will feast on the carcass for years before all its nutriment has gone.
18 months later, when we returned to this whale,
all that was left was a perfect skeleton, stripped bare.
It was almost as if a museum specimen
had been carefully laid out on the sea floor.
At first, the skeleton seemed totally abandoned,
but even after so long, there was still some flesh left in the head.
Hagfish have a skeleton of cartilage
and are so flexible that they can tie themselves into knots
and so get a better purchase on the flesh they feed on.
But smaller organisms had fed here.
A thick band of white bacteria had formed on the mud
outlining the original shape of the whale.
And on the skeleton itself,
colonies of specialised bacteria
were extracting energy from the bones themselves.
Most remarkably, and in huge abundance,
polychaete worms were collecting the last edible fragments.
These are a new species that, so far,
have only been found on the fallen bodies of whales.
Scientists have discovered 178 different animals on a single whale vertebra,
most of which have been found nowhere else.
This whale, lying over a mile down,
was not filmed from a submersible with an acrylic sphere.
Such craft can't go as deep as this.
To withstand the pressure here,
you need a far stronger submersible.
This is Alvin, a two metre wide sphere with just enough room in it
for a pilot and two observers.
Its walls are made of titanium.
The viewing ports have to be tiny.
Any larger and the submersible would implode
under the enormous pressure down here.
Alvin can dive to 4,500 metres, three miles below the surface.
Around 3,000 metres, the continental slope finally flattens out
and joins the abyssal plain.
This covers over half the Earth's surface.
Mostly it's completely flat,
but in places, it's gashed by massive trenches, hundreds of miles wide.
The deepest of these is the Mariana Trench,
which drops to over seven miles below sea level.
There are just five manned submersibles worldwide,
that can reach the abyssal plain.
And between them so far, they have explored less than one percent of it.
There are a thousand times fewer large animals down here than on the continental slope,
but in places, hundreds of brittle stars
march over the sea bed, in search of food.
Fish have been found right down to the bottom of the deepest trenches.
Most come from one family, the aptly named rat-tails.
They forage near the sea floor and use their battery of sensory pits
to follow odour trails from rotting carcasses.
Rat tails can travel long distances across the abyssal plain in search of food,
but others down here prefer to sit and wait.
This is a tripod fish.
It supports itself on two specially adapted fin rays
and can sit motionless for hour after hour.
It does have tiny eyes, but it's almost totally blind.
It locates potential prey with a pair of fins behind its head,
which are sensitive to even tiny movements.
We know more about the surface of the moon than we do about the abyssal plain.
Every dive still produces complete surprises.
This deep-sea octopus is about the size of a beach ball
and has been nicknamed Dumbo.
An umbrella of skin between its tentacles
and its extraordinary flapping ears
allow Dumbo to hover effortlessly over the sea floor
as it searches for food.
Right in the middle of the abyssal plain
lie the largest geological structures on our planet.
The mid-ocean ridges.
Rising almost two miles off the sea floor,
the ridges extend for over 28,000 miles,
the largest mountain chain on Earth.
When submersibles finally succeeded in reaching the ridges in the 1970s,
they found an extraordinary world
with mile upon mile of once molten rock
that had welled up from the deep in the past and had now solidified.
They discovered towering chimneys,
pouring out water as hot as molten lead.
At the surface, water becomes steam at 100 degrees centigrade,
but down here, under the immense pressure of the ocean,
it remains liquid at temperatures as hot as 400 degrees centigrade.
A submersible has to move carefully.
Disaster is very close,
when surrounded by such enormous temperatures and pressures.
And here, where the very water is loaded with hydrogen sulphides
poisonous to normal life processes, they found living creatures.
Some of the chimneys were encrusted with white tubes.
The tubes were inhabited by a new species of polychaete worm
that was exposed to temperatures as high as 80 degrees centigrade.
No other animal on Earth was known to tolerate such high temperatures,
so the scientists call these creatures Pompeii worms.
But this was just the beginning.
Nearby, there were chimneys
completely covered by whole communities of different organisms.
The bottom of the vent was encrusted with large mussels.
There were swarms of white crabs
and most spectacular of all, dominating the chimney
were hundreds of bright red tube worms,
each two metres long and four centimetres wide.
Until these creatures were discovered,
all life on Earth was thought to be dependent on the sun.
But here in the complete darkness of the deep,
they had discovered a rich density of life
that clearly derived no energy from the sun.
So, what do they live on?
The answer was found within the tube worms themselves.
They were packed full of specialised bacteria, that are able to derive
energy from the sulphides that are pouring from the vents.
The worms' plumes were bright red with haemoglobin
that carries sulphides and oxygen down to the bacteria.
These bacterial colonies are the primary source
of energy for all the life that lives here.
The mussels were packed with them.
Just as green plants are the basis of life for animals living in the sun,
so these bacteria and other microbes
are at the foot of the food chain on which over 500 species depend.
Crabs and shrimps feed off bacteria
and even try to steal pieces of tube worm plumes.
Since the vents were first visited by biologists in 1979,
a new species has been described every 10 days.
At the top of the food chain, fish that never stray far from the vents.
But they, or their descendants, will have to move eventually,
for we now know that individual vents
are rarely active for more than a few decades.
Such a density of life, living in such harsh conditions,
in the middle of a vast, and otherwise barren, abyssal plain,
astounded the biologists who first saw it.
It seemed to them that here was evidence of how life on this planet,
which certainly started in the sea, might have begun.
Deep-sea submersibles made an even more extraordinary discovery
in 1990.
Over half a mile down, at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico,
they came across what appeared to be an underwater lake over 20 metres long,
with its own sandy shore.
Around its edge there even seemed to be a tide line.
But this couldn't be, of course.
This was under water.
In fact, the lapping edge was created by a thick soup of salty brine,
far heavier than the surrounding sea water,
and the sand was made up of hundreds of thousands of mussels.
Once again, in the midst of a totally barren sea bed,
an extraordinarily rich oasis of life, totally independent of the sun's energy.
The source of energy, this time, was not sulphides but methane,
bubbling out of the sea bed.
And once again, the mussels carried special bacteria
capable of fixing the methane's energy.
Just like the hot vents,
a complete ecosystem had developed, based on the bacteria.
There was an enormous variety of completely new species,
shrimps, weird squat lobsters
and bright red polychaete worms.
These oases were called cold seeps
and were surprisingly similar to the hot vents.
The geological processes in the sea floor that produce methane
also tend to result in the release of hydrogen sulphides.
It was hardly surprising, then, when not far from the brine pool,
they found tube worms.
Extensive fields of tube worms
that stretch for hundreds of metres.
This new species also uses bacteria to fix energy from sulphides,
but it extracts them directly from the ground.
Their beautiful gills are only used to supply oxygen to the bacteria.
Amazingly, these tube worms are over 200 years old.
While hot vent tube worms are thought to be
the fastest growing invertebrates in the sea,
these appear to be far slower.
All the more reason to protect your gills from biting amphipods.
The energy sources exploited by the hot vent animals may suddenly fail,
but here life can enjoy a more stable geological future.
To discover, within 10 years, two completely new ecosystems
both totally independent of the sun's energy, has been quite extraordinary.
So far we have explored just one percent of the deep ocean floor.
Who knows what is still out there to be discovered?