Imagine a realm where
the seasons' rhythms rule
where centuries of agriculture
and fishing have re-shaped the land
yet where people and nature
remain in harmony.
Sangoro Tanaka lives in just such a paradise.
At 83, he's a guardian of
one of Japan's secret water gardens.
Over a thousand years
towns and villages
have developed a unique system
to make springs and water
part of their homes.
From inside their houses
the stream pours into
Japan's largest freshwater lake
near the ancient capital of Kyoto.
This is a habitat so precious
the Japanese have a special word for it.
"Satoyama" - villages
where mountains give way to plains.
They are exceptional environments essential
to both the people who maintain them
and to the wildlife that now share them.
Late February at Lake Biwa
an area 5 times the size of Paris.
Its year has 4 distinct seasons.
Reeds desiccated by winter winds
feel the heat of spring.
They are all that remain.
The rest have gone to make roofs or screens.
Flames consume both pest and weed.
The ash will prove a powerful fertilizer.
Destruction creates the very conditions
in which a wide range of species
will eventually flourish.
By April, new shoots sprout.
The fire and smoke have provoked new growth.
Spring puts on its new coat.
Melt water cascades from the mountains
swelling the lake till it brims over.
Parched earth soaks into wetland.
Sudden sounds split the still of the day.
A chain of male carp dance after a female.
Some are longer than a man's arm
but she's bigger still, heavy with eggs.
She releases her eggs up to 200,000 of them
and the males race to fertilize them.
For the rest of the year
these carp inhabit the chill depths of the lake
but to spawn
they must seek warm shallows.
Spring's rising energy is released.
Over 200 carp crowd here today.
The conditions created
by the firing of the marsh
offer an ideal site for breeding.
There are only a few days a year
when so many fish throng here.
Sangoro the fisherman won't miss his chance.
His methods, his 20 year-old boat,
his bamboo pole
all are tried and tested.
It takes years
to really master the art of punting.
The river courses with fresh mountain torrents
but here and there, natural springs
well up from the bottom.
The marsh is a maze
but to Sangoro, it is as familiar as his garden.
He has some 50 traps set in various corners.
The carp are Lake Biwa's spring gift.
Sangoro only fishes from March to June
when the shoals retreat to the lake.
He uses a simple snare,
of traditional materials.
There is not even any bait.
He just sinks the trap
for the fish to swim into.
Where he places it depends on the weather
and where he thinks the fish
will swim that day.
Intuition springs from long experience.
His haul includes other fish as well as carp
as they all flock to spawn in the shallows.
This trap is full of carp called crucians.
With a single trap,
he may net a dozen fish to take home.
As soon Sangoro returns,
he prepares the fish for the table.
The catch is usually sold
or cooked for supper that evening.
But today he is preparing Funazushi.
Funazushi is believed to be how sushi first started
perhaps a thousand years ago.
It's salted and fermented crucian carp and rice.
It smells sour,
and takes a long time to make...
First salt your fish. Stand for 3 months;
mix with boiled rice to ferment.
Leave another six months.
The ingredients, rice and fish,
are the key items of the Japanese diet.
Sangoro's home lies about
2 km inland from the lakeshore.
Water from boreholes under the village
is piped into the houses.
After it's been used,
the water passes into a man-made stream.
What could be a barren canal
teems with hidden life.
As spring gives way to early summer
aquatic plants reach for the sun.
This one takes its name
from the tree- flower it resembles
the plum-flower underwater buttercup.
This little stickleback has no scales
and can only live in the clearest of fresh water.
It normally prefers cold northern currents.
This is the furthest South it is found.
The channel also harbors
some strange-looking creatures.
Brook lampreys - primitive, jawless fish
that resemble eels.
A river crab discovers
just how slippery lampreys are.
The channel through the village is home
to creatures large and small.
The water sustains people too
and in turn they use it sustainably.
Each home has a built-in pool or water tank
that lies partly inside
partly outside its walls.
In the pool lounge friendly ornamental carp.
A continuous stream of spring water
is piped right into a basin.
So fresh water is always available.
The carp are not purely ornamental.
Nor are they to be eaten.
People rinse out pots in the tanks,
and clean their freshly-picked vegetables.
If they simply pour the food scraps
back in the water
they risk polluting the whole village supply.
However;
carp can scour out even greasy or burnt pans.
They do the washing-up in Satoyama villages.
This traditional arrangement
is called the "riverside" method.
It's used all over Japan.
Cleaned up by the carp,
the tank water eventually rejoins the channel.
For some wildlife
the man-made creek provides
an ideal place to raise young.
Like this variety of freshwater goby
a small fish about as long as a little finger.
The villagers call it "the tiny mud-crawler".
A male is busy excavating a breeding site.
The even bottom supplies a perfect hidey-hole.
As always,
the best locations are highly sought-after.
Here comes another male.
He'd like to move in.
And he's prepared to fight for it.
Both do all they can to look threatening...
Opening their mouths and
erecting their dorsal fins to look bigger.
It's a victory for the sitting tenant.
There's another goby behind him.
She's hanging upside down,
and she's laying eggs.
The victory over the den
gave her a place to spawn in safety.
The old, simple life of Satoyama communities
is attracting some young Japanese
back from the cities.
It's June.
4 months after hungry flames licked the air.
Reeds that rose from the ashes
now reach overhead.
The marshy landscape
takes on its summer look.
The dense growth is almost like a jungle.
A world filled with tiny lives.
Each single reed stem is a microcosm.
Tiny organisms called pseudo plankton
live on their surface.
Forests of tentacles reach out
to seize organic material.
Earlier, in spring,
young carp hatched in the flooded fields.
They stay there for about 3 months.
The reed beds are their nurseries
where they have plenty to eat
and are concealed from predatory birds.
An infant fish meets a sudden end
...it's been grabbed.
The attacker is the larva
of Japan's largest dragonfly.
This aggressive ambusher
hides in sand or gravel.
Only its head protrudes,
as it lies in wait for its prey.
Its correct name is
the golden-ringed dragonfly.
But to the Japanese, and to Sangoro
in its adult form, it's the king of dragonflies.
Chicks accompany a parent coot.
Now is the best time to find food.
An adult calls in warning.
The cause the coots' number one enemy
a weasel
egg-thief and baby-coot-snatcher.
A narrow escape.
Waterfowl have to guard
against foxes and snakes too.
For safety, grebes make floating fortresses
anchored to firmly-rooted plants.
An adult bird is particularly alert
while the eggs are hatching
Each grebe has its own territory.
And each nests at the same place every year.
Here comes Sangoro.
The birds know him already.
This is his regular route.
He spends two hours
checking all the traps he set yesterday.
His work done,
Sangoro returns to the landing stage.
You should see the ones that got away!
Turning muddy banks
into reed beds has paid dividends.
He has nearly 50 fish in all, of 8 different types.
Carp, carp, catfish, catfish...
Sangoro won't eat the smallest fish.
He puts them aside.
He will share his good fortune.
The grey heron knows what will happen next.
Sangoro finishes cleaning out his boat.
And another pair of eyes
watches his every move.
Each fishing season
this kite pays Sangoro a visit.
When Sangoro leaves
the grey heron doesn't wait any longer.
It's happy to clear up.
Sangoro left the tiddlers for the birds.
It's his way of sharing nature's riches
with those around him.
And they are only too pleased to take part.
The kite will take the fish
back to hungry chicks.
Where the village houses
crowd most closely together
above a garden a lone pine towers.
On a branch is a large nest.
There are 2 chicks there.
They are developing steadily,
under the watchful eyes of the villagers.
Sangoro's gift is a token of
the village's close ties with wildlife.
For Sangoro fishing is not just a job.
Fishing is fun.
It's exciting to see them caught in the trap.
The traps capture relatively
small numbers of fish
but this means stocks aren't depleted.
It's a battle of wits.
I have to trick the fish.
When I don't catch one
I think: "The fish was just too smart".
But you live and learn.
Taking from nature without
exhausting its supply is practiced
throughout Satoyama.
Reeds will make blinds
indispensable in the glare of
the Japanese summer.
The stems are left for a year to season.
Then each is straightened.
Local materials find a use locally.
It is 5 days since the gobies first laid eggs
in the village channel.
The male is still around.
He's very protective, keeping predators away
and taking great care of his offspring.
Golden eyes peer out of the egg capsules.
They are ready to break out.
The anxious father fans them,
keeping them oxygenated.
The newly-hatched young are barely
the size of a match head.
Tiny as they are,
they are about to embark on a journey.
They will ride the current
the two kilometers to Lake Biwa.
There they will feed on the abundant plankton.
At the same time, another new life
is about to undergo a striking change.
The larva of a golden-ringed dragonfly.
In the dark, hidden from predators
it quietly begins its metamorphosis.
The larva is now a fully-winged dragonfly.
In ten days
it will be sexually mature
and ready to trigger the next generation.
In the sticky heat of mid-July villagers gather.
Overgrown banks block the stream.
Time to clear the water plants.
20 families band together
for their part of the channel.
For the villagers
it's a welcome task their ancestors
carried out for hundreds of years.
For the fish in the creek, it's a huge nuisance!
Flushed out of the shady vegetation
they seek refuge elsewhere.
It's the children's big moment.
"It's a huge carp! Wow, amazing!"
"It's enormous! Well done! Well done!"
With wild creatures are so close,
children experience nature directly.
Fish and birds are an everyday part of their lives.
3 months have elapsed at Sangoro's house.
Sangoro's wife Chikano
washes the fish salted in Spring.
Next she will bury them in rice.
Sangoro's job is the backbreaking bit!
First they lay out the fish evenly.
Then they cover them.
They build up several layers.
The rice starch feeds microorganisms
that cause fermentation.
"Can I add one more layer?"
"Yes, another layer should be fine?"
With nature's blessing
the Funazushi will be good again this year.
After the clean-up
the channel runs smooth and clear.
Small fry are encouraged to return.
The young gobies
are now the size of a fingernail
ten times as big as they were.
The hatchlings from the village
have spent 2 months feeding
on Lake Biwa's plankton.
They press on upstream.
No obstacle deters them;
not even vertical walls.
Inland, the channel narrows.
And ahead lies something
only too keen to greet them.
It's a Japanese keelback.
It feeds on fish,
which is unusual for terrestrial snakes.
The quick brown keelback
catches the lazy goby....
Those who escape continue
their travels upstream.
They must avoid herons
and carnivorous fish too.
The little gobies must find
somewhere safe from ambushes.
They bump into a row of fence posts.
Inside are carp, which won't attack them.
It's the channel that carries away
the household's used water.
Sangoro's pool offers
the young goby sanctuary
even if he will have to do the dishes!
The villagers endure
the humid days of late summer
with their natural neighbors.
It's a drowsy afternoon.
The moist air drains everyone's energy.
The temperature of the spring water
in the house pools
remains a constant pleasure.
"Oh, it's lovely and cool."
At last the fiery summer burns itself out.
Autumn brings welcome fresh breezes.
It is time to gather rice
the staple food of the Japanese.
As the rice dries in the autumn sun
the smell of hay spreads across the fields.
With the harvest in, it's the time to give thanks.
Sangoro picks 2 live fish from the house-pool.
They will survive.
But tomorrow is the day
the God of the rice paddy
goes back to the mountains.
He won't depart without being given offerings
rice cakes, sake, white radishes,
and the fresh fish.
Sangoro believes that
the God of his rice paddy
will eat before leaving.
The god will return next spring,
when rice is sown again.
Each element in nature has its own god
every tree, rock and stream
8 million gods of nature in all.
Prayer and ritual express Sangoro's gratitude.
He is almost totally self sufficient
thanks to the gifts of nature.
It's December. Winter's harshness looms.
Bitter winds start to gust from the lake;
sturdy green gives way to brittle gold.
9 months have passed
since the scorched earth sent out shoots.
Now the reeds soar above.
The slender stems
will make screens and thatch.
The farmers cut carefully:
They don't snap or bend the long stalks.
Practice has made them perfect.
They heap the bundles into a tent-like shape
called a Round Stand.
The stands will be left to dry
all through the winter.
The stands are visible reminders
of the close connection
between the farmers and the environment
they have created.
Winter grips the North of Lake Biwa.
The reed beds show no sign of life.
But
even snow can't totally erase
the traces of spring.
In Sangoro's house the local delicacy
is finally ready.
He caught the carp in his trap in Spring.
He and his wife salted them
and when summer came,
covered them in rice to ferment.
Now a further 6 months have passed.
They will eat both fish and rice.
Inside is more evidence of nature's bounty
orange eggs.
Sangoro invites his neighbors
to share the Funazushi.
After half a year of maturing
the fish has the sour taste of cheese.
Slow food that is endlessly satisfying.
Preparation, preservation
and finally appreciation
and finally appreciation
the precious pleasures
of people living close to nature.
Right next to their dining room,
there is the basin full to the brim.
It's cool in summer, warm in winter.
The Japanese describe tight-knit relationships
as being "as close as water and fish".
Intimate and inseparable.
Like the pool and its little refugee.
The goby sits in a quiet corner
waiting for spring.
March finally comes round again.
The reed beds have slept throughout the winter.
Now the first rays of sun
coax warmth into them.
Once more the silence yields to sounds of life.
As the rhythm of the year picks up,
so do lives, human and animal.
The Japanese have another saying
"Water comes, the fish live."
They mean that when the right time comes
everything will be fine.
Sangoro knows that
in the way of Satoyama,
everything has its season.
Together Satoyama people and nature
weave life into a seamless fabric
blessed by water circling
on its journey without end.
A new season, a new year, a new cycle
373
00:50:55,018 --> 00:00:00,-001
all begin in Japan's Secret Watergarden.
