When I Die, Feed Me To Something Majestic

In my 100 years, I’ve been favored with good health, time with loved ones, and a long, fulfilling career. There are many things for which I am grateful, not least of which is the opportunity to travel this astonishing planet, witness its wondrous diversity of life, and share what I’ve seen with generations of television viewers. After a century of rewarding engagement with the natural world, I have just one remaining wish: When I die, please, feed me to something majestic.

I don’t know exactly when my time will come, but when it does, I want a truly remarkable animal that embodies the full splendor of nature to gorge upon my lifeless form.

I haven’t any one species in mind, but consider the lion. It is undoubtedly among earth’s most magnificent carnivores, and having a pride of these impressive beasts tear my corpse to shreds would be an extremely satisfying capstone to a life spent marveling at nature in all its multifaceted glory. Then there are the arctic fox and the great horned owl, either of which might delight in nibbling away at my body. And could any means of disposal prove more extraordinary than a rare Himalayan snow leopard seizing me by the throat and dragging my limp carcass hundreds of yards back to its mountainous lair?

Our world is filled with beautiful and awe-inspiring creatures—from the stately polar bear to the spectacular orca to the critically endangered Sumatran rhino—so many of which would make a fitting final receptacle for my earthly remains.

This phenomenon can also be seen in the incredible varieties of cold-blooded predators that could glut themselves on my bones and organs. One need look no further than the Orinoco crocodile, which reaches lengths of over 20 feet, weighs more than a ton, and could clamp its jaws shut with a force of 2,000 pounds per square inch as it ground me down into suitably bite-sized pieces. Or imagine, for a moment, that whatever’s left of me simply lay rotting on the floor of a tropical forest to be opportunistically scavenged weeks later by a Komodo dragon.

However, there may be no better way to exit the stage, as it were, than in the mouth of an Australian scrub python, which through 125 million years of evolution has developed a series of highly unique and ingenious adaptations that now permit it to swallow a veteran television presenter whole.

(I hope I don’t have to mention that all of this should be captured on camera, so that if the animal I’m being fed to goes extinct, a record will exist for posterity of the fascinating ways it went about dismembering a centenarian.)

Of course, the options hardly need stop at mammals and reptiles—not when there are so many fish in the sea! Ever since we filmed Blue Planet III, I’ve pondered the terror and majesty of being devoured by a shortfin mako shark, with its dozen or more rows of formidable spear-shaped teeth, its ability to leap up to nine meters above the water, and the theoretical possibility of it catching in midair my falling corpse as it is jettisoned from a BBC helicopter high above the Pacific.

Don’t feel obligated to feed me to an apex predator, though. My flesh could be carefully cut into small chunks and thrown as chum to smaller marine wildlife: the coy and beguiling damselfish, a solitary snapper, the tiny star-sucker pygmy octopus, or perhaps even the elusive weedy seadragon. The denser scraps of this long-serving broadcaster could sink down to shrimp living in hydrothermal vents on the ocean floor. And if any small bits floated to the top, they could make a delectable treat for the splendidly  beplumed birds of paradise that dwell in the coastal forests of New Guinea.

Just as life takes countless dazzling forms in its unending quest to survive and evolve, so too could my consumption serve as a poignant illustration of life’s variety and adaptability. To that end, I would be perfectly happy to be swarmed by a column of African driver ants that skeletonizes me in seconds. But to best preserve the moment, make sure it’s depicted in a time-lapse sequence and accompanied by a haunting, minimalist score.

I’ve always dreamed of being pulverized into a fine pulp by a hippo’s massive teeth—I can’t believe I almost forgot that one—but they are, alas, herbivores. Perhaps they could be enticed? While I do prefer to be eaten, it would nonetheless be a marvelous paean to nature’s rich tapestry if my dead body were merely trampled to dust by stampeding bison, giraffes, or wildebeests.

Finally, it is my hope that these plans be carried out after I’ve succumbed to natural causes. But if it should occur that I’m ambushed by tiger sharks or taken down by a pack of coywolves while still living, please let the cameras roll and don’t try to intervene. Just know that as I’m painfully ripped apart and consumed by dozens of ravenous mouths, my last thoughts will be of the indescribable wonder and complexity of the great web of life that connects us all, and—after a lifetime studying it—of how deeply honored I am to make one final contribution to its endless renewal.

Indeed, what more could one ask for?

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