Move over, every polished presenter who ever read a script about badgers: Britain has chosen its new natural-history heartbeat, and he’s a 6-foot-6 Sudanese-Scottish giant who learned to track lynx before he could drive, cries when otters hold hands, and once spent 42 straight nights sleeping in a hide just to film pine martens falling in love.

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Last night, BBC One dropped the first trailer for Hamza’s Wild Britain (a six-part landmark series launching spring 2026), and within four hours it became the most-watched BBC trailer in a decade. The final 15 seconds alone have been viewed 28 million times: Hamza, knee-deep in a Highland river at dawn, whispering so gently the microphone barely catches it as a mother otter teaches her pup to swim literally inches from his face. No music. Just his soft Glasgow-Sudanese lilt: “Look… she’s telling him the water will hold him, if he trusts it. Same thing my mum told me when we arrived in Scotland and I couldn’t speak a word of English.”

Hamza arrived in rural Northamptonshire from Sudan at age eight, speaking no English, clutching a bird book his father gave him “because birds don’t care what language you speak.” By twelve he was the weird kid cycling ten miles before school to photograph kingfishers. At sixteen he won Young Wildlife Photographer of the Year with a shot of a fox cub yawning that looked like it was laughing at the universe. University (Bangor, zoology) was just an excuse to live closer to puffins.

Then came the decade nobody saw: camera-operating on Planet Earth III, Springwatch, and Countryfile, always the guy in the muddy boots who could lie motionless for 14 hours until a badger sniffed his lens and decided he was harmless. Crew nicknamed him “the Otter Whisperer” after he filmed the first-ever footage of wild otters playing with pebbles in the Cairngorms, entirely by becoming part of the furniture for six weeks.

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His big break was accidental. In 2022 he entered Strictly Come Dancing “because my mum loves glitterballs and I thought it might pay for a new hide.” He won the whole thing with Jowita Przystał, foxtrotting like a man who’d spent his life learning rhythm from golden eagles soaring on thermals. Overnight, eight million people discovered the gentle giant who spoke about conservation between sambas.

The BBC pounced. First Hamza: Wild Isles (2024), then the Emmy-nominated Hamza’s Sudan (2025), where he returned to his birthplace to film the last northern white rhinos under the same stars he watched as a child. Critics called it “the most emotional hour of television this decade.” Viewers just called it “life-changing.”

Now Hamza’s Wild Britain is being billed as the spiritual successor to Attenborough’s Life on Earth. Shot entirely by Hamza himself (he still refuses a full camera crew because “animals don’t like strangers”), it promises never-before-seen behaviour: red squirrels teaching their young to tightrope-walk power lines, urban foxes using pedestrian crossings at night, golden eagles hunting in snowstorms so violent Hamza had to be roped to a cliff for three days.

The trailer’s money shot? Hamza lying flat on his stomach in a peat bog at 4 a.m., face inches from a wild mountain hare in its white winter coat. The hare slowly reaches out and touches his beard with its paw. Hamza doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. When the hare eventually hops away, he whispers to camera, voice cracking: “Sometimes the wild decides you’re worth trusting. That’s the best feeling in the world.”

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Sir David himself has already given the ultimate blessing. In a rare statement, the 99-year-old legend said: “Hamza sees the natural world the way poets see love: with wonder that never ages. The baton isn’t being passed; it’s being shared.”

Social media is flooded with kids posting drawings of otters wearing glittery bow ties “for Uncle Hamza.” Primary schools are reporting record numbers of children wanting to become “rangers instead of YouTubers.” The RSPB’s junior membership has tripled in six months.

Hamza, being Hamza, responded to the “new Attenborough” hype with typical humility on Instagram last night: a simple photo of his muddy wellies next to a child’s drawing of an otter holding a glitterball, captioned, “I’m just the tall idiot who talks to animals. Thank you for letting me into your living rooms. I’ll try to make the planet prouder than I am right now.”

Britain has a new voice for its wild places, and it sounds like hope wrapped in a Highland breeze. Spring 2026 can’t come soon enough.