The dawn chorus at Conwy RSPB.
Chris Watson describes what you can hear.

An area with hardly any trees seems an unlikely habitat for much wildlife, yet the combination of the Conwy estuary bordered by the urban environment around Conwy and Llandudno offers a unique combination of sounds for a very special dawn chorus.

The mixture of mud flats, reedbeds, grasslands and scrub required different microphone techniques as well as a copy of the tide tables.

Dawn on Monday 14 April was perfect as the high tide was at sunrise, so wading birds that feed on the rich mud in the Conwy estuary would be pushed up by the rising tide towards the the areas where their land-based cousins would be in good voice, a dawn chorus across land, sea and mud.

Nearby street and security lighting was reflected from the low cloud cover and cast an eerie orange glow over the smooth lines of the estuary, enough for me to just about see my way across the stones to place my microphones by the strand line and run a long cable back into the thorn scrub from where I could record without disturbing the approaching birds.

At 0500h and unseen, the sound of the incoming tide creeping across the mud filled my headphones and way out towards the coast I just caught the distant sounds of herring gulls and the ripple of a curlew call, not really songs, but nevertheless the sounds of real wildlife.

Then within moments, several robins and a blackbird erupted into song in a line of bushes bordering the road to Betws-y-Coed, raising their voices against the early morning traffic.

The water advanced; gulls, curlews and a nervous group of oystercatchers lifted and scanned the gloom for any remaining island of raised mud to roost on whilst the tide allowed.

From the thorn scrub on the landward side a songthrush rang out and this was quickly followed by the machine-like rattle of a wren singing from a bramble patch. The surprise bird was the silvery descending notes of a migrant willow warbler, the first I have heard this year.

The clamour of gulls and a gaggle of Canada geese turned my microphone arm back out onto the estuary where the birds were now thin grey rags turning over in the air. The advancing daylight cast a weak blue colour over the water, more and more birds with less space to land.

The sky suddenly darkened and released a curtain of hailstones which peppered my microphones, and me! All I could do was to turn my back into the weather and rely on my waterproof clothing.

Fortunately this was just a passing shower which swept in from the west and blew away to the south east, it's passing marked by a final burst of song from the bushes and a peal of calls from the shore birds overhead.

Chris Watson