Guest post by Matt Brierley, a wildlife filmmaker writing about his experience of creating Trouble in Paradise, the story of the Isles of Scilly Seabird Recovery Project.

I don't know when you last had your life governed by lunar activity. (I’m presupposing there are no werewolves reading this). For me, however, Spring 2013 was largely determined by the moon.

I needed to film a tidal phenomenon. On a very low tide - when a fat full moon hangs in the night sky like a dripping ball of butter – many of the Isles of Scilly join up.

This English archipelago has more than a hint of truly tropical about it. But for the ground and burrow-nesting seabirds there’s trouble in this island paradise. For a group of dedicated conservationists these tides have fed into a complicated decision-making process, a solution so ambitious it’s a global first.

It’s 4.30 a.m. three hours since I stopped filming the moon, I’m under canvas, and every part of my being is craving sleep. High tide is 5.17. By then I need to be taking one image a minute, and do that for six hours. If things go well, I’ll get nine seconds of footage never seen before.

Mind over matter, I’m up Samson Hill as the sun explodes over the horizon, all very Lion King. Perfect light. Brilliant. Then the batteries die.

If you get chance to sit through a whole tidal cycle, give it a whirl. It’s oddly therapeutic, a reflective pause amongst life’s rush. Especially if you had the foresight to bring extra batteries.

Six hours later, I’ve got mind-boggling shots that have spelt jeopardy for seabirds, explaining some of why it’s the island community of St. Agnes and Gugh, surrounded by deep water, that have united against a dark force.

Across the globe, other island communities are watching. Because if they manage this… well, seabirds could be saved on a global scale.

It’s the new moon, as dark as dark can be, and I’m back on the islands. On a cliff top an eerie call plays out of a battered tape deck to tiny sparrow-sized storm petrels, in the hope they’ll flutter into a near invisible net. Ringing by these local birders answers all sorts of important questions. And a release will enable me to film England’s only breeding storm petrels.

Flying only on the darkest nights, to avoid gull attack, seems smart - but recently the ground hasn’t been the safe haven it used to be either. There’s an ominous scuttle in the bushes.

Then, from the skies, the gentlest of thuds, and we’re in business. A bird few people have ever seen blinks into existence on my monitor. Bingo.

There’s so much more of the story to tell. Inspirational people, jaw-dropping scenery, seabirds shown as never before. The biggest coming together of people to save seabirds and restore an island paradise.

Enjoy the film!

Oh, and watch out for six hours compressed to 9 seconds of magic, and spare a thought for the sleep-deprived man that one May morning remembered his batteries. But, alas, forgot his sunhat.