Guest blog by Hazel Watson and Ric Else, RSPB NI visitor experience staff at the Rathlin West Light Seabird CentreYou might expect Rathlin Island to be a peaceful and quiet place, but out at the western end of the island - where thousands upon thousands of seabirds crowd on to the cliffs - it is anything but!You’ll find the approach to the cliffs is generally quite serene, with meadow pipits peeping as they flit past and skylarks trilling and burbling high overhead. If you’re lucky, you might find yourself startled by a snipe bursting skywards from the rushes, with a panicked squawk and a clatter of wings. But continue on, right up to the cliff edge, and that’s when the sounds of the seabird colony will fill your ears.Thanks to their sheer numbers, the common guillemots (below) make the loudest contribution to the hubbub, and their individual gargling and trumpeting cries combine into a raucous roar. Kittiwakes (pictured, above) are far fewer in number, but they more than make up for that with the volume and enthusiasm of their eponymous, trisyllabic squawks – “kitt-eee-waaaaake, kitt-eee-waaaaake”. Nesting pairs squabble noisily with their neighbours, the victors screaming in triumph while the ousted losers voice their vexation.At the Rathlin West Light Seabird Centre, looking out from the viewing platform is like standing in a great amphitheatre, with hordes of guillemots lining each level of the sea stacks like a rowdy audience in the cheap seats at Northern Ireland’s greatest seabird show.Here, right in the heart of the colony, you are close enough to hear the low vocalisations of razorbills (below) – their crotchety grumblings between neighbours, as well as affectionate purrings of snuggling pairs. You will see the entertaining antics of the puffins attending their burrows at the base of the cliffs, but their quiet mumblings are drowned out by the louder voices all around. Almost within touching distance, yet indifferent to our presence, fulmars sit serenely on their grassy thrones. Occasionally, an interloper attempts to land on an occupied ledge, and an indignant chorus of guttural cackling ensues until the intruding party backs down. Usually shouting is enough – only in the most stubborn stand-offs do the combatants resort to flinging jets of noisome vomit at each other.These birds provide the loud and incessant background rhythm to Rathlin’s sea cliffs, but many other players add their voices to the mix. Deep, resounding croaks are the suitably menacing sound that heralds the appearance of the raven, as it swoops about the cliffs looking for eggs to steal or other titbits to scavenge. A variety of small soloists add sporadic bursts of pizzazz to the symphony – rock pipits launch into parachuting display flights from the rock faces, and the distinctive twang of a twite can sometimes be heard by those with a keen ear. The biggest voice of all belongs to a bird that has an attitude much greater than its tiny size. The wren (below) belts out its assertive song and it echoes around the cliffs louder than many thousands of seabirds!In early July, the sounds of the seabirds build to a crescendo, and one evening the colony will be noticeably louder than normal. At this time the colony is full of fluffy auk chicks, and their shrill peeping rises above the continuous din of their parents. This increase in volume signals the most exciting event of the season is about to begin – it is time for the chicks to become jumplings. Anticipating a spectacular show, we’ll return in the evening to watch, and as the sun goes down and dusk falls, the atmosphere in the colony is electric. The guillemot and razorbill parents call earnestly to their three-week old chicks, encouraging them to the edge of the cliff, and once positioned there, the parents fly down to the water and call again from below to entice the jumpling to take the plunge. The tiny jumplings (pictured, below) gather their courage and spring off – for many it’s a leap of 60 metres or more, and they must leap well to make it safely down into the water. With all this drama going on, it’s an emotional time, not least because the chicks and their parents are leaving the colony and setting out for life out at sea. From this from this point on, the sounds of the colony won’t be quite as loud again…until they return to breed again next year. Photos (C) Hazel Watson and Ric Else, except wren image by Paul Chesterfield (rspb-images.com)The RSPB has just released its first ever single of pure birdsong. Let Nature Sing is available as a digital download or as a CD. To buy it, and to find out more about the campaign to drive nature's recovery, please visit www.rspb.org.uk/letnaturesing