Behind the mic: my experience of recording wildlife podcasts outdoors

Behind the mic: my experience of recording wildlife podcasts outdoors

Photo by Niamh Burchell

Wild Worcestershire podcast host Lee explores the magic, challenges and deep sense of connection that come from capturing authentic conversations and natural sound outdoors...

Whenever I head out with my recorder and a pair of headphones, I’m reminded why I love making the Wild Worcestershire podcast so much. There’s something deeply grounding about stepping into a nature reserve or finding a quiet corner of woodland, knowing that whatever happens next won’t just be a conversation - it’ll be a moment in nature, captured in real time.

But as romantic as that sounds, outdoor podcasting is a balance of beauty and chaos. I’ve learned (sometimes the hard way) that nature has its own opinions on how a recording session should go.

Why I love recording outside

For me, nothing beats the authenticity of natural sound. That first burst of birdsong, the rustle of leaves underfoot or the steady hush of water flowing somewhere out of sight. These aren’t just background noises. They’re characters in the story I am telling.

When I’m outdoors, my whole approach changes. I feel more present. My guests feel more relaxed. We notice things together - a fairy ring of fungi, a gust of wind rolling across a field - and those spontaneous little moments often become the heart of an episode. You simply can’t script that sort of magic in a studio.

Sometimes nature surprises me in ways I don’t expect. A soft, mossy woodland floor can absorb sound beautifully. Without the echo of hard walls, voices sound warmer, more intimate…almost as if they’re part of the landscape. A natural studio, as I prefer to see it.

Photograph of a podcast host wearing a Father Christmas hat holding a microphone interviewing a member of staff in a courtyard

Niamh Burchell

The not-so-glamorous bits

Let me also be honest: outdoor recording can be frustrating.

Wind is my biggest enemy. A gentle breeze that you barely feel on your face can turn into a harsh, crackling roar if it hits the microphone directly. I’ve had whole sections ruined because a sudden gust blew in at the wrong moment. That’s why I never record without a decent windshield and a sense of where the wind is coming from.

Then there’s the unpredictable stuff. You can be deep in the countryside, convinced you’ve found the perfect, silent spot - and then a tractor fires up in a field half a mile away or someone decides it’s the ideal moment for a bit of hedge-cutting. Anthropophony, as the scientists call it. A headache, as I call it.

Managing equipment outdoors is its own adventure. I’ve had cables snag on brambles, batteries drain faster in the cold and backpacks that feel twice as heavy when a rain cloud suddenly appears. Trust me, there’s nothing like the jolt of panic you feel when you sense the first drop of rain on your recorder.

Why monitoring really matters

One habit I’ve become almost obsessive about is monitoring the audio as I record. Wearing headphones isn’t just a preference - it’s a lifeline. Through them, I can hear every little problem: a mic brushing against a coat, a rogue gust of wind, interference from a power line I didn’t notice.

Catching issues in the moment saves an enormous amount of disappointment later. There’s nothing worse than thinking you’ve captured something special, only to find out in post-production that it’s unusable.

So, why keep doing it?

Because when it works, it really works.

There’s a feeling I get when I’m standing outdoors, recorder in hand, surrounded by the sounds of Worcestershire’s wild places. It’s a mix of calm, excitement and connection - to the land, to the people I’m speaking with and to the listeners who will join us later.

That’s why I keep going back out there. The challenges are real but the rewards are bigger. Recording in nature doesn’t just capture a story - it places you inside it.

For a podcast about wildlife, conservation and the landscapes we love, there’s no better studio than the wild itself.