It was a Black Redstart that had us originally out and birding on the West Shore of Llandudno in the early morning.  The previous evening, someone had reported one in a spot that regularly throws up a Black Redstart around this time of year.  It’s a great location, where the limestone bluff of the Great Orme drops off dramatically into the sea and the mouth of the Conwy Estuary.  To your left, the rocky foreshore, large boulders and sea wall; to your right the limestone cliff and scree slopes and if that wasn’t enough, there’s even a building site at the foot of the cliffs – once the site of a hotel, a building with a historic connection to Lewis Carroll and the supposed star of his famous books, Alice Liddel, now sadly reduced to a pile of rubble and a heap of overturned soil, but still providing 5 star accommodation for a discerning Black Redstart.  A textbook site for this bird, but obviously it hadn’t read the right book.  Wrapped up against the bitter wind, we checked out the building site first.  Mound of gravel: nothing.  Upturned heap of turf and exposed soil: nothing.   Piles of rubble and broken bricks: nothing.  Dry stone wall: a Robin.  Clump of teasels: Dunnock.  Area of shaggy grass: Song Thrush.  All great garden birds but not what we were looking for.Next we scoured the shore, scanning over the pebbles on the stony beach, upgrading to the bigger rocks lapped by the larger waves and finally moving up to the huge boulders stacked against the sea wall.  A pair of Herring Gulls splashed in the shallows and sifted through the feathers on their backs.  An Oystercatcher probed his coral-coloured bill into the rock-pools, looking for mussels lurking in their chilly depths.  Then, movement caught our eye as a small bird dived into the shelter of two enormous slabs of rock.  With that adrenalin rush that sudden bird movement can incur, we scurried up the road to get a better look, never taking our eyes off the slim gap the bird had disappeared inside.  This had to be our bird!  Side by side, we stood staring at the rocks ignoring the sharp wind that was slicing straight through our woollen gloves and turning our faces red and raw.  At last it materialised: a small grey bird shot out of the gap and landed on a nearby boulder: a Rock Pipit, what a disappointment!We turned our attention to the limestone cliffs above us.  A bright white dot shone out against the grey of the rock face:  a Fulmar.  The bird was tucked onto a narrow ledge, a snug and secure spot half way up and half way down offering protection from predators and the elements alike.  Too early to be nesting already, it was probably prospecting likely sites, and this was certainly a room with a view.   The ‘Chack!’ calls and activity on a grassy slope revealed a gang of noisy Jackdaws, fossicking in the undergrowth looking for worms and other tasty titbits, bickering like a gang of teenagers over who had the best bit.  But still no sign of a Black Redstart.  Then overhead we heard a distinctive throaty ‘Kronk’, and looking up, the heavy black silhouette of a Raven appeared over the edge of the cliff and wheeled in the air above us.  Now, Ravens often suffer from bad press in this country.  Supposed harbingers of doom, there are many myths and legends surrounding these large corvids, which can reach some three feet from tip of heavy beak to end of diamond-shaped tail.  Raven is supposed to be a cunning character, able to change his shape into anyone or anything to get what he wants, which is usually food.  All around the world there are many tales of how Raven meets other animals and uses his wit to trick them out of their food, from his Cousin Crow who loses his entire winter food supply, to Deer who is tricked into leaping onto rocks that he might die and be devoured.Our Raven had obviously been up to trickery of some kind too, as he flew along trailing the remains of something dead in his bill.  He landed on a flat ledge, laid down his corpse and holding it in place with a foot, began to tear at it with his sharp bill.   Wet, slippery and gory, he pulled out what looked like intestines which trailed like spaghetti from his bill.  Too long to handle, he pinned them down again and pulled back sharply, this time breaking off a piece and gulping it down with obvious satisfaction.  By now, his bill was wet and shiny, covered with gore as he continued to dismember his breakfast enthusiastically.  At last his appetite was satisfied and he now put his bill to a more refined use.  Delicately, he broke off individual leaves from a nearby climbing plant and carefully placed them over his meal, covering it from other prying eyes.  We watched him for some five minutes as he plucked the branch bare, placing the leaves in a thick layer to conceal his food to be kept for a later time.  This was behaviour we’d never seen before but certainly testified to the cleverness of this bird.Of course, this time last year we were enjoying some rather different Ravens in rather better weather.  These were Thick-billed Ravens resting in the welcome shady cool of some trees in Ethiopia, just one of the thirty or so endemic species we saw on our Tropical Birding tour. Wonder if they are as dextrous with their massive swollen-arched bills as ours?And as for the Black Redstart?  Well, we returned to the same spot later that afternoon and again the next morning, and went through the same process of scouring all the likely, and unlikely, places for this bird to be, but still no luck.  Oh well, that’s birding for you!