The noisy hide problem

In a hide on a small marsh, I spent forty minutes with two people whose shutters were the loudest I’d ever heard in a hide. One of them was the kind who narrates their own photography. I don’t care about the sound as much as I care about the conversation, which is always louder than people think. Hides are libraries, not bus stations. Saying so feels rude. Saying nothing gets you a fallout of flushed birds. I don’t know the right etiquette here.