Country diary: This weary traveller has escaped the hunter’s gun | Sarah Lambert

Maxey Cut, Cambridgeshire: There’s so much precious wildlife around this old flood-relief channel including sea trout and eels. But I’ve come to hear the purr of the turtle dove. The morning air is moist and utterly still. Above the flood bank, dappled grey cirrocumulus parts to a clear blue. Birds sound from every side: the cuckoo’s insistent call over a chorus of warblers – the sedge warbler’s machine-gun rattle, the willow warbler’s falling cadence, and, piercing them all, the explosive eruptions of a Cetti’s warbler buried deep in cover.But it is the turtle dove that I have come to hear: that low, tender purring, almost lost in the greater chorus. When it comes, my heart lifts. I find a lone bird on a telegraph wire, one of its favoured perches. Through the binoculars, I make out a pink-grey breast, a neat black-and-white collar, and rust‑red feathers on the back, each one finely marked with black. Continue reading...