Tracking Illegal Hunters That Illegally Capture China's Protected Songbirds.

Silva Gu's gaze sweeps over miles of open meadows, searching for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a place of cover in the grasslands. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, we hear only our own breath.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.

Trapped

Overhead, billions of birds, many so small that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and icy winds bring the first frosts of winter, they head to warmer places to breed and eat.

There are over 1500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so fine you can barely see them.

A net we almost encountered was stretched across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a small finch was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has forgone many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Initially, no-one cared," he remarks.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and formed a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and invited the officials of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that the response is not uniform.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls exploring the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not conservation areas to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I followed this course," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines satellite imagery to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can capture scores of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species sell for a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

Another man stands outside a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

But today there would be no sales because the police had arrived. They were interviewing the bird owners and taking names. Defiant, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his