Tracking Poachers Illegally Trapping China's Endangered Wild Birds.

Silva Gu's eyes scan across miles of dense fields, looking for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He utters a muted voice as they attempt to locate a place of cover in the fields. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. The hunters have arrived.

Caught

Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they journey to southern locales to breed and eat.

There are 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly 13% of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among forests of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "fine nets", so thin you can barely see them.

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over a large section of the field and supported with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many nights of sleep 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 were concerned and formed a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and invited the heads of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy have shown results. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

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

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

He recalls roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were seen as areas for development, not protected zones to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection and I followed this course," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says few people 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 tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes aerial photos to find the trails created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have inherited the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

We were told that protected birds could be purchased in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

But on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had appeared. They were interviewing the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his