Following Poachers Who Illegally Snare China's Rare Singing Birds.

Silva Gu's gaze sweeps over miles of tall grassland, looking for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a muted voice as the team seeks a concealed position in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Caught

Across the heavens, billions of birds, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to southern locales to find food and shelter.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major migration routes they follow converge in China.

This particular field in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was extending over half the length of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Initially, there was little interest," he states.

So he enlisted helpers who did care and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and brought in the leaders of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy have shown results. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that the response is not uniform.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a much changed capital.

He remembers exploring the grasslands on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not conservation areas to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands receded, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to work in conservation and I followed this course," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

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

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He examines satellite imagery to find the routes worn away 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 capture scores of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species sell for a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

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

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The area 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 protected birds could be purchased in a small park. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan 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 covered in black fabric.

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