Tracking Poachers Who Illegally Snare the Nation's Endangered Wild Birds.

Silva Gu's eyes scan across miles of dense fields, hunting for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Snared

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the long summer days in northern regions, consuming bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to southern locales to find food and shelter.

There are over 1500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow being monitored, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so fine you can almost miss them.

A net we almost encountered was extending over half the length of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its ecosystem.

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has given up on many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Back in 2015, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion have shown results. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also led to identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

He remembers wandering in the grasslands on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were viewed as areas for development, not conservation areas to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands receded, as did the habitats they supported.

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

It has not been an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

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

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

He says donations pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He analyzes aerial photos to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can catch hundreds of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues 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 people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

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

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The path by the river extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

We were told that wild songbirds could be bought in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

But today there would be no transactions because the police had appeared. They were questioning the bird owners and recording details. Defiant, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his