Tracking Illegal Hunters Illegally Trapping the Nation's Rare Singing Birds.

Silva Gu's gaze sweeps across vast expanses of dense fields, searching for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters a muted voice as the team seeks a place of cover in the fields. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Caught

Overhead, countless migratory birds, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have benefited from the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they journey to southern locales to nest and feed.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow intersect in China.

The area of meadow in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so delicate you can hardly spot them.

A net we almost encountered was stretched across a large section of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

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

So he gathered a team who did care and established a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized community gatherings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police found that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that the response is not uniform.

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

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

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not protected zones 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 chose this direction," he says.

It has not been an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his associates who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. 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.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to solve this big problem, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 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 studies aerial photos to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can catch scores of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species command a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

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

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

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

The area alongside the water extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

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

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing 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 concealed by black fabric.

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