Following Illegal Hunters That Illegally Capture the Nation's Protected Songbirds.

Silva Gu's vision darts across miles of tall grassland, looking for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He utters a muted voice as the team seeks a place of cover in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only our own breath.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

In the skies above us, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow intersect in China.

The area of meadow being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer few options to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. At its center, a meadow pipit was fighting hard 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 "indicator species" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, 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 convincing the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"In the early days, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and launched a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and invited the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a much changed capital.

He remembers 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."

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were seen as areas for development, not conservation areas to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the habitats they supported.

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

It has not been an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

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

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

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

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines satellite imagery to find the routes 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 satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can catch hundreds of small birds during darkness.

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

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. 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 retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are breaking the law, or grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

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

A separate individual stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The area by the river 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 nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

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