Silva Gu's gaze sweeps over vast expanses of dense fields, searching for suspicious activity in the pre-dawn darkness.
He speaks in less than a whisper as we try to find a concealed position in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.
Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.
In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.
They have utilized the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming bugs and berries. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to warmer places to breed and eat.
There are over 1500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine 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 – any further and the city skies offer few options to rest among clusters of concrete.
It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so delicate you can hardly spot them.
The one we nearly walked into was extending over half the length of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a small finch was struggling frantically to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.
It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.
The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. 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 take this crime seriously.
"In the early days, authorities were indifferent," he remarks.
So he gathered a team who did care and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and invited the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police found that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.
"We found our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that enforcement is still patchy.
Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.
He remembers exploring the fields on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."
China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not conservation areas to preserve.
The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.
"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I followed this course," he says.
This has not made for an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.
"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.
He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says few people are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.
"I do this full-time," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to address this major issue, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."
He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.
So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.
He analyzes aerial photos to find the trails created by the poachers. He charts these 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.
"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers 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 outweigh the financial benefits of trapping and trading 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.
This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.
"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."
On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with tiny twittering birds.
Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, 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 by the river stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to false teeth.
We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased in a small park. The location was not concealed.
Music was blasting 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 congregated 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 sales because the police had appeared. They were interviewing the bird owners and taking names. Defiant, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his
Elara is a passionate writer and photographer who shares insights on creativity and mindful living through engaging storytelling.
