Silva Gu's eyes scan across miles of tall grassland, hunting for any movement in the early morning gloom.
He speaks in less than a whisper as we try to find a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only our own breath.
And then, as the sky begins to brighten before dawn, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.
Overhead, billions of birds, many so small that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.
They have utilized the long summer days in northern regions, consuming bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and icy winds bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to more temperate climates to breed and eat.
China is home to 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly 13% of the world's total – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow intersect in China.
The area of meadow where we were, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.
It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "mist nets", so fine you can barely see them.
The trap we stumbled upon was extending over a large section of the field and held up with wooden sticks. At its center, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.
This was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its environment.
Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade urging 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 established a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He organized public meetings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police discovered that catching poachers also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.
"We found our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that the response is not uniform.
Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a very different Beijing.
He recalls wandering in the grasslands 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 expansion meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not protected zones to preserve.
This shift shocked him. The grasslands receded, as did the wildlife they housed.
"I made the choice back then to work in conservation and I took this path," he says.
This has not made for 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 confronted me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he went 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 stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are willing to take on 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 cannot be half-hearted."
He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the economic situation.
So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.
He studies satellite imagery to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can capture scores of small birds at night.
"Certain prized species command a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."
While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.
Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.
This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.
"These individuals 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 no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."
On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.
A separate individual stands outside a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. 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 informal vendors have established a niche trade.
The area alongside the water extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets 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 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 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 questioning the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his
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