🔗 Share this article

Silva Gu's eyes scan over vast expanses of open meadows, searching for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He utters less than a whisper as they attempt to locate a place of cover in the fields. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to warmer places to breed and eat.

There are over 1500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow cross through China.

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

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "mist nets", so delicate you can barely see them.

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over half the length of the field and held up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a small finch was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it struggled, 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 environment.

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 release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Initially, there was little interest," he says.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and launched a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and invited the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that implementation remains inconsistent.

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

He recalls roaming through the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not protected zones to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to work in conservation and I chose this direction," he says.

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

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and beat me up," 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 patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to address this major issue, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

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

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh the potential profits 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 Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have inherited the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Busted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a trader has several small cages with tiny twittering birds.

A separate individual is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

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

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought 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 fan dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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