Silva Gu's vision darts across vast expanses of dense fields, searching for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.
He utters a muted voice as the team seeks a concealed position in the fields. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.
And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.
Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.
They have benefited from the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. 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 1500-plus bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Several of the major paths 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 urban landscape offer few options to rest among clusters of concrete.
It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "fine nets", so thin you can hardly spot them.
The trap we stumbled upon was strung across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a tiny bird was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.
It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.
The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. 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 enforce the law.
"In the early days, authorities were indifferent," he remarks.
So he gathered a team who did care and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.
"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.
His passion for avian life started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a very different Beijing.
He remembers roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."
Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were viewed as areas for development, not conservation areas to conserve.
The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, 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. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.
"He assembled several of his accomplices who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not brought to justice.
He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.
"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."
He says fundraising covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the economic situation.
So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.
He examines satellite imagery to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.
"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 wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh 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 imperial era. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.
This custom that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.
"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."
Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.
Another man is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.
This offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have established a niche trade.
The area alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to dentures.
We were told that protected birds could be bought in a small park. It was easy to find.
Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.
But today there would be no sales 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
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