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Silva Gu's gaze sweeps across miles of dense fields, hunting for suspicious activity in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as the team seeks a spot to hide 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.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have benefited from the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and icy winds bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

The nation hosts more than 1,500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major flyways they follow converge in China.

This particular field where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "fine nets", so thin you can barely see them.

The one we nearly walked into was strung across half the length of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its ecosystem.

Pursuing the Poachers

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"In the early days, there was little interest," he states.

So he gathered a team who did care and launched a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and invited the leaders of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

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

Silva's love of birds started in childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

He recalls exploring the fields on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not conservation areas to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I made the choice 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 discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. 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 covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky 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 give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He examines 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 satellite images can even show netting setups which can capture hundreds of small birds during darkness.

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

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

Owning a pet 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 for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have 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 educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, 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 people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

We were told that protected birds could be purchased in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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