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Silva Gu's vision darts across vast expanses of dense fields, searching for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as we try to find a concealed position in the grasslands. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Trapped

Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in northern regions, consuming bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they journey to southern locales to find food and shelter.

China is home to over 1500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major paths they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland being monitored, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge 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 fine you can almost miss them.

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over half the length of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird 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" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"In the early days, no-one cared," he says.

So he enlisted helpers who did care and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that implementation remains inconsistent.

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

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."

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were seen as land for construction, not conservation areas to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I made the choice back then to work in conservation and I followed this course," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He analyzes aerial photos 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 aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species command a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the fines to deter the activity do not exceed 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 Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have created their own market.

The path by the river stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

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

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area 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 questioning the bird owners and taking names. Defiant, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his