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Silva Gu's eyes scan over vast expanses of dense fields, looking for suspicious activity in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a concealed position in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten before dawn, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Trapped

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

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the global population – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow intersect in China.

This particular field where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among forests of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so fine you can almost miss them.

A net we almost encountered was extending over half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Initially, no-one cared," he states.

So he enlisted helpers who did care and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and invited the heads of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that the response is not uniform.

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

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

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

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

"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection and I took this path," 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 retaliated.

"He gathered several of his associates who confronted me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says few people are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch 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 own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, 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 growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The path by the river extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing a fan 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 dark cloth.

But today 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