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

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a place of cover in the grasslands. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.

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

Trapped

Across the heavens, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

There are more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major flyways they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to escape, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

This 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 habitat.

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, 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 states.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and launched a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and brought in the leaders of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

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

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

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

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered empty places to build, not protected zones to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I took this path," he says.

It has not been an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work requires patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He analyzes aerial photos to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He maps those 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 catch hundreds of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command 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 argues the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for 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 breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice 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

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

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

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where informal vendors have created their own market.

The area by the river 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 wild songbirds could be purchased in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Nearby 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 on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had arrived. They were questioning the bird owners and recording details. Defiant, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his