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Silva Gu's eyes scan over vast expanses of dense fields, searching for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Caught

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they head to warmer places to breed and eat.

There are 1500-plus bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Several of the major paths they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among forests of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was stretched across half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Back in 2015, there was little interest," he states.

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and invited the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion have shown results. The police found that catching poachers also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, noting that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls exploring 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 a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as 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 dedicate myself to preservation and I followed this course," he says.

It has not been an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered 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 held accountable.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people 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 address this major issue, you must give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

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

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines satellite imagery to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. 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 big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

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

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

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat in their youth. 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 raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages 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 is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

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

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, 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 transactions because the police had arrived. They were interviewing the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his