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Silva Gu's eyes scan across miles of dense fields, hunting for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He utters a muted voice as they attempt to locate a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten before dawn, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.

Snared

Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the long summer days in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they head to warmer places to find food and shelter.

China is home to 1500-plus bird species, accounting for 13% of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among forests of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so delicate you can almost miss them.

A net we almost encountered was extending over half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. In the middle, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

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 environment.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"In the early days, authorities were indifferent," he remarks.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and invited the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, noting that the response is not uniform.

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

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

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were seen as land for construction, not sanctuaries to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands receded, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

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

It has not been an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says not many are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to address this major issue, you must commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies aerial photos to find the trails created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

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

Another man stands outside a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The area alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

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

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area 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 multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

But today there would be no transactions because the police had arrived. 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