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Silva Gu's vision darts across vast expanses of dense fields, hunting for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He speaks in less than a whisper as we try to find a concealed position in the fields. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten before dawn, the sound of footsteps emerges. Illegal trappers are present.

Snared

Overhead, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year winds down and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to warmer places to nest and feed.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so delicate 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 small finch was struggling frantically to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Pursuing the Poachers

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and formed a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and brought in the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion have shown results. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

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

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

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

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as areas for development, not conservation areas to preserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands started disappearing, 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 accomplices who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous 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 donations pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the trails created 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 capture scores of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes 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. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

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

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

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The area by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, 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. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three 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. Defiant, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his