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Silva Gu's eyes scan across vast expanses of dense fields, hunting for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in a muted voice as we try to find a spot to hide in the fields. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Caught

Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to warmer places to breed and eat.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow cross through China.

This particular field in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across a large section of the field and supported with wooden sticks. In the middle, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. 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.

"Initially, authorities were indifferent," he says.

So he enlisted helpers who did care and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that the response is not uniform.

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

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

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not conservation areas to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the habitats they supported.

"I decided back then to work in conservation and I chose this direction," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

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 challenging and occasionally risky job.

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

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He examines satellite imagery to find the routes created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species command a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the fines to deter the activity do not exceed the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

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

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, 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 is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have created their own market.

The area by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be purchased 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 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 sales because the police had appeared. They were questioning the bird owners and taking names. Defiant, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his