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Silva Gu's vision darts over miles of dense fields, searching for signs of life in the early morning gloom.

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, we hear only our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.

Caught

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they head to warmer places to nest and feed.

There are over 1500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so delicate you can hardly spot them.

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across a large section of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Back in 2015, no-one cared," he states.

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and brought in the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy have shown results. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, noting that enforcement is still patchy.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he found 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 rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered empty places to build, 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 simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his associates who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. 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 requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," 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 donations pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the trails worn away 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 netting setups which can catch hundreds of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species sell for a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the fines 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 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 older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

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

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a trader has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

A separate individual stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

The path alongside the water extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

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 choreographing a fan 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 concealed by black fabric.

But today there would be no transactions because the police had appeared. They were interviewing the bird owners and taking names. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his