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Silva Gu's gaze sweeps across vast expanses of tall grassland, searching for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in less than a whisper as the team seeks a place of cover in the open area. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. 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 migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in northern regions, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they journey to warmer places to breed and eat.

There are over 1500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major paths they follow intersect in China.

The area of meadow being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over half the length of the field and supported with wooden sticks. In the middle, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to escape, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Pursuing the Poachers

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade convincing 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 established a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion have shown results. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

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."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not conservation areas to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, as did the wildlife they housed.

"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. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."

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

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He analyzes aerial photos to find the routes created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can catch scores of small birds during darkness.

"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 environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people 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.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, 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 by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that protected birds could be purchased in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

But on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had arrived. They were interviewing the bird owners and taking names. Unyielding, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his