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

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a spot to hide in the grasslands. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Snared

Overhead, billions of birds, many so small that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year nears its end 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, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow being monitored, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across a large section of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

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

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has forgone many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Initially, authorities were indifferent," he remarks.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also helped in tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that the response is not uniform.

Silva's love of birds started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

He remembers wandering in the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were seen as land for construction, not conservation areas to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. 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.

It has not been an simple journey. 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 assaulted me," 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 team of helpers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are prepared for 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 solve this big problem, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 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 examines satellite imagery to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes 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 during darkness.

"Certain prized species command a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, 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 growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

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

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

The area by the river stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

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