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Silva Gu's eyes scan over miles of dense fields, looking for suspicious activity in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as we try to find a place of cover in the open area. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Snared

Across the heavens, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they are flying to warmer places to breed and eat.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major flyways they follow intersect in China.

This particular field being monitored, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

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

Tracking the Trappers

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his own savings. He has forgone many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"In the early days, authorities were indifferent," he remarks.

So he enlisted helpers who did care and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and invited the leaders of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also led to uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that implementation remains inconsistent.

This fascination with birds started in 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. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not protected zones to preserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands receded, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I made the choice back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I followed this course," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

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

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"I do this full-time," 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 fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies satellite imagery to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths 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 at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"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 keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

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

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. 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 small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The path 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.

We were told that protected birds could be bought in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

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

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