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Silva Gu's vision darts across miles of dense fields, searching for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as we try to find a spot to hide in the fields. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. Illegal trappers are present.

Snared

Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, which is about 13% of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major migration routes they follow intersect in China.

This particular field in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven 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 "fine nets", so thin you can hardly spot them.

A net we almost encountered was strung across a large section of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a small finch was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Pursuing the Poachers

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his own savings. He has forgone many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"In the early days, no-one cared," he remarks.

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and invited the leaders of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

He recalls wandering in the fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not protected zones to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

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

This has not made for an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he went to the police but those responsible 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 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 address this major issue, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies aerial photos to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the financial benefits 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 to display their birds.

This custom that persists 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 had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have inherited the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

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

Another man stands outside a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

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

We were told that wild songbirds could be bought in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had congregated 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 questioning the bird owners and taking names. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his