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Silva Gu's vision darts across miles of tall grassland, looking for signs of life in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a hushed tone as the team seeks a place of cover in the fields. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Caught

In the skies above us, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in northern regions, eating insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they journey to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

The nation hosts more than 1,500 bird species, which is about 13% of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow cross through China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was stretched across half the length of the field and supported with wooden sticks. In the middle, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Hunting the Hunters

This activist, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

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

So he gathered a team who were concerned and launched a group called 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 have shown results. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised 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. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not conservation areas to preserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation 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 gathered several of his associates 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 requires patience and night vigils. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

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

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He analyzes aerial photos to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can capture hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species sell for a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties 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. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, 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 some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

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

A separate individual is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

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

The path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

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 group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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