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Silva Gu's vision darts across miles of dense fields, searching for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in less than a whisper as they attempt to locate a spot to hide in the fields. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

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

Trapped

Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small 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 bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and icy winds bring the first frosts of winter, they head to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major migration routes they follow intersect in China.

The area of meadow where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across half the length of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. At its center, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its population is healthy, so is its ecosystem.

Pursuing the Poachers

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has forgone many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and established a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and invited the officials of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that enforcement is still patchy.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

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

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not sanctuaries to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, as did the habitats they supported.

"I made the choice back then to work in conservation and I followed this course," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered 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 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 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 can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes satellite imagery 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 lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species command a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits of catching and selling 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 to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise 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.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

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

Another man is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells 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 established a niche trade.

The area by the river extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

We were told that protected birds 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 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 dark cloth.

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