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Silva Gu's gaze sweeps over vast expanses of open meadows, hunting for any movement in the inky blackness.

He utters a hushed tone as they attempt to locate a spot to hide in the fields. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten before dawn, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.

Trapped

Across the heavens, countless migratory birds, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the long summer days in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year winds down and cold breezes 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, accounting for thirteen percent of the global population – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major migration routes they follow converge in China.

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

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "mist nets", so thin you can hardly spot them.

A net we almost encountered was strung across a large section of the field and supported with bamboo poles. In the middle, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Back in 2015, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. 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 illegal operations.

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

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls roaming through the grasslands on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

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

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

"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection and I took this path," he says.

It has not been an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of 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 treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies aerial photos to find the trails 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 netting setups which can capture 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."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom 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 vendor has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

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 valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be purchased in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing 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 black fabric.

But today there would be no transactions because the police had arrived. 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