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

He speaks in a muted voice as we try to find a place of cover in the open area. 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 before dawn, the sound of footsteps emerges. Illegal trappers are present.

Caught

Across the heavens, countless migratory birds, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to warmer places to nest and feed.

There are 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow cross through 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 scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was stretched across a large section of the field and held up with wooden sticks. At its center, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Pursuing the Poachers

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

"In the early days, there was little interest," he says.

So he gathered a team who did care and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and invited the heads of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

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

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

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

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion 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 simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

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

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to solve this big problem, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

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

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the trails created 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 lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.

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

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

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

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The path alongside the water extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting 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 covered in dark cloth.

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