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Silva Gu's gaze sweeps over vast expanses of dense fields, searching for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He utters a hushed tone as the team seeks a spot to hide in the fields. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, we hear only our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, the sound of footsteps emerges. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

In the skies above us, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have benefited from the long summer days in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they head to warmer places to breed and eat.

There are 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly 13% of the planet's species – 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 fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was strung across a large section of the field and supported with bamboo poles. At its center, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Initially, no-one cared," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and brought in the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police found that catching poachers also led to tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, noting that enforcement is still patchy.

Silva's love of birds started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

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 fast-paced development meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not protected zones to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the habitats they supported.

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

This has not made for an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

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

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He examines satellite imagery to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species command 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 environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds were killed 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 adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

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

Another man is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

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

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

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

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by 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 on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had appeared. They were interviewing the bird owners and taking names. Unyielding, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his