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Silva Gu's vision darts over miles of dense fields, hunting for any movement in the inky blackness.

He speaks in less than a whisper as the team seeks a place of cover in the fields. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, 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 taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating bugs and berries. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they journey to southern locales to find food and shelter.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Several of the major flyways they follow converge in China.

This particular field being monitored, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over a large section of the field and held up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Initially, there was little interest," he says.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and formed a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and invited the officials of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy have shown results. The police realized that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

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

Silva's love of birds started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

He remembers roaming through the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not conservation areas to preserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to pursue environmental protection and I chose this direction," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

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 willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project 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 funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He studies aerial photos to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the fines 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 originates from the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

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

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

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

We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Nearby 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 arrived. They were interviewing the bird owners and recording details. Defiant, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his