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Silva Gu's vision darts over 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 place of cover in the open area. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. Illegal trappers are present.

Caught

Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have benefited from the long summer days in northern regions, consuming insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they journey to southern locales to breed and eat.

China is home to over 1500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was stretched across a large section of the field and supported with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Pursuing the Poachers

This activist, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Back in 2015, there was little interest," he says.

So he gathered a team who did care and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and brought in the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also led to tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that enforcement is still patchy.

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a much changed capital.

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

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not protected zones to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands receded, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

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

This has not made for an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who surrounded 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 demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species command a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers 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 punish the crime 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 elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are breaking the law, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

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

A separate individual stands outside a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

The area by the river stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

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 troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

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