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Silva Gu's vision darts over vast expanses of open meadows, hunting for any movement in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in less than a whisper as we try to find a concealed position in the grasslands. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten before dawn, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Snared

Across the heavens, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they journey to southern locales to breed and eat.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Several of the major paths they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven 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 thin you can hardly spot them.

A net we almost encountered was extending over half the length of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a small finch was struggling frantically to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has forgone many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"In the early days, authorities were indifferent," he says.

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and invited the heads of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, noting that the response is not uniform.

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 fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were seen as land for construction, not protected zones to conserve.

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

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

It has not been an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. 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 demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the slowing economy.

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He charts these 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 hundreds 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 keep birds are now often affluent."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the fines 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 originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're really hard to change."

Busted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a trader has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

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

The area by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had congregated 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 appeared. They were interviewing the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his