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Silva Gu's eyes scan over miles of tall grassland, hunting for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a concealed position in the open area. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, the sound of footsteps emerges. The hunters have arrived.

Caught

Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they are flying to southern locales to find food and shelter.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Several of the major flyways they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland being monitored, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across a large section of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Pursuing the Poachers

This activist, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

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

So he gathered a team who did care and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police discovered that catching poachers also led to uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that enforcement is still patchy.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

He recalls wandering in the fields on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in 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 viewed as areas for development, not conservation areas to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands receded, as did the wildlife they housed.

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

This has not made for an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators 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 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 tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising covers 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 examines aerial photos to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can capture scores of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats 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 believes the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people 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 continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

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

Another man is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city 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 false teeth.

We were told that wild songbirds could be bought in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

But today there would be no sales because the police had arrived. 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