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Silva Gu's eyes scan over vast expanses of dense fields, searching for any movement in the inky blackness.

He speaks in less than a whisper as the team seeks a place of cover in the grasslands. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, the sound of footsteps emerges. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have benefited from the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they journey to warmer places to find food and shelter.

There are over 1500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

This particular field where we were, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was strung across a large section of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. At its center, a small finch was fighting hard to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

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 ecosystem.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Back in 2015, authorities were indifferent," he remarks.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and launched a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and brought in the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

He remembers exploring the grasslands on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not conservation areas to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I followed this course," he says.

It has not been an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

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

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky 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 can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He studies aerial photos to find the paths 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 netting setups which can catch hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species sell for a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the imperial era. 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 some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

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

A separate individual is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

The path by the river extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought in a nearby green space. 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 in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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