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

He speaks in a hushed tone as we try to find a place of cover in the fields. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.

Snared

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to warmer places to nest and feed.

There are over 1500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major flyways they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was extending over a large section of the field and held up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has given up on many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"In the early days, no-one cared," he remarks.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and invited the officials of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

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

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

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not conservation areas to preserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to work in conservation and I took this path," 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 retaliated.

"He assembled several of his associates who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not brought to justice.

He has also lost 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.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I treat it as a mission 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 – over 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the slowing economy.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines satellite imagery to find the paths created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes 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.

"Certain prized species command a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

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

Another man is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have created their own market.

The area alongside the water extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

We were told that wild songbirds 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 choreographing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple 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 questioning the bird owners and recording details. Defiant, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his