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Silva Gu's eyes scan over vast expanses of tall grassland, searching for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in less than a whisper as the team seeks a concealed position in the open area. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.

Caught

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, many so small that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in northern regions, eating insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

China is home to 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Several of the major flyways they follow converge in China.

This particular field being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among forests of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so fine 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 tiny bird was struggling frantically to free his legs, 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 "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

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

So he enlisted helpers who did care and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police realized that catching poachers also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

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

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a much changed capital.

He recalls roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not protected zones to preserve.

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

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

This has not made for an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

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

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos 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 netting setups which can capture hundreds of small birds during darkness.

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

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues 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 generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with tiny twittering birds.

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

This offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

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

We were told that wild songbirds could be bought in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan 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 questioning the bird owners and taking names. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his