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Silva Gu's eyes scan across vast expanses of tall grassland, hunting for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He utters less than a whisper as they attempt to locate a spot to hide in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they journey to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major paths they follow intersect in China.

This particular field where we were, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was strung across half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. In the middle, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

This activist, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he recruited volunteers who did care and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and invited the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police found that catching poachers also helped in uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that the response is not uniform.

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

He remembers roaming through the grasslands 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 seen as land for construction, not sanctuaries to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. 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 easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising 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 hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the trails 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 capture scores of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits 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. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

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

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

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

Information suggested that protected birds could be purchased in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, 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 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