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Silva Gu's vision darts over miles of tall grassland, searching for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He utters a muted voice as the team seeks a place of cover in the fields. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.

Caught

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year nears its end 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, which is about thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "fine nets", so delicate you can barely see them.

A net we almost encountered was strung across half the length of the field and supported with wooden sticks. At its center, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its ecosystem.

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"In the early days, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he gathered a team who did care and formed a group known as 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 appear to have worked. 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, noting that the response is not uniform.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

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

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not conservation areas to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I chose this direction," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are prepared for 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 give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture scores of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are breaking the law, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a trader has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual stands outside a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

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

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

But on this occasion there would be no transactions because the police had appeared. They were questioning the bird owners and taking names. Unyielding, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his