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Silva Gu's eyes scan across vast expanses of open meadows, looking for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters a muted voice as they attempt to locate a place of cover in the fields. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

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 taken advantage of the long summer days in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year winds down and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they head to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

There are over 1500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major flyways they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow being monitored, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so fine you can almost miss them.

A net we almost encountered was extending over a large section of the field and propped up 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.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Pursuing the Poachers

This activist, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"In the early days, there was little interest," he remarks.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and established a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, noting that the response is not uniform.

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

He remembers roaming through the grasslands 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 areas for development, not sanctuaries to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to pursue environmental protection and I followed this course," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky 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 devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers 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 studies satellite imagery to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths 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.

"Certain prized species command a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are breaking the law, or grasp that numerous birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have 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 little opportunity to raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

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

A separate individual is positioned near a local 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 created their own market.

The path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to dentures.

We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area 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 concealed by black fabric.

But on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had appeared. They were interviewing the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his