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Silva Gu's gaze sweeps across miles of open meadows, looking for suspicious activity in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a concealed position in the fields. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, the sound of footsteps emerges. Illegal trappers are present.

Snared

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in northern regions, eating insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and icy winds bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow intersect in China.

This particular field being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over a large section of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Tracking the Trappers

Silva, who is in his 30s, 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 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and launched a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized public meetings and invited the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police found that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that the response is not uniform.

Silva's love of birds started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

He recalls exploring the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not conservation areas to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the habitats they supported.

"I made the choice 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 discovered he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he reported 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 few people 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 address this major issue, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

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

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes aerial photos to find the trails created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species sell for a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh 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. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. 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 often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're really hard to change."

Busted

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

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The path by the river extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be purchased in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

But today there would be no sales 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