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Silva Gu's vision darts over vast expanses of open meadows, hunting for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a hushed tone as they attempt to locate a place of cover in the fields. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Caught

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

They have benefited from the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and icy winds bring the first frosts of winter, they head to southern locales to nest and feed.

There are 1500-plus bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an oasis 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 thin you can hardly spot them.

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across a large section of the field and supported with wooden sticks. At its center, a small finch was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

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

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. 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, adding the caveat that the response is not uniform.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

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

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not protected zones to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the wildlife they housed.

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

This has not made for an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his associates who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. 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 covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I made it a project 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 covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the slowing economy.

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He studies satellite imagery to find the routes created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can capture scores of small birds at night.

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

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits 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 ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

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

Apprehended

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The path alongside the water extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

We were told that protected birds could be purchased in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

But today there would be no sales because the police had arrived. 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