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Silva Gu's gaze sweeps across vast expanses of open meadows, hunting for signs of life in the early morning gloom.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a spot to hide in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

Across the heavens, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the long summer days in northern regions, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they head to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, which is about 13% of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major flyways they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "fine nets", so fine you can hardly spot them.

A net we almost encountered was strung across half the length of the field and supported with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has forgone many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Back in 2015, there was little interest," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and established a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and brought in the heads of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion have shown results. The police discovered that catching poachers also led to tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that the response is not uniform.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

He remembers wandering in the fields on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not conservation areas to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands receded, as did the habitats they supported.

"I made the choice back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I took this path," he says.

It has not been an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He examines satellite imagery to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can capture hundreds of small birds during darkness.

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

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the penalties to deter the activity 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 status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

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

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

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The area alongside the water extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased 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 over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

But today there would be no sales because the police had arrived. They were interviewing the bird owners and recording details. Defiant, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his