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

He utters a hushed tone as they attempt to locate a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, we hear only our own breath.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, the sound of footsteps emerges. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, 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 Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to southern locales to nest and feed.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly 13% of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the city skies offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was strung across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to escape, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means if its population is healthy, so is its ecosystem.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has given up on many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

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

So he gathered a team who were concerned and launched a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He organized public meetings and invited the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy have shown results. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that implementation remains inconsistent.

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

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

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not protected zones to preserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to pursue environmental protection and I took this path," he says.

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

"He gathered several of his associates 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 not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," 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 – over 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the trails created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can catch scores of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats 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 wildlife laws in place, Silva argues 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 people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat growing up. 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 little opportunity to educate people 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 tiny twittering birds.

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

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

The area by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

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 troop of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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