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Silva Gu's vision darts across miles of tall grassland, hunting for any movement in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as the team seeks a concealed position in the grasslands. Behind us, 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, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

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

They have benefited from the long summer days in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to southern locales to nest and feed.

There are over 1500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the world's total – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a small finch was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has given up on many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"In the early days, no-one cared," he says.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and formed a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and brought in the heads of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy have shown results. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

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

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

He remembers wandering in the grasslands on the city's edges where he discovered 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 rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered empty places to build, not protected zones to conserve.

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

"I decided back then to work in conservation and I chose this direction," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his associates who confronted me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says few people are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to address this major issue, you must give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies 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 satellite images can even show netting setups which can catch scores 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 often affluent."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the fines to punish the crime do not outweigh the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a trader has several small cages with tiny twittering birds.

A separate individual stands outside a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The area by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought 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 choreographing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

But on this occasion there would be no transactions 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