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Silva Gu's eyes scan across miles of tall grassland, hunting for suspicious activity in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters a hushed tone as the team seeks a concealed position in the open area. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, we hear only our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten before dawn, the sound of footsteps emerges. The hunters have arrived.

Caught

Across the heavens, countless migratory birds, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the first frosts of winter, they journey to warmer places to find food and shelter.

China is home to over 1500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major flyways they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow 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 clusters of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so delicate you can hardly spot them.

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

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

Tracking the Trappers

This activist, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Initially, there was little interest," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and formed a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He organized community gatherings and invited the heads of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police realized that catching poachers also helped in uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

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

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

He recalls roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were considered empty places to build, not protected zones to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

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

"He assembled several of his associates who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of 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 difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

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

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes 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 rest. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can capture scores of small birds at night.

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

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the fines to punish the crime do not outweigh the financial benefits of catching and selling 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 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 for them to purchase a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have inherited the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in 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 small unofficial traders have created their own market.

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

We were told that protected birds could be bought in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

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