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Silva Gu's eyes scan over miles of open meadows, looking for signs of life in the early morning gloom.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

In the skies above us, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in northern regions, consuming insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major flyways they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among forests of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "mist nets", so thin you can almost miss them.

A net we almost encountered was strung across half the length of the field and supported with wooden sticks. At its center, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

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 habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

This activist, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he gathered a team who were concerned and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and brought in the heads of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police realized that catching poachers also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

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

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a much changed capital.

He remembers roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not protected zones to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the habitats they supported.

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

It has not been an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his accomplices 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 seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," 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 donations pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but donations have dipped because of the slowing economy.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines satellite imagery to find the paths created by the poachers. He maps those 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.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

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

A separate individual is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 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 typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

We were told that protected birds could be purchased in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had gathered 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 arrived. They were questioning the bird owners and recording details. Defiant, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his