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Silva Gu's gaze sweeps over miles of open meadows, searching for signs of life in the early morning gloom.

He utters a muted voice as they attempt to locate a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, the sound of footsteps emerges. Illegal trappers are present.

Snared

Across the heavens, billions of birds, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to warmer places to breed and eat.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland being monitored, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "fine nets", so thin you can barely see them.

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Tracking the Trappers

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

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

So he gathered a team who were concerned and launched a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and invited the officials of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police discovered 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 enforcement is still patchy.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

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."

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

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, as did the habitats they supported.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation 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 retaliated.

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says few people 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 commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations covers 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 aerial photos to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a high price," Silva says. "In big cities 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 deter the activity do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged 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 to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes 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.

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

The area alongside the water 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 purchased in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a group 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 covered in black fabric.

But today there would be no transactions because the police had appeared. 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