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Silva Gu's eyes scan across vast expanses of tall grassland, hunting for signs of life in the early morning gloom.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a place of cover in the fields. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

Overhead, billions of birds, many so small that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they head to southern locales to breed and eat.

There are more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major paths they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was stretched across half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

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

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and formed a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police discovered that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that the response is not uniform.

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

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

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not conservation areas to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I took this path," he says.

It has not been an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says few people are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to solve this big problem, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

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

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He examines aerial photos to find the routes created 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 lines of net traps which can capture scores of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or grasp that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted 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 extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing 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 people looking at everything from old trinkets to dentures.

We were told that protected birds could be bought in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

But today there would be no sales because the police had appeared. They were questioning the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his