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Silva Gu's eyes scan over vast expanses of open meadows, looking for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a concealed position in the grasslands. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Caught

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in northern regions, consuming bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the first frosts of winter, they head to southern locales to breed and eat.

There are over 1500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the city skies offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so thin you can hardly spot them.

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across half the length of the field and supported with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was fighting hard to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Back in 2015, there was little interest," he states.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and formed a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized public meetings and brought in the leaders of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

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

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

He remembers roaming through the grasslands on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as areas for development, not sanctuaries to preserve.

This shift shocked him. 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.

This has not made for an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva recalls. 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 patience and night vigils. Silva says not many are prepared for 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 donations covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He examines satellite imagery to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can catch hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species command a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the penalties 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 dates back to the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are breaking the law, or grasp that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

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 black veil. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The path by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be purchased in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple 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 taking names. Unyielding, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his