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Silva Gu's eyes scan across miles of open meadows, looking for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a concealed position in the open area. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

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

Trapped

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

They have utilized the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to warmer places to nest and feed.

China is home to over 1500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major migration routes they follow intersect in China.

The area of meadow being monitored, 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 forests of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across half the length of the field and supported with wooden sticks. In the middle, a small finch was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – meaning 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 forgone many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Initially, authorities were indifferent," he says.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and formed a group known as 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 persuasion have shown results. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

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

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

He recalls roaming through the grasslands on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were seen as areas for development, not sanctuaries to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the habitats they supported.

"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection and I followed this course," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

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

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many 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 tackle this challenge, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies satellite imagery to find the routes created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species command a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues 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 generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

On a long low wall in Beijing, a trader has several small cages with tiny twittering birds.

Another man stands outside a local 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 old Beijing where informal vendors have created their own market.

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

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

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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