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Silva Gu's gaze sweeps across vast expanses of tall grassland, searching for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a concealed position in the grasslands. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Caught

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

They have utilized the long summer days in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they head to southern locales to nest and feed.

There are more than 1,500 bird species, accounting for 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 patch of grassland in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across half the length of the field and supported with wooden sticks. In the middle, a small finch was fighting hard to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"In the early days, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and launched 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 persuasion seem to have paid off. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a much changed capital.

He recalls exploring the fields on the city's edges where he encountered 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 fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as areas for development, not protected zones to preserve.

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

"I decided back then to work in conservation 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 assembled several of his associates who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. 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 few people are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the routes created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can catch 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 keep birds are now quite wealthy."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

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

A separate individual stands outside a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs 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 stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

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

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

But on this occasion 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