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The conservationist's vision darts over vast expanses of tall grassland, searching for any movement in the inky blackness.

He speaks in a muted voice as the team seeks a spot to hide in the fields. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only our own breath.

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

Trapped

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in northern regions, consuming insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to warmer places to nest and feed.

The nation hosts more than 1,500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major migration routes they follow cross through China.

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

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

A net we almost encountered was strung across half the length of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it moved, 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 population is healthy, so is its ecosystem.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Initially, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and launched a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized community gatherings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police found that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a much changed capital.

He recalls 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."

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not sanctuaries to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the habitats they supported.

"I decided back then to work in conservation and I chose this direction," he says.

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

"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 seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. 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 give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies aerial photos to find the trails created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people 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. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

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

A separate individual is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

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

The path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

We were told that wild songbirds 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 troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, 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 arrived. They were questioning the bird owners and taking names. Unyielding, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his