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The conservationist's eyes scan over vast expanses of dense fields, searching for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a concealed position in the open area. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Snared

Overhead, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in northern regions, consuming bugs and berries. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to southern locales to find food and shelter.

There are 1500-plus bird species, accounting for 13% of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow cross through China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Tracking the Trappers

This activist, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has given up on many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and launched a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He organized public meetings and brought in the officials of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

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

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

He recalls wandering in the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not protected zones to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, as did the habitats they supported.

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

It has not been an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his associates 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 stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"My life is devoted to this," 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 fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines satellite imagery 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 satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can catch 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 own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are environmental regulations 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 status symbol. This dates back to the imperial era. Nobles and elites 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 don't realise they are breaking the law, or grasp that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals often lacked 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 little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

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

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The area 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 wild songbirds could be bought 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 over 50, had congregated 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 appeared. They were interviewing the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his