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The conservationist's vision darts across vast expanses of dense fields, looking for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He utters a muted voice as the team seeks a place of cover in the grasslands. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

In the skies above us, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they journey to warmer places to breed and eat.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, which is about 13% of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major flyways they follow cross through China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among forests of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "fine nets", so delicate you can almost miss them.

The trap we stumbled upon was stretched across a large section of the field and supported with wooden sticks. In the middle, a small finch was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Back in 2015, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and invited the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

He remembers exploring the fields on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not conservation areas to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I chose this direction," he says.

This has not made for 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 accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

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

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He examines satellite imagery to find the paths created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the fines to deter the activity 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 mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

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

Another man stands outside a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

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

We were told that protected birds could be purchased in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three 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 interviewing the bird owners and taking names. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his