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The conservationist's eyes scan across vast expanses of dense fields, looking for any movement in the inky blackness.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a place of cover in the grasslands. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Snared

Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year winds down and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they journey to warmer places to breed and eat.

The nation hosts more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major migration routes they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer few options to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was extending over half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. At its center, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he enlisted helpers who did care and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and brought in the officials of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that implementation remains inconsistent.

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

He remembers 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 land for construction, not sanctuaries to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands receded, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

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

It has not been 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 associates who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he went 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 stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to address this major issue, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

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 found new ways to track the poachers.

He examines aerial photos to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can catch hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"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 often affluent."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed 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. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, or grasp that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

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

A separate individual stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing 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 people looking at everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

But today there would be no sales 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