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The conservationist's vision darts over vast expanses of dense fields, hunting for suspicious activity in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a concealed position in the grasslands. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

Across the heavens, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to southern locales to find food and shelter.

The nation hosts over 1500 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 migration routes they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was extending over a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a tiny bird was desperately trying to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Back in 2015, there was little interest," he says.

So he gathered a team who did care and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and invited the heads of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that enforcement is still patchy.

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

He remembers wandering in the fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not conservation areas to preserve.

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

"I made the choice 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 discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

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.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies aerial photos to find the paths created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths 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 at night.

"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."

While 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 people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. 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 may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

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

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

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The path by the river extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

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

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop 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 covered in dark cloth.

But today there would be no sales because the police had arrived. 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