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The conservationist's eyes scan across vast expanses of open meadows, searching for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He utters a muted voice as they attempt to locate a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Caught

Across the heavens, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have benefited from the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to southern locales to breed and eat.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow cross through China.

This particular field in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was strung across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to untangle itself, 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" – that means if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he gathered a team who did care and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and brought in the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that implementation remains inconsistent.

Silva's love of birds began during 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, everything changed."

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not conservation areas to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to pursue environmental protection and I took this path," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered 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 lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires patience and night vigils. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."

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

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the paths created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits 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 Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous 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 inherited the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're really hard to change."

Busted

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

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

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders 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 old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be purchased in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

But today there would be no sales because the police had appeared. They were interviewing the bird owners and taking names. Defiant, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his