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The conservationist's gaze sweeps over vast expanses of open meadows, hunting for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as we try to find a concealed position in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, the sound of footsteps emerges. The hunters have arrived.

Snared

Across the heavens, billions of birds, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year winds down and icy winds bring the first frosts of winter, they are flying to southern locales to breed and eat.

The nation hosts more than 1,500 bird species, which is about 13% of the global population – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow intersect in China.

The area of meadow being monitored, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was extending over half the length of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a tiny bird was fighting hard to escape, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and invited the officials of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police discovered that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

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

Silva's love of birds started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a much changed capital.

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

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not protected zones to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection and I followed this course," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many 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 solve this big problem, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

While there are wildlife laws 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 originates from the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are set, 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 stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

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

We were told that protected birds could be purchased in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

But on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had appeared. 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