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The conservationist's gaze sweeps across miles of open meadows, looking for any movement in the inky blackness.

He speaks in less than a whisper as we try to find a spot to hide in the grasslands. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

Across the heavens, billions of birds, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in northern regions, eating insects and fruit. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they head to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

The nation hosts more than 1,500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Several of the major migration routes they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so delicate you can barely see them.

The one we nearly walked into was extending over a large section of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a tiny bird was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

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 ecosystem.

Tracking the Trappers

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade 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 established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and brought in the officials of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that the response is not uniform.

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

He recalls roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he discovered 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 seen as land for construction, not sanctuaries to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the wildlife they housed.

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

This has not made for an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he reported 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 stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies satellite imagery to find the routes 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 lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds at night.

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

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have 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 raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

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

A separate individual 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 nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The path by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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