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The conservationist's eyes scan across miles of dense fields, looking for signs of life in the early morning gloom.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a spot to hide in the grasslands. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten before dawn, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

Overhead, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming bugs and berries. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the global population – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow cross through China.

This particular field in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was stretched across a large section of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

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

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Initially, there was little interest," he remarks.

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also led to identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered empty places to build, not conservation areas to preserve.

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

"I decided back then to work in conservation and I followed this course," he says.

It has not been an simple journey. 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 remembers. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

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 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 address this major issue, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the routes created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can catch scores of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species command a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh 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 for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are breaking the law, or grasp that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a trader has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have created their own market.

The area alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple 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 interviewing the bird owners and taking names. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his