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The conservationist's gaze sweeps over vast expanses of dense fields, looking for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a spot to hide in the grasslands. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, we hear only our own breath.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Snared

Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to southern locales to breed and eat.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major migration routes they follow converge in China.

This particular field being monitored, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, 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 decade persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Back in 2015, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, noting that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life 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 found birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not sanctuaries 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 followed this course," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. One of 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 went to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are prepared for 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 can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies aerial photos to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can capture 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 quite wealthy."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the penalties to deter the activity 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 status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are breaking the law, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"This generation 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 extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

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

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

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 protected birds could be purchased in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

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 dark cloth.

But on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had appeared. They were questioning the bird owners and recording details. Defiant, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his