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The conservationist's vision darts over miles of dense fields, looking for any movement in the inky blackness.

He speaks in a muted voice as we try to find a spot to hide in the grasslands. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

In the skies above us, billions of birds, many so small that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

China is home to 1500-plus bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major flyways they follow intersect in China.

This particular field being monitored, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

This activist, does this work for free using his own savings. He has forgone many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

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

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and brought in the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that implementation remains inconsistent.

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

He recalls wandering in the fields on the city's edges where he encountered 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 considered areas for development, not conservation areas to conserve.

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

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I took this path," he says.

It has not been an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also lost his team of helpers 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.

"My life is devoted to this," 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 donations pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He examines aerial photos to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. 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 keep birds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits 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 imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are breaking the law, or grasp that so many more birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

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

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

The path alongside the water extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

But today there would be no sales because the police had arrived. 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