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The conservationist's vision darts over vast expanses of tall grassland, looking for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a muted voice as the team seeks a concealed position in the grasslands. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Snared

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they head to southern locales to breed and eat.

The nation hosts more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow cross through China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was stretched across half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. In the middle, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"In the early days, there was little interest," he states.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and invited the leaders of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

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

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

He remembers wandering in the fields on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not protected zones to preserve.

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

"I decided back then to pursue environmental protection and I took this path," he says.

It has not been an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires 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 made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has adopted 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' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds during darkness.

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

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the fines to deter the activity do not exceed the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet 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.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

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

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly 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 path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing 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 under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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