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The conservationist's vision darts across miles of tall grassland, looking for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as they attempt to locate a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only our own breath.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten before dawn, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Snared

In the skies above us, billions of birds, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have benefited from the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they head to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

There are 1500-plus bird species, accounting for 13% of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow cross through China.

This particular field being monitored, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an oasis 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 "fine nets", so thin you can barely see them.

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. At its center, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Back in 2015, there was little interest," he states.

So he gathered a team who did care and established a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and invited the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also helped in uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

Silva's love of birds started in childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

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

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not sanctuaries to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the habitats they supported.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I followed this course," he says.

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

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

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to solve this big problem, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He studies satellite imagery to find the trails created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch hundreds of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

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

"This generation often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with tiny twittering birds.

Another man stands outside a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The area alongside the water extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

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

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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