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The conservationist's vision darts across vast expanses of tall grassland, hunting for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He utters less than a whisper as they attempt to locate a place of cover in the grasslands. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, we hear footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

Across the heavens, countless migratory 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 extended daylight in northern regions, eating insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they head to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among forests of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so delicate you can barely see them.

The one we nearly walked into was strung across half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, 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 population is healthy, so is its ecosystem.

Tracking the Trappers

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

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

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and invited the leaders of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that the response is not uniform.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a much changed capital.

He recalls 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."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not conservation areas to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

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

This has not made for an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

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

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project 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 economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the paths created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds during darkness.

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

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues 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 generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted 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 adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

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

A separate individual is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

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

We were told that wild songbirds could be bought in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

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