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

He speaks in less than a whisper as they attempt to locate a place of cover in the fields. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, we hear only our own breath.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, the sound of footsteps emerges. Illegal trappers are present.

Snared

Overhead, countless migratory birds, many so small that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to southern locales to nest and feed.

There are over 1500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major flyways they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was stretched across a large section of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was fighting hard to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Pursuing the Poachers

This activist, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Initially, there was little interest," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and formed a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He organized community gatherings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police found that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

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

He recalls exploring the fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not sanctuaries to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection 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 gathered several of his associates who confronted me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says few people 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 address this major issue, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – 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 trails created 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 lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species sell for a high price," 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 reckons the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

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

A separate individual is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

The path by the river extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered 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 sales because the police had appeared. They were interviewing the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his