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

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, we hear only our own breath.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

In the skies above us, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have benefited from the warmer months in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they head to warmer places to nest and feed.

The nation hosts more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the global population – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an haven 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 "fine nets", so fine you can barely see them.

The one we nearly walked into was strung across half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a small finch was struggling frantically to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Pursuing the Poachers

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

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

So he gathered a team who did care and established a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized community gatherings and invited the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police realized that catching poachers also led to uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that implementation remains inconsistent.

Silva's love of birds started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

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 rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not conservation areas to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the habitats they supported.

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

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

"He gathered several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he went 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 patience and night vigils. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky 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 give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

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

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He examines satellite imagery to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes 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.

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

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual stands outside a local market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

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

The path by the river stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

Information suggested that protected birds 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 group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

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