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

He speaks in a muted voice as we try to find a place of cover in the open area. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, we hear only our own breath.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Snared

Across the heavens, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they head to southern locales to nest and feed.

There are over 1500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major flyways they follow converge in China.

This particular field where we were, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer few options to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so thin you can almost miss them.

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over half the length of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Back in 2015, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he enlisted helpers who did care and launched a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

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

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not protected zones to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands receded, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I made the choice back then to work in conservation and I chose this direction," 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 fought back.

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

He has also lost his team of helpers 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.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He examines satellite imagery to find the routes 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 netting setups which can catch 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 believes the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

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

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He tells 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 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 bought in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, 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 transactions because the police had arrived. They were questioning the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his