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The conservationist's gaze sweeps across vast expanses of tall grassland, searching for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He speaks in less than a whisper as they attempt to locate a place of cover in the open area. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming bugs and berries. As the year winds down and icy winds bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to warmer places to find food and shelter.

There are 1500-plus bird species, which is about 13% of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow intersect in China.

The area of meadow being monitored, 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 towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so fine you can hardly spot them.

A net we almost encountered was strung across a large section of the field and held up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a small finch was struggling frantically to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he enlisted helpers who did care and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and invited the leaders of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police found that catching poachers also helped in tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that enforcement is still patchy.

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

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

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were seen as land for construction, not conservation areas to preserve.

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

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

This has not made for an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. 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 demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people 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 address this major issue, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

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

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the routes created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds at night.

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

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the penalties to punish the crime 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 mark of prestige. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation didn't even have 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 raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

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

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs 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 area by the river stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

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 traditional dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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