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The conservationist's eyes scan across miles of tall grassland, searching for any movement in the inky blackness.

He utters a hushed tone as the team seeks a place of cover in the grasslands. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Snared

Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small 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 cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they journey to warmer places to breed and eat.

There are 1500-plus bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major flyways they follow intersect in China.

This particular field being monitored, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was extending over half the length of the field and held up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

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

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

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. 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 somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that the response is not uniform.

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

He remembers wandering in the grasslands on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

Rapid economic growth 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 conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection and I chose this direction," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted me and beat me up," Silva recalls. 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 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 commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has found 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 scores of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species command a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the fines 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 status symbol. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or grasp that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor 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 tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have created their own market.

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

We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased in a small park. The location was not concealed.

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 multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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