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The conservationist's eyes scan across vast expanses of tall grassland, searching for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in less than a whisper as they attempt to locate a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten before dawn, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Caught

Across the heavens, 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 benefited from the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they journey to southern locales to find food and shelter.

China is home to over 1500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow cross through China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so delicate you can hardly spot them.

A net we almost encountered was stretched across half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – 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 forgone many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

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 relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy 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 goals were partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a much changed capital.

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

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not protected zones to preserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands receded, as did the habitats they supported.

"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 being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of 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.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to solve this big problem, you must give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He examines aerial photos to find the paths 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 at night.

"Certain prized species sell for a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

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

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

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

Another man stands outside a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The path by the river stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, 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. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing 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 black fabric.

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