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The conservationist's vision darts over miles of tall grassland, looking for any movement in the inky blackness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as we try to find a place of cover in the grasslands. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in northern regions, eating insects and fruit. As the year winds down and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to warmer places to breed and eat.

There are more than 1,500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Several of the major migration routes they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow being monitored, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer few options to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across half the length of the field and supported with wooden sticks. In the middle, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to escape, 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" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its ecosystem.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has forgone many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Initially, no-one cared," he says.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that the response is not uniform.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a much changed capital.

He remembers wandering in the grasslands on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were seen as areas for development, not sanctuaries to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the wildlife they housed.

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

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

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he went 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 requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the trails created by the poachers. He charts these 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.

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

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the penalties 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 originates from the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among older individuals 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 so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a trader 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 informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders 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.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought in a small park. 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. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

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