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The conservationist's gaze sweeps over miles of tall grassland, looking for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a place of cover in the grasslands. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Snared

Across the heavens, billions of birds, 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 warmer months in northern regions, consuming bugs and berries. As the year winds down and icy winds bring the first frosts of winter, they journey to southern locales to nest and feed.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly 13% of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major migration routes they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was stretched across half the length of the field and supported with wooden sticks. In the middle, a tiny bird was fighting hard 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 "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

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

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and brought in the officials of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that enforcement is still patchy.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls exploring 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 a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not sanctuaries to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to work in conservation and I took this path," he says.

It has not been an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his accomplices 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 not many are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can catch 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 own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh the financial benefits 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. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom 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 grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

The area alongside the water extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased in a small park. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting 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 congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

But on this occasion there would be no sales 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