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The conservationist's eyes scan over miles of open meadows, hunting for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in less than a whisper as we try to find a place of cover in the grasslands. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Caught

Across the heavens, billions of birds, many so small that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have taken advantage of the long summer days in northern regions, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the first frosts of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

The nation hosts more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major paths they follow intersect in China.

The area of meadow in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was extending over a large section of the field and supported with wooden sticks. At its center, a small finch was fighting hard to free his legs, 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 "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, 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 persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Back in 2015, no-one cared," he remarks.

So he gathered a team who did care and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police found that catching poachers also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls exploring the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

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

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

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

It has not been an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also lost his team of helpers 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.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to solve this big problem, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined 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 charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can catch scores of small birds during darkness.

"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."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values 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.

A separate individual stands outside a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse 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 old trinkets to false teeth.

We were told that wild songbirds could be bought in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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