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The conservationist's vision darts over vast expanses of dense fields, looking for signs of life in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a muted voice as the team seeks a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, we hear only our own breath.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten before dawn, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Snared

Across the heavens, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have benefited from the warmer months in northern regions, consuming insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they head to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major migration routes they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among forests of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so fine you can hardly spot them.

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over half the length of the field and supported with wooden sticks. At its center, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to untangle itself, 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 "indicator species" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"In the early days, there was little interest," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and established a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized community gatherings and brought in the heads of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police realized that catching poachers also helped in uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

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

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

He recalls roaming through 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 a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not protected zones to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, as did the wildlife they housed.

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

This has not made for an simple journey. 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 remembers. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. 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 solve this big problem, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines satellite imagery to find the trails created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species 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 reckons the fines to punish the crime do not outweigh the potential profits 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 Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

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

A separate individual is positioned near a local 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 old Beijing where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The path alongside the water extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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