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The conservationist's gaze sweeps over vast expanses of open meadows, hunting for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a hushed tone as the team seeks a place of cover in the open area. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Trapped

Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they head to warmer places to find food and shelter.

There are over 1500 bird species, which is about 13% of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major paths they follow cross through China.

This particular field being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was strung across half the length of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a tiny bird was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its population is healthy, so is its ecosystem.

Tracking the Trappers

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"In the early days, no-one cared," he says.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and formed a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police discovered that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, noting that enforcement is still patchy.

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

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

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not protected zones to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

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

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

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

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, 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 donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies satellite imagery to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes 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 during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a trader has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

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

Information suggested that protected birds could be purchased in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, 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. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his