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The conservationist's vision darts across vast expanses of tall grassland, looking for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters a muted voice as they attempt to locate a spot to hide in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the first frosts of winter, they head to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

There are over 1500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Several of the major paths they follow cross through China.

This particular field being monitored, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "mist nets", so thin you can barely see them.

The one we nearly walked into was extending over a large section of the field and supported with bamboo poles. In the middle, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he enlisted helpers who did care and launched a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized community gatherings and brought in the leaders of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy have shown results. The police discovered that catching poachers also led to tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a much changed capital.

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

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not protected zones to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I made the choice back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I took this path," he says.

It has not been an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered 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 the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to solve this big problem, you must give it your all. 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 slowing economy.

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 stop for the night. The aerial views can even show netting setups 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 own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path 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 shrouded in a dark cloth. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The area by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

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

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

But on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had appeared. 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