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The conservationist's gaze sweeps over vast expanses of open meadows, hunting for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a place of cover in the grasslands. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

Overhead, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they head to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow cross through China.

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

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

A net we almost encountered was strung across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a tiny bird was desperately trying to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its population is healthy, 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 decade persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"In the early days, authorities were indifferent," he says.

So he gathered a team who did care and established 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 consistent and determined acts of advocacy have shown results. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

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

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

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

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not protected zones to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, as did the habitats they supported.

"I decided back then to pursue environmental protection and I followed this course," he says.

It has not been an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people 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 tackle this challenge, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations pays for some of the costs – over 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 studies satellite imagery to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He maps those 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 catch hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

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

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"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. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

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

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

The path by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

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

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