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The conservationist's eyes scan over vast expanses of open meadows, looking for any movement in the inky blackness.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a place of cover in the open area. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, we hear footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

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

They have benefited from the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they head to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

There are 1500-plus bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Several of the major paths they follow intersect in China.

This particular field where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so delicate you can barely see them.

A net we almost encountered was stretched across half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. 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 take this crime seriously.

"Initially, authorities were indifferent," he remarks.

So he gathered a team who did care and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and brought in the leaders of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion have shown results. The police realized that catching poachers also helped in tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, noting that implementation remains inconsistent.

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

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

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were seen as land for construction, not protected zones to preserve.

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

"I decided back then to pursue environmental protection and I took this path," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

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.

"I do this full-time," 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 pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the slowing economy.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes 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 satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture scores of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species sell for a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"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 ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

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

A separate individual is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The path by the river stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought in a small park. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing 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 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 recording details. Defiant, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his