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The conservationist's eyes scan over miles of open meadows, hunting for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a muted voice as the team seeks a spot to hide in the fields. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

In the skies above us, billions of birds, many so small that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was stretched across a large section of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. At its center, a small finch was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has forgone many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he gathered a team who did care and launched a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police realized that catching poachers also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

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

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls roaming through the grasslands on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not protected zones to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to work in conservation and I followed this course," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. 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 beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He studies aerial photos to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture scores of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the fines to punish the crime do not outweigh the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"This generation 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 no time to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual stands outside a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, 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 typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased 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 covered in black fabric.

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