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

He speaks in less than a whisper as the team seeks a spot to hide in the grasslands. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Caught

In the skies above us, billions of birds, some tiny enough 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, consuming bugs and berries. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to warmer places to breed and eat.

There are 1500-plus bird species, which is about 13% of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major flyways they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the outskirts 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 "barely visible nets", so thin you can hardly spot them.

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across a large section of the field and supported with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was fighting hard to escape, 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 "indicator species" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"In the early days, there was little interest," he remarks.

So he gathered a team who did care and established a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He organized public meetings and invited the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police discovered that catching poachers also led to uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

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

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a much changed capital.

He recalls wandering in the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in 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 conservation areas to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation 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 gathered several of his accomplices who surrounded 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 army of volunteers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says few people are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must give it your all. 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 found new ways to track the poachers.

He studies satellite imagery to find the paths created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch hundreds of small birds at night.

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

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

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

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

A separate individual stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The area by the river stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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