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The conservationist's vision darts across vast expanses of dense fields, hunting for any movement in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as the team seeks a place of cover in the fields. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Snared

Across the heavens, countless migratory birds, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have benefited from the long summer days in northern regions, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they head to southern locales to breed and eat.

There are more than 1,500 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 converge in China.

This particular field where we were, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the city skies offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so fine you can hardly spot them.

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across half the length of the field and supported with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Pursuing the Poachers

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he gathered a team who were concerned and launched a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized public meetings and brought in the officials of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion have shown results. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

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

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

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not conservation areas to preserve.

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

"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 found out 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 went to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

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

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

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines satellite imagery to find the paths created 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 capture hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species command a premium," 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 penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

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

It's a tradition 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 so many more birds were killed 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 habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

Along a riverside path 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 black veil. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The area alongside the water extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

But on this occasion there would be no transactions because the police had arrived. They were questioning the bird owners and recording details. Defiant, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his