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The conservationist's vision darts across miles of dense fields, hunting for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as they attempt to locate a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten before dawn, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Trapped

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, many so small that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in northern regions, consuming bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they head to warmer places to find food and shelter.

China is home to over 1500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major paths they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was strung across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a small finch was fighting hard to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, 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 habitat.

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to rescue 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 enlisted helpers who did care and launched a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and invited the leaders of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police discovered that catching poachers also led to uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that the response is not uniform.

Silva's love of birds started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a much changed capital.

He recalls exploring the grasslands on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not sanctuaries to conserve.

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

"I made the choice back then to work in conservation and I chose this direction," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

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

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. 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 address this major issue, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He examines satellite imagery to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.

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

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people 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.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual stands outside a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The path alongside the water extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be purchased in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Nearby 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 interviewing the bird owners and taking names. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his