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The conservationist's vision darts over vast expanses of dense fields, searching for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He utters a hushed tone as the team seeks a spot to hide in the open area. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Snared

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

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

There are 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major flyways they follow intersect in China.

This particular field where we were, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "fine nets", so thin you can almost miss them.

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – 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 own savings. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Back in 2015, there was little interest," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and invited the officials of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that implementation remains inconsistent.

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

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

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 preserve.

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

"I made the choice back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I chose this direction," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. 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 patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations pays for 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 hunt the hunters.

He studies aerial photos to find the paths created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species command a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display 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 were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

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

The area alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery 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 troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by 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