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The conservationist's eyes scan over vast expanses of dense fields, searching for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a muted voice as we try to find a place of cover in the grasslands. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

There are 1500-plus bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Several of the major migration routes they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further 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 strung across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a small finch was desperately trying to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its ecosystem.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"In the early days, no-one cared," he remarks.

So he enlisted helpers who did care and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and invited the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

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

Silva's love of birds started in childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

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

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were seen as land for construction, not protected zones to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. 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 simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his associates who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are prepared for 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 fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos 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 satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh 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 originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have 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 ecology. 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 tiny twittering birds.

Another man is positioned near a nearby 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 traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The area alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

We were told that protected birds could be bought in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple 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