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

He speaks in less than a whisper as the team seeks a concealed position in the grasslands. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.

Snared

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

They have benefited from the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they journey to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow being monitored, 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 towering rows of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "mist nets", so fine you can barely see them.

A net we almost encountered was stretched across a large section of the field and held up with wooden sticks. At its center, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Tracking the Trappers

This activist, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Initially, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and launched a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized community gatherings and brought in the heads of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

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

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

He remembers exploring the fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not sanctuaries to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I followed this course," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

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

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He studies satellite imagery to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a high price," 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 reckons the penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet 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 to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. 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 caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

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 old Beijing where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

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

We were told that protected birds could be bought in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

But on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had appeared. 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