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The conservationist's eyes scan across miles of dense fields, hunting for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a concealed position in the open area. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, we hear only our own breath.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.

Snared

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in northern regions, consuming bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

There are 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow intersect 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 forests of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across half the length of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a tiny bird was desperately trying to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Tracking the Trappers

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Initially, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he enlisted helpers who did care and launched a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police realized that catching poachers also helped in tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

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

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a much changed capital.

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

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not protected zones to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the habitats they supported.

"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 being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

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

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to address this major issue, you must commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the routes created 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 netting setups which can catch 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 often affluent."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are breaking the law, or grasp that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation 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. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

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

Another man is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, 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 typical day, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to dentures.

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 troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

But today there would be no sales because the police had arrived. They were questioning the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his