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The conservationist's eyes scan across miles of tall grassland, looking for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a concealed position in the grasslands. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

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

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in northern regions, eating insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

China is home to 1500-plus bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the world's total – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major flyways they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland being monitored, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so delicate you can barely see them.

The one we nearly walked into was strung across half the length of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a small finch was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"In the early days, there was little interest," he remarks.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and invited the officials of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police found that catching poachers also helped in identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

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

He remembers wandering in the grasslands 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 fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not sanctuaries to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection and I chose this direction," he says.

It has not been an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

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

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work demands 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 give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

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

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He studies aerial photos to find the paths worn away 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 netting setups which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species command a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the fines to deter the activity do not exceed the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. 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 habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

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

A separate individual stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. 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 area alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought in a small park. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by 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 on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had appeared. They were questioning the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his