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The conservationist's gaze sweeps across miles of open meadows, hunting for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He utters a muted voice as they attempt to locate a place of cover in the grasslands. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, we hear footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Caught

Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

There are more than 1,500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow converge in China.

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

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

The one we nearly walked into was strung across a large section of the field and supported with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Initially, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and launched a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

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

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

He remembers roaming through 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 millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not conservation areas to preserve.

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

"I made the choice back then to work in conservation 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 being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his associates who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says few people are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

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

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the trails created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can catch scores of small birds during darkness.

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

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the fines to punish the crime do not outweigh 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 Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

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

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The area alongside the water extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

We were told 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 group of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

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