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The conservationist's eyes scan across miles of dense fields, searching for any movement in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in a muted voice as they attempt to locate a spot to hide in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Trapped

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they journey to southern locales to find food and shelter.

The nation hosts more than 1,500 bird species, which is about 13% of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Several of the major migration routes they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow where we were, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so fine you can almost miss them.

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across a large section of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Back in 2015, there was little interest," he says.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and launched a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and brought in the heads of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that the response is not uniform.

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

He recalls wandering in the grasslands on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were seen as areas for development, not conservation areas to preserve.

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

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

This has not made for an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

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

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous 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 pays for 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 analyzes satellite imagery to find the paths worn away 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 scores of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men 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 had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a trader has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

Another man stands outside a local market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The area alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

We were told that protected birds could be bought in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Close by several men, all over 50, 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 appeared. They were interviewing the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his