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

He utters a hushed tone as the team seeks a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Snared

In the skies above us, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in northern regions, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they head to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

The nation hosts more than 1,500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the city skies offer few options to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "fine nets", so delicate you can hardly spot them.

The one we nearly walked into was extending over 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 moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. 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 enforce the law.

"In the early days, no-one cared," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and established a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that enforcement is still patchy.

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

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

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not protected zones to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands receded, as did the habitats they supported.

"I made the choice back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I chose this direction," he says.

It has not been 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 assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of 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.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes aerial photos to find the paths created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds at night.

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

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap so they could buy 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 keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Busted

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

A separate individual stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

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

Information suggested 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 performing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

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