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The conservationist's vision darts across miles of dense fields, looking for any movement in the inky blackness.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a concealed position in the fields. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, we hear only our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Snared

Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they head to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the global population – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major migration routes they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow where we were, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was extending over half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a tiny bird was desperately trying to free his legs, 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 "bio-indicator" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

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

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

So he gathered a team who were concerned and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and invited the leaders of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also helped in tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

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

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

He recalls roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were considered empty places to build, not sanctuaries to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I made the choice back then to work in conservation and I followed this course," he says.

It has not been an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

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

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies aerial photos to find the trails created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can capture scores of small birds during darkness.

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

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

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

Another man 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 offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have created their own market.

The area by the river stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought in a small park. 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 in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three 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 interviewing the bird owners and recording details. Defiant, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his