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The conservationist's vision darts across miles of open meadows, searching for any movement in the inky blackness.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Snared

Across the heavens, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have taken advantage of the long summer days in northern regions, consuming bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they head to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

China is home to 1500-plus bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major flyways they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was stretched across half the length of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a small finch was fighting hard to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Pursuing the Poachers

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

"In the early days, authorities were indifferent," he says.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and launched a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police discovered that catching poachers also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

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

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a much changed capital.

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

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not sanctuaries to preserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

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

It has not been an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

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

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work requires patience and night vigils. Silva says not many are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"I do this full-time," 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 pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He examines aerial photos to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can catch scores of small birds at night.

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

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice 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 set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a trader has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He informs passers-by quietly 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 path alongside the water extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be purchased in a small park. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop 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 concealed by black fabric.

But today there would be no transactions because the police had arrived. They were interviewing the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his