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The conservationist's gaze sweeps across vast expanses of dense fields, searching for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as the team seeks a concealed position in the open area. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

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

Snared

Across the heavens, countless migratory birds, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating bugs and berries. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to southern locales to find food and shelter.

China is home to over 1500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow converge in China.

This particular field being monitored, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was extending over half the length of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a small finch was fighting hard 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" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Pursuing the Poachers

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

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

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that the response is not uniform.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

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 rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not protected zones to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I followed this course," he says.

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

"He gathered several of his associates 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 seen the departure of 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 challenging and occasionally risky job.

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

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

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He studies satellite imagery to find the routes created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can catch scores of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats 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 environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

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

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

This offers a view of an old Beijing 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 shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

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

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by 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 sales because the police had appeared. They were questioning the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his