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The activist's gaze sweeps over vast expanses of tall grassland, hunting for suspicious activity in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters a hushed tone as they attempt to locate a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Caught

In the skies above us, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the first frosts of winter, they head to southern locales to find food and shelter.

There are more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow cross through China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was strung across half the length of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep 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, there was little interest," he says.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and invited the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, noting that the response is not uniform.

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

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

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not sanctuaries to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the habitats they supported.

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

This has not made for an easy life. A major 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 went to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

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

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He examines aerial photos to find the routes created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can catch hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species sell for a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

On a long low wall 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 dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have created their own market.

The path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased 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 performing a fan dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

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