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The activist's vision darts across miles of tall grassland, searching for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters less than a whisper as they attempt to locate a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Snared

Across the heavens, countless migratory birds, many so small that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in northern regions, consuming bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to warmer places to nest and feed.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow intersect in China.

This particular field where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was strung across a large section of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a small finch was fighting hard to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Initially, no-one cared," he remarks.

So he gathered a team who did care and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and invited the officials of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police discovered that catching poachers also led to tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that enforcement is still patchy.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a much changed capital.

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

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not conservation areas to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to work in conservation and I took this path," he says.

It has not been an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

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

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He studies satellite imagery 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 satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture scores of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the fines to deter the activity 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 originates from the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds had to die 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 inherited the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

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

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The area alongside the water extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to dentures.

We were told that wild songbirds could be bought in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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