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The activist's eyes scan across vast expanses of dense fields, searching for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in less than a whisper as we try to find a concealed position in the open area. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year winds down and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to warmer places to find food and shelter.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow intersect in China.

This particular field in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so delicate you can hardly spot them.

The trap we stumbled upon was stretched across a large section of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a small finch was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

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

So he enlisted helpers who did care and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police found that catching poachers also helped in uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

He remembers roaming through the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not protected zones to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

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

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

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also lost 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.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but donations have dipped because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He examines satellite imagery to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He charts these 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 catch scores of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species sell for a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people 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.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

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

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view 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 sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had congregated 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 arrived. They were questioning the bird owners and taking names. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his