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The activist's eyes scan over vast expanses of open meadows, searching for any movement in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters a muted voice as they attempt to locate a spot to hide in the grasslands. 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 turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

Overhead, countless migratory birds, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they head to southern locales to nest and feed.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major flyways they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over half the length of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to free his legs, 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 "bio-indicator" – meaning if its population is healthy, 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 release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"In the early days, there was little interest," he says.

So he gathered a team who did care and launched a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

He recalls roaming through the grasslands on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were seen as areas for development, not sanctuaries to preserve.

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

"I made the choice back then to dedicate myself to preservation 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 fought back.

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he reported 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 requires stealth and sleepless nights. 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 commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies satellite imagery to find the trails created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can capture scores of small birds at night.

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

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the fines to punish the crime 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 to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

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

A separate individual 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 is a glimpse of an old Beijing where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The area by the river 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 nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, 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 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