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The activist's eyes scan over vast expanses of tall grassland, searching for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He speaks in less than a whisper as we try to find a place of cover in the grasslands. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, many so small that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have benefited from the long summer days in northern regions, eating insects and fruit. As the year winds down and icy winds bring the first frosts of winter, they journey to warmer places to breed and eat.

China is home to over 1500 bird species, which is about 13% of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major flyways they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow being monitored, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so thin you can barely see 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 struggling frantically to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he recruited volunteers who did care and established a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls wandering in the fields 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 seen as land for construction, not conservation areas to preserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands receded, as did the habitats they supported.

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

This has not made for an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires patience and night vigils. Silva says not many 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 tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

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

"Certain prized species command 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 believes the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about the environment. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

Along a riverside path 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 covered by a black veil. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors 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 nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

But on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had appeared. They were interviewing the bird owners and recording details. Defiant, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his