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The conservationist's gaze sweeps over vast expanses of open meadows, searching for any movement in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in a muted voice as they attempt to locate a place of cover in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Caught

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

They have utilized the warmer months in northern regions, consuming bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to southern locales to nest and feed.

There are 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "mist nets", so thin you can barely see them.

The trap we stumbled upon was stretched across half the length of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Pursuing the Poachers

This activist, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Back in 2015, there was little interest," he remarks.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and established a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and invited the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police discovered that catching poachers also led to tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that the response is not uniform.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a much changed capital.

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

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not conservation areas to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I took this path," he says.

It has not been an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

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

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," 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 studies satellite imagery to find the routes created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged 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 ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a trader has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

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

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

The path alongside the water extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

We were told that wild songbirds could be bought in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

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 two or three in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

But on this occasion there would be no transactions because the police had arrived. They were questioning the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his