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The activist's vision darts over vast expanses of tall grassland, hunting for suspicious activity in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in less than a whisper as we try to find a spot to hide in the fields. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, we hear only our own breath.

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

Snared

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to warmer places to find food and shelter.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow converge in China.

This particular field in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "fine nets", so fine you can almost miss them.

The trap we stumbled upon was stretched across a large section of the field and held up with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to free his legs, but the more it moved, 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 population is healthy, so is its environment.

Pursuing the Poachers

This activist, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he gathered a team who were concerned and formed a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized public meetings and brought in the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also led to uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, noting 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 remembers exploring the fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not conservation areas to preserve.

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

"I decided 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 discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his associates who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to address this major issue, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies satellite imagery to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths 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.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

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

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

On a long low wall in Beijing, a trader has several small cages 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 quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The area alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

We were told that protected birds 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 gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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