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The activist's gaze sweeps across vast expanses of dense fields, hunting for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He speaks in a muted voice as they attempt to locate a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Snared

Overhead, billions of birds, many so small that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they journey to warmer places to breed and eat.

There are 1500-plus bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major migration routes they follow intersect in China.

The area of meadow being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was extending over a large section of the field and supported with wooden sticks. In the middle, a small finch was fighting hard to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means if its population is healthy, so is its ecosystem.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and brought in the leaders of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

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

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls wandering in the fields on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not conservation areas to conserve.

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

"I decided back then to work in conservation and I took this path," he says.

It has not been an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

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

He has also seen the departure of 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 challenging and occasionally risky job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

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

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He studies aerial photos to find the routes 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 netting setups which can catch hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

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

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a trader has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

Another man stands outside a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. 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 area by the river stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

We were told that protected birds could be bought in a small park. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

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