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The activist's vision darts across vast expanses of tall grassland, searching for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Snared

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

They have taken advantage of the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to warmer places to nest and feed.

There are 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly 13% of the global population – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was extending over half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a small finch was fighting hard to escape, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Tracking the Trappers

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has forgone many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade convincing 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 formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and brought in the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police realized that catching poachers also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that implementation remains inconsistent.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a much changed capital.

He remembers roaming through the grasslands on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as areas for development, not conservation areas to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the habitats they supported.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I followed this course," he says.

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

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says few people are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He examines satellite imagery to find the routes 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 hundreds 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 often affluent."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists 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 numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

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

A separate individual stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The path by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be purchased 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. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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