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The activist's gaze sweeps across miles of tall grassland, hunting for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a hushed tone as we try to find a place of cover in the grasslands. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, we hear only the sound of breathing.

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

Trapped

In the skies above us, billions of birds, many so small that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they head to southern locales to breed and eat.

There are more than 1,500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major paths they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland being monitored, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge 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.

A net we almost encountered was stretched across a large section of the field and supported with wooden sticks. In the middle, a small finch was desperately trying to escape, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and brought in the officials of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

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

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

He remembers exploring the fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were considered empty places to build, not protected zones to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

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

It has not been an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

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

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous 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 commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He examines aerial photos to find the paths worn away 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 netting setups which can catch scores of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the penalties to punish the crime 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 Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men 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 so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor 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 quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view 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 typical day, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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