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The activist's eyes scan across miles of open meadows, searching for suspicious activity in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in a muted voice as the team seeks a place of cover in the grasslands. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Caught

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

They have utilized the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

The nation hosts over 1500 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 migration routes they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over a large section of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to untangle itself, 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" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he gathered a team who were concerned and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that implementation remains inconsistent.

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

He remembers wandering in the fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were seen as land for construction, not conservation areas to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands receded, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to pursue environmental protection and I took this path," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

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

He says donations pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies satellite imagery to find the routes created 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 capture scores of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species command a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh 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 dates back to the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with tiny twittering birds.

Another man stands outside a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The path by the river stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

We were told that protected birds could be purchased in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by 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 said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his