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The activist's gaze sweeps over vast expanses of open meadows, looking for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters a muted voice as they attempt to locate a place of cover in the open area. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.

Snared

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

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they journey to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the planet's species – 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 outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among forests of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so delicate you can barely see them.

A net we almost encountered was stretched across half the length of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Pursuing the Poachers

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

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

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and brought in the heads of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police realized that catching poachers also helped in tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, noting that enforcement is still patchy.

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

He remembers roaming through the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not conservation areas to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands receded, as did the habitats they supported.

"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection and I chose this direction," he says.

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

"He gathered 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 demands patience and night vigils. 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 tackle this challenge, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

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 adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the paths created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can catch hundreds of small birds at night.

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

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits 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 imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are breaking the law, or grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The path by the river stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought 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 traditional dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had gathered 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