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

He speaks in a hushed tone as they attempt to locate a place of cover in the open area. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Snared

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they head to southern locales to find food and shelter.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, accounting for 13% of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow cross through China.

This particular field in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge 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 "mist nets", so delicate you can hardly spot them.

A net we almost encountered was extending over a large section of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Back in 2015, no-one cared," he remarks.

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and launched a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and invited the heads of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police found that catching poachers also helped in tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

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

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not sanctuaries to conserve.

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

"I made the choice back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I chose this direction," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

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

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to address this major issue, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines 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 satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores 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."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have inherited the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness 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 chirping songbirds.

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

The area alongside the water extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

Information suggested that protected birds could be purchased in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

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