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The activist's eyes scan across miles of tall grassland, hunting for suspicious activity in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters a hushed tone as we try to find a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Snared

In the skies above us, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

There are 1500-plus bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major paths they follow intersect in China.

The area of meadow where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across half the length of the field and held up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a small finch was struggling frantically to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Pursuing the Poachers

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Back in 2015, there was little interest," he remarks.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and launched a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He organized community gatherings and invited the officials of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police realized that catching poachers also helped in uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

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

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

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

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as 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 made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection and I took this path," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted 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 team of helpers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to solve this big problem, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – 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 created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can capture scores of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species sell for a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues 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 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.

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 understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

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

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. 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 small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The area 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 wild songbirds could be purchased in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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