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The activist's vision darts over miles of tall grassland, looking for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He utters a hushed tone as we try to find a concealed position in the open area. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten before dawn, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they journey to warmer places to nest and feed.

China is home to 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly 13% of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major flyways they follow cross through China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to escape, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his own savings. He has given up on many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police discovered that catching poachers also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

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

Silva's love of birds started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

He recalls roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were seen as areas for development, not sanctuaries to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to work in conservation and I chose this direction," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he reported 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 covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He examines aerial photos to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can catch hundreds of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species sell for a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the fines to punish the crime do not outweigh the financial benefits of catching and selling 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. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or grasp that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

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

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The path by the river extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds 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 performing a fan dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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