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The activist's eyes scan over vast expanses of tall grassland, searching for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a hushed tone as we try to find a concealed position in the fields. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and icy winds bring the first frosts of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, which is about 13% of the world's total – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so thin you can hardly spot them.

The one we nearly walked into was extending over half the length of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a tiny bird was fighting hard to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Back in 2015, authorities were indifferent," he remarks.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and launched a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and invited the heads of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that the response is not uniform.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls 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 a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not conservation areas to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to pursue environmental protection and I followed this course," he says.

It has not been an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted 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 challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies 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 rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species command a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. 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 some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation often lacked 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 chirping songbirds.

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He informs 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 established a niche trade.

The area by the river stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be purchased in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

But on this occasion there would be no transactions because the police had appeared. 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