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The conservationist's gaze sweeps over miles of dense fields, hunting for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in less than a whisper as we try to find a place of cover in the open area. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, we hear only our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Trapped

Across the heavens, countless migratory birds, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have benefited from the warmer months in northern regions, consuming insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Several of the major paths they follow intersect in China.

This particular field being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "fine nets", so thin you can barely see them.

A net we almost encountered was strung across a large section of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Tracking the Trappers

This activist, does this work for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, 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 states.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion have shown results. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that enforcement is still patchy.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

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."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were seen as areas for development, not protected zones to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to work in conservation and I took this path," he says.

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

"He assembled several of his associates who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can catch hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species command a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons 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 Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. 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 chirping songbirds.

A separate individual stands outside a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The path by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

But on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had arrived. They were interviewing the bird owners and recording details. Defiant, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his