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The activist's eyes scan across miles of tall grassland, hunting for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as we try to find a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten before dawn, we hear footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Caught

Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating bugs and berries. As the year winds down and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to warmer places to breed and eat.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so thin you can barely see them.

A net we almost encountered was stretched across a large section of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a tiny bird was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Tracking the Trappers

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his own savings. He has given up on many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"In the early days, no-one cared," he states.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and launched a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He organized public meetings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that the response is not uniform.

His passion for avian life started in 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 found birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not protected zones to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection 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 being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky 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 commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."

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 developed new ways to track the poachers.

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

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

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh the potential profits 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 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 numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"These individuals often lacked 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 little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a trader has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

A separate individual is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The area alongside the water extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be purchased in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple 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 taking names. Defiant, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his