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The activist's gaze sweeps across miles of dense fields, searching for suspicious activity in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a spot to hide in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only the sound of breathing.

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

Snared

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

They have benefited from the long summer days in northern regions, consuming bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent 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 being monitored, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was extending over half the length of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was fighting hard to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

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

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he recruited volunteers who did care and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and brought in the leaders 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 identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that the response is not uniform.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

He remembers exploring the grasslands on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were seen as land for construction, not sanctuaries to conserve.

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

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

This has not made for an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he went 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 challenging and occasionally risky job.

"My life is devoted to this," 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 found new ways to track the poachers.

He examines satellite imagery to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can catch hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people 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 often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

Another man stands outside a local market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

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

The area by the river extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing 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 troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

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