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The conservationist's eyes scan across vast expanses of tall grassland, hunting for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He utters a hushed tone as we try to find a spot to hide in the grasslands. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten before dawn, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Snared

Overhead, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in northern regions, eating insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the first frosts of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

There are 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was strung across a large section of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Pursuing the Poachers

This activist, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Initially, authorities were indifferent," he remarks.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and invited the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy have shown results. The police found that catching poachers also helped in identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

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

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

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

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion 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 made the choice back then to work in conservation and I took this path," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

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 prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to solve this big problem, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines satellite imagery to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He charts these 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 scores of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species sell for a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the fines to punish the crime 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 for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

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

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He tells 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 area alongside the water extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

We were told that protected birds could be bought in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

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