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The activist's vision darts across miles of dense fields, searching for signs of life in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in less than a whisper as they attempt to locate a place of cover in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, we hear footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have benefited from the long summer days in northern regions, eating insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they head to warmer places to nest and feed.

There are over 1500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major flyways they follow cross through China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the city skies 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 hardly spot them.

A net we almost encountered was extending over a large section of the field and supported with wooden sticks. In the middle, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"In the early days, there was little interest," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and formed a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He organized public meetings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that implementation remains inconsistent.

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a much changed capital.

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

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were viewed as areas for development, not sanctuaries to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I made the choice back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I took this path," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"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 willing to take on 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 donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He studies aerial photos to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can capture 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 keep birds are now quite wealthy."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the fines to punish the crime do not outweigh the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are breaking the law, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual stands outside a local market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors 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 protected birds could be bought in a small park. The location was not concealed.

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

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