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The activist's gaze sweeps across vast expanses of open meadows, searching for any movement in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters less than a whisper as they attempt to locate a spot to hide in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, the sound of footsteps emerges. The hunters have arrived.

Caught

Overhead, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they head to southern locales to nest and feed.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow intersect in China.

This particular field being monitored, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among forests of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "fine nets", so thin you can almost miss them.

The trap we stumbled upon was stretched across half the length of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. At its center, a small finch was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

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

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and formed a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and invited the heads of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police discovered that catching poachers also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our goals were 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 1990s 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. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as areas for development, not conservation areas to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands receded, as did the habitats they supported.

"I decided back then to pursue environmental protection and I chose this direction," he says.

It has not been an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

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

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists 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 caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice 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 formed, 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 quietly that his songbird is valuable, 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.

Information suggested that protected birds 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 fan dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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