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The activist's eyes scan across vast expanses of open meadows, hunting for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

Across the heavens, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to warmer places to nest and feed.

China is home to 1500-plus bird species, which is about 13% of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Several of the major flyways they follow cross through China.

This particular field where we were, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

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

This was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

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 release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he gathered a team who were concerned and established a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police found that catching poachers also helped in identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

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

Silva's love of birds started in childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

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

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were viewed as areas for development, not conservation areas to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the habitats they supported.

"I made the choice back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I followed this course," 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 gathered several of his associates 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 lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to solve this big problem, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He examines aerial photos to find the paths created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds during darkness.

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

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the fines to deter the activity 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. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

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

This offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have created their own market.

The area by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

We were told that wild songbirds could be bought in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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