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The activist's vision darts over miles of tall grassland, hunting for any movement in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in less than a whisper as we try to find a place of cover in the grasslands. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have benefited from the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they head to warmer places to breed and eat.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow intersect in China.

This particular field in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was strung across half the length of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he recruited volunteers who did care and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and invited the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion have shown results. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that the response is not uniform.

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

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

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not protected zones to conserve.

This shift shocked him. 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.

It has not been an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

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

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 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 can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He studies satellite imagery to find the routes 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 lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the fines to deter the activity do not exceed the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat growing up. 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 educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

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 dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders 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 vintage jewellery to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be purchased in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

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