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The activist's eyes scan across vast expanses of tall grassland, looking for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a place of cover in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Caught

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 taken advantage of the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year winds down and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they journey to southern locales to breed and eat.

There are 1500-plus bird species, accounting for 13% of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major flyways they follow intersect in China.

This particular field in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over half the length of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to escape, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, 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

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his own savings. He has given up on many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and formed a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He organized public meetings and invited the leaders of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, noting that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

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

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not sanctuaries to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to work in conservation and I chose this direction," he says.

It has not been 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 associates who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he went 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 covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says few people are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to solve this big problem, you must give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies satellite imagery to find the routes created 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 scores of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species command a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations 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.

This custom that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals often lacked 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 the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

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

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

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where informal vendors 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 small park. It was easy to find.

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

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