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The activist's vision darts across miles of open meadows, hunting for any movement in the inky blackness.

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a spot to hide in the fields. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, we hear only our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten before dawn, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Snared

Overhead, countless migratory birds, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in northern regions, eating insects and fruit. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to southern locales to nest and feed.

There are more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was extending over a large section of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means if its population is healthy, so is its ecosystem.

Hunting the Hunters

This activist, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Back in 2015, authorities were indifferent," he remarks.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and established a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and invited the leaders of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that enforcement is still patchy.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

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."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as areas for development, not sanctuaries 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 took this path," he says.

It has not been an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says not many are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"I do this full-time," 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 fundraising pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – 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 routes worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can catch hundreds 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."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the fines to punish the crime do not outweigh the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom 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 grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

Another man stands outside a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, 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 path 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 purchased in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a troop 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 concealed by dark cloth.

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