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The activist's vision darts across miles of open meadows, looking for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He speaks in less than a whisper as we try to find a place of cover in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. The hunters have arrived.

Snared

Overhead, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to warmer places to breed and eat.

The nation hosts more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow cross through China.

The patch of grassland being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was stretched across half the length of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a tiny bird was fighting hard to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means 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 forgone many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Back in 2015, no-one cared," he says.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and brought in the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that implementation remains inconsistent.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

He remembers roaming through the grasslands on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

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

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I made the choice back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I took this path," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered 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 reported to the police but those responsible 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 few people are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"This is my full-time commitment," 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 pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He analyzes aerial photos to find the routes created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can capture scores of small birds at night.

"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 environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

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

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, or grasp that so many more birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Busted

Along a riverside path 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 tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The area by the river extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

We were told that protected birds could be purchased in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a group 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 concealed by black fabric.

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