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The activist's gaze sweeps over vast expanses of open meadows, searching for any movement in the inky blackness.

He utters a hushed tone as the team seeks a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. Illegal trappers are present.

Snared

Overhead, countless migratory birds, many so small that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

China is home to over 1500 bird species, which is about 13% of the world's total – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major migration routes they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow in question, 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 clusters of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so delicate you can hardly spot them.

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

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he gathered a team who did care and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that enforcement is still patchy.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls wandering in the fields on the city's edges where he encountered 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 fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as areas for development, not protected zones to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection 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 under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

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

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," 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 covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He analyzes 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 stop for the night. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can capture scores of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species command a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or grasp that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

On a long low wall in Beijing, a trader has several small cages with tiny twittering birds.

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The area by the river stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to dentures.

We were told that protected birds could be purchased in a small park. 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 appeared. They were interviewing the bird owners and taking names. Defiant, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his