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The activist's vision darts across miles of open meadows, searching for signs of life in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a muted voice as we try to find a concealed position in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, we hear only our own breath.

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

Snared

Across the heavens, billions of birds, many so small that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, which is about 13% of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so delicate you can almost miss them.

The one we nearly walked into was extending over a large section of the field and supported with wooden sticks. In the middle, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and launched a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion have shown results. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, noting that the response is not uniform.

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

He remembers roaming through the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from 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.

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.

This has not made for an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his associates 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 team of helpers over the years. This work requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are willing to take on 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 can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can capture scores of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a premium," 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 punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand 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 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 educate people about the environment. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

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

A separate individual is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have created their own market.

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

Information suggested that protected birds could be purchased in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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