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The activist's gaze sweeps across miles of open meadows, hunting for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a place of cover 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 with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

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

They have utilized the extended daylight in northern regions, consuming insects and fruit. As the year winds down and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to warmer places to breed and eat.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major flyways they follow cross through China.

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

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "fine nets", so fine you can hardly spot them.

A net we almost encountered was extending over a large section of the field and supported with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

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

Pursuing the Poachers

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"In the early days, authorities were indifferent," he says.

So he enlisted helpers who did care and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and invited the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion have shown results. The police realized 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 the response is not uniform.

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

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

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not protected zones to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I made the choice back then to dedicate myself to preservation 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 under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered 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 seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the trails created by the poachers. He maps those 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 hundreds of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

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

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

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

The path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

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