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

He speaks in a muted voice as they attempt to locate a place of cover in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Caught

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they head to warmer places to breed and eat.

The nation hosts more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major flyways they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was stretched across half the length of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Tracking the Trappers

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his own savings. He has forgone many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Back in 2015, there was little interest," he remarks.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and brought in the heads 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 criminal activity.

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

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a much changed capital.

He recalls wandering in the grasslands on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not protected zones to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the wildlife they housed.

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

This has not made for an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his associates who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he reported 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 prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky 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 devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He examines satellite imagery to find the trails worn away 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 netting setups which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.

"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 quite wealthy."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the fines to punish the crime do not outweigh the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a trader has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

The path by the river stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three 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 said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his