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The activist's gaze sweeps across vast expanses of tall grassland, looking for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He speaks in a muted voice as we try to find a place of cover in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

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

They have taken advantage of the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they journey to southern locales to nest and feed.

There are over 1500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the global population – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major paths they follow cross through China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was strung across half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

This activist, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Initially, there was little interest," he remarks.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and invited the officials of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion have shown results. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that enforcement is still patchy.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

He recalls wandering in the fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were seen as land for construction, not sanctuaries to preserve.

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

"I made the choice back then to work in conservation 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 retaliated.

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers 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 treat it as a mission because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising covers 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 track the poachers.

He studies aerial photos to find the trails worn away 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.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations 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.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

A separate individual stands outside a local market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He tells 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 established a niche trade.

The path by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing 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 on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had arrived. They were questioning the bird owners and taking names. Defiant, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his