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The activist's eyes scan across vast expanses of tall grassland, looking for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters a hushed tone as the team seeks a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, 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 Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they head to southern locales to find food and shelter.

China is home to over 1500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major flyways they follow cross through China.

This particular field where we were, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer little opportunity 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 stretched across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has given up on many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he recruited volunteers who did care and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

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

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were seen as areas for development, not sanctuaries to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection and I took this path," 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 retaliated.

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

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

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He studies aerial photos to find the paths 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 lines of net traps 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."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits of trapping and trading 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 to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

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

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

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have created their own market.

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

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

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

But today there would be no transactions 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