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The activist's vision darts over vast expanses of tall grassland, searching for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a muted voice as the team seeks a concealed position in the fields. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Caught

Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they are flying to southern locales to nest and feed.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow cross through China.

This particular field being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was strung across a large section of the field and supported with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Tracking the Trappers

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Back in 2015, no-one cared," he says.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that implementation remains inconsistent.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

He remembers exploring the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not conservation areas 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 took this path," he says.

It has not been an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also lost 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.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but donations have dipped because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can catch scores of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species sell for a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds 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 catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the habit and custom 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 extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

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

A separate individual stands outside 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 offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The area alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

We were told that protected birds could be bought in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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