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The activist's gaze sweeps over vast expanses of tall grassland, looking for any movement in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a concealed position in the grasslands. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

Across the heavens, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they head to southern locales to breed and eat.

There are 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly 13% of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major paths they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "mist nets", so fine you can almost miss them.

A net we almost encountered was stretched across half the length of the field and supported with wooden sticks. At its center, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird 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, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

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

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion have shown results. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

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

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

He remembers wandering in the grasslands on the city's edges where he found 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 seen as empty places to build, not protected zones to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection and I chose this direction," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted 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 team of helpers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the routes created 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 lines of net traps which can capture scores of small birds at night.

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

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat growing up. 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 educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

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

This offers a view of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The area alongside the water extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area 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 concealed by black fabric.

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