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The activist's vision darts across miles of open meadows, looking for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in less than a whisper as we try to find a concealed position in the open area. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, we hear footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, many so small 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, eating bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they journey to warmer places to nest and feed.

There are over 1500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow being monitored, 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 forests of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "fine nets", so thin you can almost miss them.

The one we nearly walked into was extending over half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a small finch was struggling frantically to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Pursuing the Poachers

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has forgone many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he recruited volunteers who did care and formed a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized community gatherings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police realized that catching poachers also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that the response is not uniform.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls exploring the fields on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in 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 conservation areas to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands started disappearing, 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. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to address this major issue, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations 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 found new ways to track the poachers.

He examines satellite imagery to find the routes created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can capture scores of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the fines to punish the crime do not outweigh the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals 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 had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. 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 tiny twittering birds.

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

The area by the river extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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