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The activist's vision darts over vast expanses of open meadows, hunting for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters a hushed tone as we try to find a place of cover in the open area. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

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

They have utilized the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to warmer places to nest and feed.

There are over 1500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow intersect in China.

This particular field where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among forests of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so delicate you can hardly spot them.

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. In the middle, a small finch was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Initially, authorities were indifferent," he says.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and brought in the leaders of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. 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, while pointing out that the response is not uniform.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls roaming through 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 considered empty places to build, not conservation areas to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands receded, as did the habitats they supported.

"I made the choice back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I followed this course," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. 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 give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can catch hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species command a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the fines to punish the crime do not outweigh the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display 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 understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

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

A separate individual stands outside a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The path alongside the water extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

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

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Nearby 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 today there would be no transactions because the police had appeared. They were questioning the bird owners and recording details. Defiant, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his