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The activist's vision darts across vast expanses of dense fields, hunting for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a spot to hide in the fields. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten before dawn, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Trapped

In the skies above us, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have taken advantage of the long summer days in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they head to warmer places to nest and feed.

China is home to 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major flyways they follow intersect in China.

This particular field being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "fine nets", so thin you can hardly spot them.

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a meadow pipit, 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, does this work for free using his own savings. He has forgone many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Initially, no-one cared," he remarks.

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and launched a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and brought in the leaders of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that enforcement is still patchy.

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

He remembers wandering in the fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were seen as land for construction, not protected zones to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

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

This has not made for an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – over 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 examines satellite imagery to find the paths created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can catch hundreds 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 keep birds are now quite wealthy."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the penalties to punish the crime 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 originates from the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are breaking the law, 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 some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about the environment. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

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

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 about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have created their own market.

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

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

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 congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

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