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The activist's eyes scan over vast expanses of dense fields, searching for signs of life in the early morning gloom.

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a spot to hide in the fields. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, the sound of footsteps emerges. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are migrating south 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 cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they head to southern locales to breed and eat.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow cross through China.

This particular field being monitored, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was extending over half the length of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to free his legs, 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" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"In the early days, authorities were indifferent," he says.

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and launched a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and invited the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"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 nineties in a much changed capital.

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

China's booming economy 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 started disappearing, as did the habitats they supported.

"I decided back then to pursue environmental protection and I followed this course," he says.

It has not been an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to solve this big problem, you must give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

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

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He studies aerial photos to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He charts these 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 sell for a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits 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 later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

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

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly 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 shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

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

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan 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 black fabric.

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