Tracking Illegal Hunters That Illegally Capture China's Rare Songbirds.

The conservationist's eyes scan over vast expanses of tall grassland, searching for any movement in the inky blackness.

He utters a hushed tone as the team seeks a spot to hide in the fields. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have benefited from the long summer days in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the first frosts of winter, they head to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major paths they follow intersect in China.

The area of meadow in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among towering rows 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 strung across half the length of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. At its center, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to free his legs, 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 ecosystem.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"In the early days, there was little interest," he remarks.

So he gathered a team who did care and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and invited the officials of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion have shown results. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that the response is not uniform.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

He remembers exploring the fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not sanctuaries to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to pursue environmental protection and I took this path," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his associates 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 army of volunteers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," 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 – over 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He examines aerial photos to find the routes worn away 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 netting setups which can capture scores of small birds at night.

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

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise 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.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity 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 tiny twittering birds.

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

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The path by the river stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

We were told that protected birds could be purchased in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting 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 gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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