On the Trail Illegal Hunters Who Illegally Snare the Nation's Rare Singing Birds.

The conservationist's vision darts over vast expanses of open meadows, hunting for any movement in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a spot to hide in the fields. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, we hear only our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Caught

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

They have utilized the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they journey to warmer places to nest and feed.

China is home to 1500-plus bird species, accounting for 13% of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was stretched across a large section of the field and supported with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was fighting hard to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many nights of sleep 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 remarks.

So he enlisted helpers who did care and launched a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

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

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

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

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not protected zones to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, 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 under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered 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 team of helpers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes aerial photos to find the trails created by the poachers. He maps those 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 during darkness.

"Certain prized species sell for a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Busted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The path by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be purchased in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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