Tracking Poachers Illegally Trapping the Nation's Endangered Wild Birds.

The conservationist's gaze sweeps across vast expanses of dense fields, searching for any movement in the inky blackness.

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a place of cover in the grasslands. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, we hear only 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.

Snared

Across the heavens, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the long summer days in northern regions, consuming insects and fruit. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to warmer places to breed and eat.

There are more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major paths they follow cross through China.

The patch of grassland being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among forests of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "fine nets", so delicate you can barely see them.

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across a large section of the field and held up with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means 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 sacrificed many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Back in 2015, there was little interest," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and invited the heads of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, noting that the response is not uniform.

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls exploring the fields on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not conservation areas to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands receded, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I made the choice back then to work in conservation and I chose this direction," he says.

It has not been 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 accomplices who confronted me and assaulted me," 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 prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"This is my full-time commitment," 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 covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the trails created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can catch scores of small birds at night.

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

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet 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 to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that so many more birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The path alongside the water extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

We were told that wild songbirds could be bought in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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