Following Poachers Who Illegally Snare the Nation's Endangered Songbirds.

The conservationist's vision darts over vast expanses of open meadows, searching for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in less than a whisper as we try to find a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, 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.

Caught

Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, 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, consuming insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to warmer places to find food and shelter.

China is home to over 1500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the global population – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow intersect in China.

The area of meadow where we were, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

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

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

This activist, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

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

So he gathered a team 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 advocacy appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also led to uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that implementation remains inconsistent.

Silva's love of birds started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

He remembers roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were seen as areas for development, not protected zones to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I made the choice back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I took this path," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the trails created 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 hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

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

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens 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.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

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

The area by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

We were told that protected birds could be purchased in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played 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 covered in dark cloth.

But on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had arrived. 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