Tracking Poachers Illegally Trapping the Nation's Protected Songbirds.

The activist's eyes scan across vast expanses of tall grassland, searching for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as they attempt to locate a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Trapped

In the skies above us, countless migratory 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 warmer months in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they journey to southern locales to nest and feed.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the world's total – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major flyways they follow converge in China.

This particular field where we were, 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 also an oasis for the poachers and their "fine nets", so fine you can barely see them.

A net we almost encountered was stretched across a large section of the field and supported with wooden sticks. In the middle, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Pursuing the Poachers

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his own savings. He has forgone many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he gathered a team who were concerned and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and brought in 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 criminal activity.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that the response is not uniform.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a much changed capital.

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

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were considered empty places to build, not protected zones to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

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

It has not been an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.

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

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

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

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes aerial photos to find the routes 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 lines of net traps 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 keep birds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the penalties to deter the activity 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. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for 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 breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds had to die 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 adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, 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 stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

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

The path by the river extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, 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 transactions because the police had arrived. 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