On the Trail Illegal Hunters That Illegally Capture China's Endangered Singing Birds.

The conservationist's eyes scan across vast expanses of dense fields, looking for signs of life in the early morning gloom.

He utters a hushed tone as they attempt to locate a concealed position in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Caught

Overhead, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they journey to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

There are over 1500 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 migration routes they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow where we were, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so thin you can barely see 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 small finch was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it struggled, 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 numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and brought in the officials of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, noting that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

He recalls wandering in the grasslands on the city's edges where he found 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 areas for development, not protected zones to preserve.

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

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

It has not been an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted me and assaulted me," 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.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to solve this big problem, 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 hunt the hunters.

He studies 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 aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats 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 argues the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are breaking the law, 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 growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, 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 old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

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