Tracking Illegal Hunters Illegally Trapping the Nation's Rare Singing Birds.

The conservationist's gaze sweeps over miles of open meadows, searching for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a muted voice as the team seeks a place of cover in the fields. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Snared

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

China is home to over 1500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over a large section of the field and supported with bamboo poles. In the middle, a small finch was desperately trying to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

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

Tracking the Trappers

This activist, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he gathered a team who were concerned 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 consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

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

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

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

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not sanctuaries to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

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

It has not been an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he went 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 covert operations and lost sleep. 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 address this major issue, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies satellite imagery to find the trails created by the poachers. He charts these 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 capture scores of small birds during darkness.

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

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh the potential profits 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 for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"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. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

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

Another man stands outside a local 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 traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The area alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

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

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 congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

But today there would be no sales because the police had appeared. 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