Tracking Illegal Hunters Who Illegally Snare China's Rare Wild Birds.

The activist's gaze sweeps across vast expanses of tall grassland, searching for any movement in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a concealed position in the grasslands. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Caught

Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in northern regions, consuming insects and fruit. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to warmer places to breed and eat.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the world's total – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow where we were, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so delicate you can hardly spot them.

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over a large section of the field and supported with bamboo poles. At its center, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has forgone many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade convincing 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 established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and brought in the heads of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also helped in tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

He recalls exploring 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 rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not conservation areas to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the habitats they supported.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I followed this course," he says.

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

"He gathered several of his accomplices who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work requires patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

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

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He studies aerial photos to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species sell for a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

Along a riverside path 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 informs 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 shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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