Tracking Poachers That Illegally Capture the Nation's Rare Songbirds.

The conservationist's vision darts over miles of dense fields, searching for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He utters less than a whisper as they attempt to locate a place of cover in the open area. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.

Trapped

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have benefited from the warmer months in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they journey to southern locales to find food and shelter.

There are more than 1,500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major paths they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so fine you can almost miss them.

The trap we stumbled upon was stretched across half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

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

Tracking the Trappers

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Back in 2015, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and launched a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and invited the heads of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that the response is not uniform.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

He recalls roaming through the grasslands on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not sanctuaries to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the habitats they supported.

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

It has not been an easy life. One of 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 beat me up," Silva remembers. 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 requires 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 devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He examines satellite imagery to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can catch hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"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 wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people 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 retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or grasp that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a trader has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

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

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

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

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan 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 black fabric.

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