Tracking Illegal Hunters Illegally Trapping the Nation's Protected Songbirds.

The conservationist's eyes scan over vast expanses of open meadows, looking for any movement in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a spot to hide in the grasslands. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Caught

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year winds down and icy winds bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

China is home to over 1500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major migration routes they follow intersect in China.

This particular field in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across half the length of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. At its center, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Pursuing the Poachers

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"In the early days, no-one cared," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and established a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion have shown results. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat 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 recalls roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not protected zones to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the wildlife they housed.

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

This has not made for an easy life. 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 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 covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says few people are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He studies satellite imagery 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 aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds during darkness.

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

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the fines to punish the crime do not outweigh the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a trader has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

Another man stands outside a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have created their own market.

The path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

Information suggested that protected birds could be purchased 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. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

But today 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