Following Illegal Hunters That Illegally Capture the Nation's Rare Songbirds.

The conservationist's eyes scan across vast expanses of dense fields, searching for suspicious activity in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in less than a whisper as they attempt to locate a place of cover in the fields. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Caught

Across the heavens, countless migratory birds, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they are flying to warmer places to find food and shelter.

There are over 1500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the world's total – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major paths they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across a large section of the field and supported with bamboo poles. In the middle, a small finch was fighting hard to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Initially, authorities were indifferent," he remarks.

So he gathered a team who did care and launched a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized community gatherings and invited the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that enforcement is still patchy.

His passion for avian life began during 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."

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were seen as land for construction, not protected zones to preserve.

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

"I decided back then to pursue environmental protection and I chose this direction," he says.

It has not been an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva recalls. 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 demands patience and night vigils. Silva says not many are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"This is my full-time commitment," 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 donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

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

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

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, or grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a trader has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The area alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

We were told that wild songbirds could be bought in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were performing 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 concealed by dark cloth.

But today there would be no sales 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