Following Illegal Hunters That Illegally Capture the Nation's Protected Wild Birds.

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

He speaks in a muted voice as we try to find a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have taken advantage of the long summer days in northern regions, consuming insects and fruit. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major flyways they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland being monitored, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over half the length of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to free his legs, 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" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Hunting the Hunters

This activist, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Back in 2015, there was little interest," he remarks.

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and invited the officials of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also helped in identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a much changed capital.

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

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not sanctuaries to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands receded, as did the habitats they supported.

"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 being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his associates who confronted me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 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 trails worn away 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.

"Certain prized species sell for a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues 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. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. 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 raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The path alongside the water extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Nearby 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 on this occasion there would be no transactions because the police had appeared. They were questioning the bird owners and taking names. Defiant, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his