Tracking Poachers That Illegally Capture China's Rare Songbirds.

The activist's gaze sweeps across vast expanses of open meadows, looking for any movement in the inky blackness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as they attempt to locate a concealed position in the open area. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.

Trapped

In the skies above us, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to southern locales to nest and feed.

China is home to 1500-plus bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major flyways they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was stretched across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was fighting hard to escape, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has given up on many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Initially, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and launched a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and brought in the heads of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy have shown results. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also led to tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that the response is not uniform.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

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

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not protected zones to preserve.

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 took this path," he says.

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

"He gathered several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says not many 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 give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He studies satellite imagery to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can catch scores of small birds at night.

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

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're really hard to change."

Busted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

Another man stands outside a nearby 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 traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

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

We were told that protected birds could be bought in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

But on this occasion 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