Following Illegal Hunters Who Illegally Snare China's Endangered Wild Birds.

The conservationist's eyes scan across vast expanses of tall grassland, looking for any movement in the inky blackness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as the team seeks a place of cover in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Snared

Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in northern regions, consuming insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they journey to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow cross through China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among forests of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was extending over a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to escape, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"In the early days, there was little interest," he states.

So he enlisted helpers who did care and formed a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized community gatherings and brought in the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, noting that the response is not uniform.

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

He remembers wandering in the grasslands on the city's edges where he discovered 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 seen as areas for development, not sanctuaries to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I made the choice back then to work in conservation and I chose this direction," he says.

It has not been an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

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

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous 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 can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He examines aerial photos to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups 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 often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where informal vendors have created their own market.

The area by the river stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

We were told 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 traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

But today there would be no sales because the police had appeared. They were questioning the bird owners and recording details. Defiant, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his