Tracking Illegal Hunters Who Illegally Snare China's Endangered Singing Birds.

The activist's vision darts over miles of open meadows, looking for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a hushed tone as the team seeks a concealed position in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

Across the heavens, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to warmer places to nest and feed.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly 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.

The area of meadow where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was strung across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a small finch was struggling frantically to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Tracking the Trappers

This activist, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he gathered a team who did care and launched a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized public meetings and brought in the heads of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that implementation remains inconsistent.

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He was raised 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 fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not protected zones to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the habitats they supported.

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

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

"He gathered several of his accomplices who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. 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 tackle this challenge, 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 developed new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the paths created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch hundreds of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species command a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

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

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

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

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 troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

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