Following Poachers Who Illegally Snare the Nation's Rare Songbirds.

The activist's gaze sweeps over miles of tall grassland, searching for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a hushed tone as they attempt to locate a spot to hide in the fields. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.

Snared

Across the heavens, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in northern regions, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow converge in China.

This particular field in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "fine nets", so thin you can almost miss them.

The one we nearly walked into was strung across half the length of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. At its center, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

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.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, 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 recruited volunteers who did care and launched a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and brought in the officials 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 uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

He recalls wandering in the fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were considered empty places to build, not sanctuaries to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection and I took this path," 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 assembled 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 lost his team of helpers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. 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 tackle this challenge, 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 economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes aerial photos to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths 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 during darkness.

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

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the fines to deter the activity do not exceed the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds had to die 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. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

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

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The area alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

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 choreographing 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 covered in dark cloth.

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