Following Illegal Hunters Illegally Trapping China's Endangered Singing Birds.

The conservationist's vision darts across vast expanses of open meadows, hunting for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a concealed position in the open area. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten before dawn, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Snared

Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the long summer days in northern regions, consuming insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to southern locales to find food and shelter.

There are 1500-plus bird species, which is about 13% of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow intersect in China.

The area of meadow being monitored, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across half the length of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. At its center, a small finch was desperately trying to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means if its population is healthy, so is its ecosystem.

Tracking the Trappers

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Initially, authorities were indifferent," he says.

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and formed a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized public meetings and invited the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion have shown results. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, noting that enforcement is still patchy.

Silva's love of 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 found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not conservation areas to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

"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 found out he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who surrounded 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 team of helpers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many 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 devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He studies satellite imagery to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the fines to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

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

Another man stands outside a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly 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 area by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

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

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

But today there would be no transactions because the police had appeared. 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