On the Trail Illegal Hunters Illegally Trapping the Nation's Rare Singing Birds.

The conservationist's vision darts over miles of tall grassland, searching for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a concealed position in the grasslands. In the distance, 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 before dawn, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they are flying to southern locales to breed and eat.

China is home to 1500-plus bird species, which is about 13% of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major paths they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "fine nets", so fine you can hardly spot them.

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. In the middle, a tiny bird was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

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

Pursuing the Poachers

Silva, who is in his 30s, 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 take this crime seriously.

"In the early days, no-one cared," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and invited the officials of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that the response is not uniform.

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

He remembers roaming through the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not conservation areas to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands receded, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to pursue environmental protection and I chose this direction," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires patience and night vigils. Silva says not many are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising 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 found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the paths created 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 lines of net traps which can catch hundreds of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats 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 believes 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 generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites 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 committing a wildlife crime, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're really hard to change."

Busted

On a long low wall 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 black veil. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The path alongside the water extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple 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 taking names. Defiant, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his