Following Poachers That Illegally Capture China's Endangered Songbirds.

The activist's gaze sweeps over miles of open meadows, hunting for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He utters a hushed tone as they attempt to locate a spot to hide in the grasslands. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Caught

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

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in northern regions, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they journey to southern locales to nest and feed.

China is home to over 1500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland being monitored, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the city skies offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so thin you can almost miss them.

A net we almost encountered was stretched across half the length of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. At its center, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Pursuing the Poachers

This activist, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Back in 2015, authorities were indifferent," he says.

So he enlisted helpers who did care and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and brought in the heads 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 criminal activity.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that enforcement is still patchy.

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

He remembers wandering in the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not protected zones to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the wildlife they housed.

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

This has not made for an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his associates 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 seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"This is my full-time commitment," 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 fundraising pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines satellite imagery to find the trails created 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 netting setups which can catch hundreds of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species sell for a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from 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 may not understand they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," 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."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

Another man stands outside 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 traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The path alongside the water extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought 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 choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

But on this occasion there would be no transactions 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