Tracking Poachers That Illegally Capture China's Protected Wild Birds.

The activist's eyes scan over miles of open meadows, hunting for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as they attempt to locate a concealed position in the grasslands. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only our own breath.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to warmer places to find food and shelter.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the city skies offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across a large section of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a tiny bird was fighting hard to escape, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"In the early days, there was little interest," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and brought in the leaders of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police found that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that implementation remains inconsistent.

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

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

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as areas for development, not conservation areas to conserve.

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

"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection and I followed this course," 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 fought back.

"He assembled several of his associates 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 lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. 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 fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the paths worn away 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 netting setups which can catch hundreds of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. 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 the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a trader has several small cages with tiny twittering birds.

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The area by the river extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to dentures.

We were told that protected birds could be bought in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees 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 two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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