this article appeared in the May 2011 edition of
Serendib, the inflight magazine of Sri Lankan Airways
text of the article is reproduced in full below the gallery of images
for other Sri Lankan images click here - for other wildlife images from Liwonde National Park, Malawi click here
for peru click here (and follow links on page to second peruvian wildlife trip)
and for bear watching in eastern finland, click here
back to home page
Serendib, the inflight magazine of Sri Lankan Airways
text of the article is reproduced in full below the gallery of images
for other Sri Lankan images click here - for other wildlife images from Liwonde National Park, Malawi click here
for peru click here (and follow links on page to second peruvian wildlife trip)
and for bear watching in eastern finland, click here
back to home page
Yala: in the heart of wilderness
words and pictures by Ben Illis
I hardly dare breathe. We have been in the park under an hour when our driver takes a call that a leopard has gone to ground under the road nearby. The chase is on. Jeeps amass – ten or eleven – all focussed on the culvert under the red earth track. We wait. The suspense is palpable. “Come on!” you can almost hear our shared thoughts, forcefully willing the beast to show himself. Minutes pass. Some of the jeeps give up and move on. “What have they seen that they’re not willing to wait for this?” we think, jealously. Now we are only three. Five minutes pass. Six. Then, a flurry of activity. A stirring in the deep darkness of the tunnel and he emerges. Proud. Majestic. Magnificent. I dive across the jeep and fire off a few frames on my camera. He pauses, surveys the land around him and lopes confidently off into the undergrowth. A young male, just starting to show the broad-shouldered muscularity of an alpha. Completely at ease, he’s not remotely bothered by the jeeps that follow his every move, like paparazzi following some Hollywood celebrity. Truly, the king of this jungle. And with more per square kilometre than anywhere else in the world, Yala leopards are true royalty.
The next morning, a little before dawn, I rub sleep from my eyes and gulp down the strong, sweet coffee that is to sustain me until my hearty breakfast at the end of the morning drive. We jump in the jeep, joking with our driver, and take to the tracks. A row of painted storks on a tank catches the first rays of dawn, staining their dainty plumage pinker. A pair of male jungle fowl look set to scrap, presumably over a female in the scrub beyond. A handful of water buffalo, up to their necks in mud, chew the cud absently. Egrets and herons stalk the shallows. A large crocodile lurks, menacingly. Bejewelled bee-eaters flip and soar overhead. A peacock’s tail streams electric from its perch. A majestic eagle watches, its glaring eye missing nothing. It’s a scene that has stayed with me since my first visit to Yala thirty four (of my thirty eight) years ago and will remain me forever. Magical. As we drive on, the light turns golden, highlighting birds on treetops to my left. A lesser adjutant stork seems to pose, his beady eye and wispy, bald head reminding me of an English teacher from my childhood. I smile inwardly.
That afternoon we encounter a female leopard in a tree. She seems anxious. Six jackals are circling. She shifts, restlessly. Our tracker thinks she has a kill in the bush and the jackals are trying to separate her from it. She descends her tree and, beaten, takes refuge from the sweltering heat on an ant-hill in the shade of a low tree by the tank-side. A herd of water buffalo in the water’s edge seem unhappy and form an aggressive wall, advancing on her, staring her down. She circles the anthill and moves off, silently vanquished, into deeper scrub. Royalty they may be, but the leopards don’t have it easy here. Later, another jackal does comic battle with some crows over a scavenged buffalo placenta. Comic, until you see her teeth bared in a vicious snarl, hackles up, signalling the importance of this stolen meal.
Later still, we watch a young tusked male – or tusker – stripping a tree of its juicy red bark and munching away, his mouth spread into a contented grin. Only ten percent of male Sri Lankan elephants sport tusks, so to see one this close up and for a good half hour is a treat. This one is new to the park and so as yet un-named. Our driver gets a call that an elephant family we encountered just as the light was failing on our first night are having a bath in a nearby tank. We race off. It is a rare and wonderful sight. A family of sixteen, including a two-week old baby and a six-month old toddler, are bathing. Teenagers mischievously splash and duck each other under the water. Mothers look on patiently, ready to administer a cuff round the ear to any who overstep the mark. Once again, these wonderfully placid beasts appear almost human - grinning and joking and taking pure, unadulterated pleasure from their cooling bath. Life seems good here.
All too soon our trip is over. It’s an indescribable, humbling feeling – up with the sun as a guest in this wild realm, witnessing the animals – our hosts – going about their business, miraculously, apparently unaware of us human hordes, coming to bear witness to their lives in this fragile place. Long may it continue.
click to go back to home page
I hardly dare breathe. We have been in the park under an hour when our driver takes a call that a leopard has gone to ground under the road nearby. The chase is on. Jeeps amass – ten or eleven – all focussed on the culvert under the red earth track. We wait. The suspense is palpable. “Come on!” you can almost hear our shared thoughts, forcefully willing the beast to show himself. Minutes pass. Some of the jeeps give up and move on. “What have they seen that they’re not willing to wait for this?” we think, jealously. Now we are only three. Five minutes pass. Six. Then, a flurry of activity. A stirring in the deep darkness of the tunnel and he emerges. Proud. Majestic. Magnificent. I dive across the jeep and fire off a few frames on my camera. He pauses, surveys the land around him and lopes confidently off into the undergrowth. A young male, just starting to show the broad-shouldered muscularity of an alpha. Completely at ease, he’s not remotely bothered by the jeeps that follow his every move, like paparazzi following some Hollywood celebrity. Truly, the king of this jungle. And with more per square kilometre than anywhere else in the world, Yala leopards are true royalty.
The next morning, a little before dawn, I rub sleep from my eyes and gulp down the strong, sweet coffee that is to sustain me until my hearty breakfast at the end of the morning drive. We jump in the jeep, joking with our driver, and take to the tracks. A row of painted storks on a tank catches the first rays of dawn, staining their dainty plumage pinker. A pair of male jungle fowl look set to scrap, presumably over a female in the scrub beyond. A handful of water buffalo, up to their necks in mud, chew the cud absently. Egrets and herons stalk the shallows. A large crocodile lurks, menacingly. Bejewelled bee-eaters flip and soar overhead. A peacock’s tail streams electric from its perch. A majestic eagle watches, its glaring eye missing nothing. It’s a scene that has stayed with me since my first visit to Yala thirty four (of my thirty eight) years ago and will remain me forever. Magical. As we drive on, the light turns golden, highlighting birds on treetops to my left. A lesser adjutant stork seems to pose, his beady eye and wispy, bald head reminding me of an English teacher from my childhood. I smile inwardly.
That afternoon we encounter a female leopard in a tree. She seems anxious. Six jackals are circling. She shifts, restlessly. Our tracker thinks she has a kill in the bush and the jackals are trying to separate her from it. She descends her tree and, beaten, takes refuge from the sweltering heat on an ant-hill in the shade of a low tree by the tank-side. A herd of water buffalo in the water’s edge seem unhappy and form an aggressive wall, advancing on her, staring her down. She circles the anthill and moves off, silently vanquished, into deeper scrub. Royalty they may be, but the leopards don’t have it easy here. Later, another jackal does comic battle with some crows over a scavenged buffalo placenta. Comic, until you see her teeth bared in a vicious snarl, hackles up, signalling the importance of this stolen meal.
Later still, we watch a young tusked male – or tusker – stripping a tree of its juicy red bark and munching away, his mouth spread into a contented grin. Only ten percent of male Sri Lankan elephants sport tusks, so to see one this close up and for a good half hour is a treat. This one is new to the park and so as yet un-named. Our driver gets a call that an elephant family we encountered just as the light was failing on our first night are having a bath in a nearby tank. We race off. It is a rare and wonderful sight. A family of sixteen, including a two-week old baby and a six-month old toddler, are bathing. Teenagers mischievously splash and duck each other under the water. Mothers look on patiently, ready to administer a cuff round the ear to any who overstep the mark. Once again, these wonderfully placid beasts appear almost human - grinning and joking and taking pure, unadulterated pleasure from their cooling bath. Life seems good here.
All too soon our trip is over. It’s an indescribable, humbling feeling – up with the sun as a guest in this wild realm, witnessing the animals – our hosts – going about their business, miraculously, apparently unaware of us human hordes, coming to bear witness to their lives in this fragile place. Long may it continue.
click to go back to home page