Kumana National Park
Kumana, a magical name to all Sri Lankans, was alive again. The month of May heralds the breeding season and the tranquillity of this 600 acre mangrove swamp is shattered by the grating voices of the stork family, easily the most unmelodious of bird noises. Worse is the fact that it is augmented only by the clapping of beaks which, pathetically is their idea of a love song.
Weeks later the sounds rise to a crescendo as the eggs hatch and the young emerge, the Oliver twists of the bird world. Frantic mothers fortunately fortified by increased secretions of mother care hormones, fly to distant lagoons to bring back food to keep the mob as quiet as possible. But even the sight of a returning neighbour sends the youngster into new frenzies, shoving their beaks up the empty gullets of their parents. If disturbed and the parent birds take off, the unsteady babies, in trying to hide among the leaves invariably fall into the water only to be devoured by lurking crocodiles.
The painted storks which headed for the heavens are slowly lowering themselves, the pelicans are hopping back on to low branches. Even the pheasant tailed jacana, blue coot and water hen venture out on to the floating platform of dead reeds, water grass and lily pads. We wend our way under a canopy of Sonneratia and achieve our goal. A hide from where we can see the “archipelago”, a dozen islets of mangrove vegetation dotting the villu or lake.
Suddenly the very tree we have chosen rocks and sways. A thousand fruit bats sally forth and we look at each other mournfully. Mercifully the birds are not impressed. Bats are not their kind. And apart from the expectant crocodile which glides away in anticipation of a windfall, nothing stirs. In the morning, everything is quiet on this eastern front. One hears only the ocean’s waves 400 yards away. A white breasted kingfisher tries to penetrate the silence with its strident notes but is in turn quickly silenced.
All heads bowed, the young take shelter under parental winds. There is an awesome hush. Something is a miss. Only when two white breasted sea eagles came into view do we know why. They wheel overhead briefly and then drive with a power and accuracy only such acrobats can combine. First one and then the other, swoop on the water and rise again with a sizable fish impaled in their talons. They disappear with triumphant screams and life returns to normal.
Painted storks stand on their nests, wings spread out to make a parasol for their young. Thermoregulation is a real problem for parent, chick and egg alike. The parents keep their beaks open and make characteristic movements. The eggs are not sat upon during the hottest periods. Fortunately for Kumana, an avian paradise which though not as large as India’s Bharatpur, can match its ecological complexity, is situated well within the Yala east national park, an arid zone coastal strip, windswept, inaccessible and remote. Recently we held civilization at arm’s length, wrapping the park with a half mile wide ribbon of buffer forest.
Yala east is lashed by strong north east monsoon rains and the desiccating intermonsoonal winds which threaten to tear it apart and may very well do so, but for the amazing tangle of dune vegetation, xerophytes and dry zone trees which guard the coast like a mammoth fortress. High forest clad rock outcrops catch the heavy rains in deep troughs whose overflow gives rise to the streams which water the plains and eventually form picturesque lagoons. Aquatic life abounds in these lagoons and streams that support a fascinating cross section of waders and shore birds.
And on this far off corner converge a multitude of migrants. Flock upon flock of godwit, sandpiper, golden plover and turnstone etch the darkening September skies as they arrive from Siberia and west Asia. These welcome visitors swell the indigenous population of lapwings, pratincoles, Kentish plover, tern and stilts. Then the bird banding teams get into gear with mist nets, pliers, numbered rings and record sheets. Close liaison is established with their Indian counterparts to contribute valuable data for scientific work.
Returning at dusk we are lucky to see at the first lagoon, a pair of black necked stork, very rare in Sri Lanka. They breed here but their nests have yet to be discovered. And as we wind our way through a tunnel of trees, we catch glimpses of forest birds as they flit across our path reminding us that tomorrow we would be sharing their little world of sound and colour. And we must surely follow that Malabar pied hornbill, with berries in his beak, to the nest we know so well in the huge Syzygium tree on the Kumbukkan river bank.
Related posts:
- Animal Life in Wilpattu National Park
- Gal Oya National Park – Sri Lanka
- Bundala national park Sri Lanka
- Victory Park Tambov
