09/07/2025
๐๐ก๐๐ซ๐ ๐๐ซ๐ ๐๐จ ๐๐ฅ๐๐ฉ๐ก๐๐ง๐ญ๐ฌ ๐๐ง ๐๐๐๐ฐ๐๐ฅ๐๐ฐ๐โฆ..๐๐ ๐๐๐ซ๐ ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ง๐ฅ๐ฒ ๐๐๐๐ฉ ๐๐ก๐๐ซ๐... ๐๐ฎ๐ญ ๐๐ก๐๐ซ๐ ๐๐๐ซ๐ ๐๐จ ๐๐ฅ๐๐ฉ๐ก๐๐ง๐ญ๐ฌ.
At least thatโs how we felt for the first 6 hours.
Yesterdayโs safari was with one of the kindest British families Iโve met so far. A couple with their two teen daughters, who actually reached out to me over a month ago after I dropped a comment under someone elseโs (well thatโs what I thought at least) post about how safari pricing works in Sri Lanka. It wasnโt even a sales pitch. Just me trying to be honest and clear about how it really works here. Thatโs how we connected.
From the start, they had that calm, respectful energy. You can tell when people arenโt just looking to tick a box, they really want to experience something. We agreed on a 5-hour safari starting from their accommodation in Udawalawe. But of course, thatโs not how things went.
The day started like most safaris do. I picked them up early morning with Uncle Ajith, my trusted driver. The road was alive with tuk tuks swerving, school kids waving in uniforms, dogs wandering, policemen half asleep waving traffic through. And just after we started driving toward the park, it rained. Light, steady, just enough to freshen the air.
And I remember smiling quietly to myself. Rain after pickup? Thatโs even better. Iโve always felt rain in the morning brings luck. Not too much. Just enough to shift the mood, clean the dust, wake the forest.
We entered the park around 7:30 or 8:00 AM. Not the usual 10 AM time I prefer, but still okay given it's not peak season. Skipped the early morning chaos and headed for something deeper, quieter. Took the lesser-used tracks. No jeeps in sight for hours. Literally, no one. Just us and the wild.
At one point, we saw a hawk eagle on the ground. That alone is rare enough. But what really caught our eye was how he was standing firm, legs locked, head turning sharply every few seconds. Almost like he was crushing something in the grass. We couldnโt see what exactly, but he didnโt look like he was just resting. Maybe a small snake. Maybe a frog. Whatever it was, he had it pinned. That stillness predators have when they know they've won. We stayed quiet, watching from a distance. These small moments, honestly, are some of my favourites.
Then, almost 4 hours into the drive, we stopped for a picnic near a quiet lake. Water buffalo wallowing just ahead, deer grazing in the distance, monkeys nearby watching closely, birds calling from above. It was peaceful. That kind of pause that makes the whole experience feel slower, more grounded. We sat, ate quietly, and just let the moment be what it was.
After the picnic, we started driving again.
But still, not a single elephant.
Plenty of other animals though. Crocs near the reservoir, probably more than usual because the water level had clearly dropped with the dry season setting in. The edges were cracked, almost thirsty, and the mud flats had become the perfect stage for crocodiles to sunbathe.
There were deer. Water buffalo. Eagles and bee-eaters. Peacocks. Lizards. Even a few cheeky monkeys along the way. But still, hour after hour passed, and not a single elephant. And this is Udawalawe.
At first, I was confident. You know, after guiding so many safaris, you think youโve got a grip on how things work. But wildlife has its own plans. And I think yesterday was a small reminder for me that nature doesnโt work on your schedule. It made me humble,againโฆ!
Still, I kept watching their faces. They werenโt upset. They knew the risks. I always set realistic expectations before every safari. Tell people that sightings are never guaranteed. But even with that, you can sense the quiet frustration sometimes. The waiting. The hoping. That small ache in your chest when you feel like youโre letting someone down, even though itโs not your fault.
After 5 hours of driving, we were technically done. But something didnโt sit right. So I turned back to Miss Gemma and asked if it was okay if we extended a bit. Maybe just try one last route.
She smiled and said, โWeโre all yours, Prasanna.โ
So we kept going.
Uncle Ajith and I decided to head deeper again, turning away from the usual exits. No loud convoys. No pressure. Just one last attempt.
And finally, near the back edge of the reservoir, where the water was thinning and the land started to crack... there they were.
Two elephants. Just dots at first. Far on the horizon, near the muddy bank. But they were there.
Grazing, calm, completely unbothered by our presence. And best part? No other jeeps. No dust. No noise. Just us, the wind, and the silence of the wild being kind to us again.
The moment they spotted them, the husband clapped and gave a high five to his wife. The girlsโ faces lit up, all smiles. And I said to them with a grin, โNow I can sleep peacefully tonight.โ
We drove closer. Not too close. Just enough to switch the engine off and watch. One tusker. One other male. Mudbathing. Tossing dirt. Feeding. Peaceful and calm, still no jeeps around.
Then, on the far bank of the reservoir, we spotted another group. About 8 elephants scattered and grazing far off. Too distant to approach, but their presence was enough. It felt like the park was finally opening up for us.
We continued toward the dam road. And there, standing quietly in the distance, was another lone male. Maybe mid 30s. Strong, alert posture. He wasnโt aggressive, but with lone bulls youโre always careful. Especially when you know youโre alone and far from help. We stayed respectful, gave him space, and let him be.
On our way back, we spotted another younger elephant, maybe 15 years old, slowly grazing. A few more shapes in the far background too. Nothing dramatic. Nothing chaotic. Just quiet, honest sightings.
In total, four elephants up close. Eight more far away. But the beauty was in how we saw them. Not rushed. Not surrounded by jeeps. Just us.
As we headed toward the exit, the evening jeep convoy had just started entering. One after the other. Dust rising. People shouting. Cameras out before they even hit the track.
And us? We were already done. Weโd had our time. Our space. Our silence.
Back at the hotel, I said my usual thank yous. But they went further. They gave me the biggest tip Iโve ever received in my life. I didnโt even know what to say. They were kind from the beginning, but this? Iโll never forget.
So yeah, some safaris are loud from the start. Others take time. And then there are days like this. Slow. Real. And full of quiet magic when youโre patient enough to wait for it.
This is Nomad Trails Sri Lanka.
Where wildlife leads, and we follow.
If this is the kind of safari youโre looking for, feel free to reach out. Iโd be happy to plan one. Not perfect. Just real.
Warmly,
Prasanna
