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Vanished
trails
Although there
was heavy rain upcountry, the morning drive from Kandy through Randenigala
and Bibile to Moneragala, was done in fine weather. Due to a delayed
start, Moneragala was reached around 2.30 p.m. Having topped up
the diesel tank and tarried for a late lunch along the way, we located
a village well where we collected sufficient good drinking water
into several cans, enough for the whole trip. The road beyond
Siyambalanduwa suddenly narrows, but is in good condition and we
were at Lahugala around 4.30 p.m. There had been several small STF
camps en-route and a large one right in the middle of Lahugala National
Park overlooking the tank. Maybe in time, this camp will have to
be relocated and the site could be converted to a bungalow and a
campsite, utilizing the existing buildings and facilities.
Back in the
1970s, I used to visit Lahugala every year, spending around five
days at a time at the old Irrigation bungalow by the spill. The
Wildlife and Nature Protection Society later took over this beautiful
spot and vivid memories of lazing around the old bungalow verandah,
watching elephants in their hundreds feeding on the floating ' beru'
grass in the water, brought joy as well as a tinge of sadness. Sadness
due to the state of the bungalow, which now lay in ruins, its foundation
covered in scrub. In those halcyon days, the old hand-operated pump
at the well in front of the bungalow (the well yet remains and seems
usable) used to be constantly broken by elephants. And on every
visit we would fix it and get our daily exercise by pumping water
into the overhead tank. If I remember right, it took 10,000 strokes
to pump 200 gallons.
The large rock
at the far end of the tank reminded me of the day when two of us
encountered a she-bear and her cub while on an early morning walk
upto this rock. Fortunately, the bears ran off, surprised at us
intruders. It was a close encounter and frightening experience.
There were
several herds of elephants totalling around 50 along the far end
of the Lahugala tank. A few large bulls were out in the centre.
They continued to feed, ignoring us totally. The blue Uva hills
in the distance brought fond memories, but we had to move on, hoping
to come back on our return trip. Pottuvil town
looked the same as it did 18 years ago, unkempt and dirty. But it
had grown a little larger. We drove straight through and over the
long iron bridge at Arugam Bay. We kept going
while the road became narrower and a little more bumpy. Just before
the Heda-Oya bridge, we suddenly came upon a herd of 25 elephants
in an open area by the road. A female with a small calf was attacking
a grown male calf, charging it repeatedly and pushing it away from
the main herd. Reluctantly, the young male retreated. It was a classic
demonstration of how young males are eliminated from the herd to
prevent in-breeding. Having watched this very interesting episode,
we continued on to Panama. Panama village
had grown significantly. It was a tiny outpost long ago, but now
there were some good buildings and many houses. A communications
centre enabled us to call home (cell phones don't work this far)
and surprisingly, calls were very cheap. The people are decent and
non-exploitative and quite unspoilt.They said we could camp at Okanda
devale or at the old Bagura campsite or drive upto the Kumbukkan-Oya
at the southern end of the park. The road was motorable and they
said that many pilgrims visit the devale at Madametota by the Kumbukkan-Oya,
where we used to camp in those days. The sun was
setting while we skirted the jungle track approaching Helawa lagoon.
Kudumbigala rock in the distance looked inviting, but we had to
hurry. This area was formerly a sanctuary, later incorporated into
the park. Kudumbigala hermitage was a remote and peaceful jungle
monastery with several resident monks headed by the Rev. Thambugala
Anandasiri Thero who was a keen wildlife conservationist. Tragically,
the Thero was killed by terrorists. In those early days, meditating
monks used to live a solitary and peaceful life meditating in little
"kutis" and caves which we used to approach along narrow
footpaths between rocks and through thick jungle infested with bears.
A villager
returning on his bicycle stopped us and said there was an elephant
in the villu ahead. It was said to be a dangerous animal. We proceeded
with care and true enough, this huge animal was watching us approach,
standing knee -deep in the water. Its dinner of water-grass had
been disturbed and it looked angry and quite formidable. The road
skirted the villu and we gingerly edged past, expecting a charge
any moment. Fortunately, the animal seemed reluctant to abandon
its supper and let us proceed. A while later, we were passing the
former Okanda wildlife bungalow now a heap of rubble with only the
water tank standing tall. The fantastic days spent in this upstair
structure by the beach, came vividly to mind. It was built on logs
and the open stretch in front had its resident herd of deer while
the sea right behind with its crashing surf and the wild, empty
beach stretching mile upon mile was a beachcomber's paradise. The Okanda
devale by the sea came into view. It had grown in recent years.
I recalled the times we had stayed there in the company of the friendly
old Tamil 'Kapurale' who is no more. The former
Park office at Okanda and the old quarters was an overgrown mess
of broken walls and brickwork. I sadly remembered the last time
I had obtained my entry permit there in 1984. The LTTE had destroyed
everything. Four wildlife officers were also brutally gunned down
by these terrorists at Helawa, close to where we had encountered
the elephant. All this heralded
the closure and abandoning of the Yala East National Park, popularly
called Kumana National Park. Since then, it had become the happy
hunting ground of poachers, illicit gemmers, timber fellers, fishermen
and the large number of pilgrims who come to the Okanda and Madametota
devales. Thousands of pilgrims walk through every year in July,
to attend the Kataragama festival. The park was
silent. The large concentrations of deer, wild boar and elephants
as well as the huge flocks of birds we had seen in the lagoons earlier
were gone. The bears and leopards which were there in fair numbers
in the years gone by, had either been killed or had moved far into
the interior forests. We felt the park was almost dying, gasping
for breath but valiantly struggling to survive. Now is the time
to make a comeback and resurrect it. It was past
6 p.m. and we had to decide quickly where to camp. Continuing through
elephant-infested forest in the dark was risky, but we had to have
shelter and more importantly, fresh water for a much needed bath
and for cooking. The sky was somewhat overcast and we expected rain
that night. The wells at Okanda could not be located in the gloom
and the next possible spot was the old Bagura campsite. So on we
went. Fortunately,
the road was fairly good and we speeded up. With hearts palpitating
at the prospect of bumping into an elephant in the dark, we skirted
yoda-lipa (the 'giant fireplace') and came upon the Bagura bridge.
Although it looked dangerous, we had been told that it was firm
enough due to two large iron girders underneath. Everyone got down,
while I gingerly took the jeep across the rattling timbers, some
of which were missing. Proceeding
in the dark, we missed the Bagura campsite. There was no choice
now but to proceed. Fortunately, there were fresh tyre tracks on
the road and the detours around the villus, which we followed. Passing
several lagoons (Andarakale, Itikaea and Yakala) and the burnt down
remains of the old Tunmulla bungalow, we skirted Kumana villu in
the dark. At a fork, we missed the way and had to backtrack with
difficulty through thorny scrub. Having finally located the overgrown
track to Madametota, we churned through patches of mud and with
thorny branches scraping the jeep's paint-work badly, we finally
came upon the small Madametota devale by the river.There was a group
of pilgrims from Panama who had arrived that afternoon in a large
truck and they showed us the way upriver to the campsite at Eda-Kumbukka,
about half kilometre away. The time was 8.15 p.m. and everyone alighted
dog-tired. But there was much to be done, unpacking and setting
up camp before the rain came down. It took another
hour to set up the shelters quickly, unpack the provisions and keep
a "salmon-hodda" on the fire. The Kumbukkan-Oya was somewhat
high and the water muddy due to rain in the hill country. But we
could not care less and everyone went in oblivious of any lurking
crocodiles. That welcome bath and the bottle of 'pol' we had brought
along, eased our aching limbs. After the recent
showers in the area, the forest and the firewood that we had quickly
gathered in the dark were wet. It took a lot of newspapers, kerosene
and matches to get two fires going and it was fortunate that we
did so because soon after, the loud barks and growls across the
road indicated a pair of mating bears on the prowl. In such a situation,
bears are very vociferous and aggressive and become extremely dangerous.
We built up the fires and lit all four kerosene lanterns, placing
them strategically around the camp. Everyone had a torch and fortunately
we had brought an axe, a mammoty and a couple of long handled katty
knives. Armed with these sundry weapons, we had our bread and salmon
curry with one eye on the plate and the other focused on the dark
forest beyond the circle of light. The 'beary'
love making went on for several hours, interspersed with the "quoffrrr..
quoffrrr..." of the Long-tailed Night jar. It was eerie and
thrilling, but by midnight, all were sound asleep. A sudden yell
made everyone sit up in shock. Someone had seen a bear approach
the fire which had all but died down. Fortunately
the heavy tread on the fallen leaves had woken us up in time and
the combined yells scared our animal off. The time was 3 a.m. and
we hardly slept thereafter. The cacophony
of a group of Malabar pied hornbills on a tall Kumbuk by the river,
woke us up early. The river had gone down slightly and the water
looked much clearer. Later, the
camp had to be reorganized because everything had been done hurriedly
and haphazardly the previous night.While cutting some poles, one
young member of our party got a nasty cut on his foot. Cleaning
and patching up the bleeding wound, we had to rush him to Panama.
It being a Poya day, the small hospital was closed and the only
doctor gone on home leave. A kindly Police officer at the checkpoint
close by came to our rescue. Handing over his T-56 to a colleague,
he came with us to locate the hospital attendant. Neither he nor
any of us had ever sewn up a wound, but we had little choice between
us. We managed to hold the patient down firmly and put in two stitches.
Surprisingly,
the job looked quite neat and with a good dose of antibiotics, recovery
was quick. (Next week: Kumana) The writer is a former Director, Environment and Forestry, Mahaweli Authority. |
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