The Eco Tour (1)
The area around Tangalla promised some spectacular beaches, but I was attracted to this town because of its proximity to Rekawa. It was there that one of the more active field-stations of NARA was based, carrying out extensive research on crustacean aquaculture and the local lagoon fishery. A former lecturer of mine had visited the station in the late ’90s and published a paper on the release of hatchery-reared tiger prawns (Paeneus monodon) into the lagoon to boost the prawn fishery. I knew the man to be a turtle specialist so I expected that these had been the primary reason for his visit. Sure enough, the guidebook claimed the Tangalle area was famous for turtles.
It was very hot when I arrived and the bus, passing through on its way to Tissamaharama, had not pulled into the station but just stopped by the roadside, so it took a while for me to get my bearings. As usual when arriving in the larger towns, I had picked out my first choice of accommodation (the cheapest) before I got there so that I could shake off the touts more easily. I walked in the blazing sun towards the sea, sweaty and flustered, searching for a reference point on my map, when a gang of youths approached and demanded cigarettes. When I said no, one of them whacked hard across my rucksack. It felt as if I had been kicked. Charming — no doubt the likes of that fat German with his suitcase had been through this town already: it was open season for tourists. I would have to watch my step.
It took a while, but I did eventually find the ‘Santana’ guesthouse, right by the lagoon. The proprietress was surprised to see me. I could not fathom why. There was a large verandah and a lounge with a coke machine; the place was clearly set up to be a backpacker hostel. Yet, I was the only one staying there.
“The bridge to the beach is broken”, she explained: “and the restaurant is closed.” — as if that would be the only reason anybody would take a room there. She showed me to a large room with fan and net and attached bathroom with complimentary soap, all for 300 rs.
Saving on accommodation meant that I could eat well that night, so I set off for the ‘Villa Ocean View’, famed for its large menu. As I walked down the road, a large group of gray langurs (Pteropus giganteus) ran across in front of me, mothers with tiny babies clinging to their bellies, and skinned up one of the tall mango trees where they caused a fraccas. I narrowly avoided being pelted with half-chewed green mangoes.
The restaurant was similarly deserted. I had hoped to have a curry followed by the famous curd and treacle, but all that was available was the usual stand-by of fried rice and fruit. After a bland meal I returned for a drink later in the evening, longing for company. I met a charming couple of guys, one Dutch and one French, who had met on the plane over, struck up a friendship and were travelling together. I envied them.
The next morning, I enquired about buses to Rekawa which drew blank stares from everyone. I showed the address of the NARA field centre to the owner of the small ‘hotel’ where I had breakfast. A friend of his offered to take me there in his tuk-tuk. “Believe me, you’ll never find it otherwise!” he said.
So, after phoning to arrange for my visit, we set off. He was right. After turning off the main road and driving for a while down a smaller road with a sign ‘Rekawa 4 km’, he veered off to the right and proceeded down a maze of sandy dirt tracks. There in the middle of nowhere, close to the lagoon, was the NARA field centre.
It became quickly apparent that NARA was not involved in turtle related projects in the area which are run by NGOs. However, the centre still focusses on crustacean aquaculture. Sadly, the project boosting the prawn fishery in the lagoon with hatchery-reared larvae had stalled although it was due to re-start soon. The current effort was directed at farming freshwater prawns (Macrobrachium rosenbergii) in local ponds. The researchers showed me some of the holding tanks. The largest of the prawns were almost as long (and nearly as fat) as my lower arm, bigger than I have ever seen them grow back in Stirling.
“How long do they take to grow to that size?” I asked, curiosity roused.
“Six months” the researchers replied smugly.
I enquired about disease. There did not appear to be a problem in the area at the moment but the researchers admitted that the centre was not equipped for field-monitoring. Diagnostics was only carried out at NARA headquarters. I kept my worries about this situation to myself.
When it became clear that I was also interested in turtles, the scientists suggested I take a canoe trip across the lagoon. I was hesitant.
“It is 500 rs”, they said :”that is what we pay!”
I did not have a problem with the price, but I was a little unsure what I was letting myself in for. My initial plan had been to continue onwards to Rekawa and find out more about the turtles from the Darwin’s Beach Resort which ran a hatchery and conservation project and where I hoped to enquire about night watches before deciding on anything. I had not really planned to visit any sites until the next day. However, it appeared that my chance had come now or never, so I went along with it.
An old man who worked at the station guided me to a settlement a little way down the path. In the local shop, he offered me a chair, handed me a cold soda and signalled me to wait. I passed the time by wiggling my fingers at his grandson who had been brought to the shop by his mother. At first the boy hid behind her, but then he peeked out from her protective bulk and grinned.
After a short while, a young man appeared, paddle in hand, and we set off towards the lagoon. The boat was hidden behind a narrow fringe of mangrove trees. It was built in the traditional style of an outrigger dugout, but the narrow hull was made of fibreglass, adorned with colourful paint and with a wooden frame on top which held the outrigger. A second paddle was tied to the side of the frame so once we were afloat, I helped with the paddling. At first, I must have been more of a hindrance than a help, but we soon settled into a rythm, although I wished my guide would stop pushing, clearly showing his competetive streak. After a while I felt like I was back with the college rowing club. I was getting too old for this. To save energy, I missed a few strokes here and there. It probably made it easier for him to steer the boat.
Out in the open, as we rowed across the calm water past islets of shrubbery on which egret herons and commorants perched, I became aware of the size of the lagoon. Rekawa Kalapuwa covers an area of 250 hectares, surrounded by mangrove forests. A causeway built across the narrow western section has reduced the natural exchange of seawater and led to a decline in water qualitywhich caused a dramatic reduction in the productivity of the fishery. In order to maintain catch sizes many of the fishermen now use narrow-mesh nylon nets, a practice that has contributed to the over-exploitation of the lagoon. The same is true for a number of other lagoons in Sri Lanka including those at Batticaloa, Arugam Bay and Negombe. I saw fishermen casting their circular nets from boats close to the mangrove and pulling them up almost empty.
After a while, the guide steered the boat to shore on the same side we had cast off from. A wooden jetty appeared among the mangrove. He helped me from the boat which he did not bother to tie. I felt a little apprehensive as we walked down a narrow path of wooden planks which was winding between the trees deep into the forest. I was not sure where this was leading as the beach and the turtle hatcheries would be on the other side of the lagoon. The guide signalled me to crouch down and put a finger to his lips. It was then that I realised we were on a nature trail. Unfortunately, while my guide glided across the planks without a sound, like a cat walking on velvet, my ungainly size sent the wood creaking with every step. We saw few of our feathered friends.
I have never been much of a bird watcher anyway. Instead, I was captivated by the ground underneath. The aerial roots of the mangroves protruded like daggers from pools of oily, leaf-filled water in which countless fry were flitting. The majority of tropical fish and prawns depend on mangroves for their nursery grounds. It is ironic that many of the mangroves along Sri Lanka’s western lagoons had been cleared to make room for shrimp farming, with disastrous consequence for the fisheries. To defend themselves against corporate interests, local fishermen formed the Small Fishers Federation of Lanka (SFFL) in 1984. An important aim of the organisation is to promote the protection of mangroves as nursery grounds. More than 140 communities on the island are now involved with the SFFL, working with government and regional agencies to enforce the traditional fishing rights of their members. In 2003, the SFFL hosted Sri Lanka’s first environmental tourism operators group from the United States and Australia since the ceasefire. During the welcoming ceremonies, Sri Lanka’s Minister of Fisheries commended SFFL for doing “…what the Government of Sri Lanka could not; providing environmental education and conservation benefits to the people of Sri Lanka.”. Who knows, maybe the SFFL can do what the government also can’t, protect dolphins and the few remaining dugongs which are still hunted in coastal waters.
I glanced down at the pools among the vegetation, noting the fungi which grew on the stems of decaying trees, some in association with ants or termites. I realized how little I knew about the nutrient web in this marine forest. We crouched for a while, sharing a cigarette. Apart from an occasional rustling caused by the odd bird, the air was absolutely still. Not a breeze stirred this deep in the mangroves. The atmosphere was almost cathedral-like. Only after a while did I become aware of the faint humming of millions of insects skimming the water.
So far, my guide had not made any advances, but I was relieved when he signalled to return to the jetty where he jumped into the shallow water to retrieve the boat. We rowed on. On the way, he pointed out egret herons and even the occasional jackdaw, getting a little carried away.
Aross the lagoon, we left the boat on a sandy bank and walked through fringes of mangrove towards the beach. We waded through shallow water with anoxic, sulphur-blackened mud at the bottom. I had to take off my sandals so as not to get stuck. Back in the open, I saw a bee-eater sitting in the mangrove canopy, panting in the sun. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one to feel the heat. We crossed a dirt track and walked up a hill. On top, a palm-thatch hut looked out over a deserted expanse of white sand against which the sea crashed in angry waves. We had reached the Rekawa Beach Hut of the Turtle Conservation Project (TCP).
Tags: The Whales of Trincomalee, Tag Index
Denni