In the pre-dawn dark, the taxi’s headlights shone on something dead on the road. I was on Sri Jayawardanapura Mawatha, a road leading to the Sri Lanka Parliament. On one side of the road are the remains of a swamp, and on the other side is an open stretch of water. It is hard to imagine, that this is on the busy outskirts of an Asian capital city. But this is no ordinary city, this is Colombo, a wetland capital if there ever was one, and a city in which fishing cats prowl the waterways at night. I was hoping the road kill was not one of the city’s fishing cats, and I asked the taxi driver to turn around so that we could inspect the road kill. It turned out to be a common palm civet. Its death is a loss, but not one that would have weighed as heavily as if a fishing cat had been lost.
The taxi driver was a little puzzled by my interest and also curious why, before daybreak, I was headed to Diyasaru Park. In fact, my behaviour was most odd for someone who had another taxi booked that same morning to take me to the airport for a flight back to London. Most people would have been too preoccupied with ensuring they were packed and ready for a 9 a.m. taxi pick-up. I was instead hoping to find time, just an hour would do—at Diyasaru Park, which is a sizeable piece of urban biodiversity magic. I was in Sri Lanka for just a week to attend a climate summit at the invitation of the Ceylon Chamber of Commerce. I was also remote working to London hours for a couple of days and booked my inward and outward flights to fall on weekends.
Part of the plan was to fit in several ‘one hour in the wetland’ excursions at dawn during my week long stay. An hour may not seem like a long time, but this is Diyasaru, where at this time of year, between 6 a.m. and 7 a.m., I would typically see or hear over 55 species of birds. Add to that two species of mammals, the endemic Purple-faced Monkeys and Common Palm Squirrels, gigantic reptiles such as the Water Monitor, freshwater fish, and a variety of butterflies, dragonflies, and tropical plants. There is enough here to see in an hour, which would keep a naturalist happy even if it took a few days to see that much variety.
As the taxi approached the park entrance, bird life was stirring. Black-crowned Night-Herons were on the wing, returning to their day roost as these are nocturnal birds. An Oriental Darter, also known as a Snakebird, was also on the wing. A dazzling white-throated kingfisher was a stark contrast to the sombrely clad house crows. An Asian Koel, one of the most vocal singers at dawn, was calling together with the common red-vented Bulbuls. The liquid notes of a black-headed oriole joined them. A stunning bird in yellow and black. Going through Diyasaru Park, I soon began to notice waterbirds on the water and on the sidewalks. A cattle egret, the noisy red-wattled lapwings, a white-breasted waterhen, and Indian Pond herons. One of the stars is the Grey-headed Swamphen. A glorious bird with a body of blue and purple with a red beak, red legs, and a red frontal shield. It struts about like a gladiator and is fiercely combative, like many members of the Rail family. It has become habituated in Colombo’s wetlands, and perhaps its beauty is overlooked because it is easy to see.
The path that leads to the birdwatching tower has a number of tall trees, including the Kumbuk tree. This is where I listen to one of my favourite birds, the Common Iora. It has a number of calls, including a plaintive, repeated whistle. Both sexes have yellow bodies, but the handsome male in breeding plumage has glossy black upperparts. Just as light was coming through, I heard Common Ioras joining the dawn chorus along with a Common Hawk Cuckoo and Plain-billed Flowerpeckers. A Greater Coucal uttered its deep-throated contact call, and a Common Kingfisher whizzed past, uttering its high pitched contact call. A plain Prinia sang cheerfully and came close to examine me.
I have noticed that they are very habituated now, not something I noticed when I first began to birdwatch in Colombo over thirty years ago. Another remarkable change, perhaps connected to climate change, is the presence of spotted doves and imperial green pigeons. The spotted doves began to be noticeable in Central Colombo towards the end of the 1990s. Between the years 2000 and 2010, seeing Imperial Green Pigeons in Colombo’s wetland was notable. But now, they are almost certain to be seen on a visit to Talangama Wetland or Diyasaru Park. On this visit in May 2024, I saw or heard Common Hawk Cuckoo in Diyasaru, Talangama, and Borella, near the Royal Colombo Golf Club, and a friend reported them from Buller’s Road in Colombo 7. I suspect we may be seeing the Common Hawk Cuckoo also expanding its range.
Other regular urban birds made their appearance, among them the Common Tailorbird, Oriental Magpie Robin, Purple-rumped Sunbird, and Common Myna. Ring-necked parakeets drew attention with their calls. A regular in London, but the difference is that in Colombo it is a native bird. Arguably more special was a tiny Sri Lankan barbet calling from atop a tree. It is an endemic. Another endemic I saw here was the Sri Lanka Swallow, with red underparts and bluish upperparts. A lesser Sri Lankan flameback was another endemic. It can be a tad elusive for photographers, but I was lucky with a male that showed well. Yellow-billed babblers appeared in a flock, a social bird that is always found in a flock of ‘seven sisters’. They are behaviourally interesting as the breeding pair is helped by others in the flock.
Oriental white-eyes, tiny birds in the canopy, would have been overlooked if I did not know their call. The Common Drongos are a very vocal bird, but also bold and brazen. One called like a Shikra, a small hawk. But I could not discern why it was imitating a shikra. A Yellow Bittern called indignantly before flying away, and I could see Little Cormorants and a Purple Heron on a stretch of open water. White-browed Bulbuls sang in the background whilst a black-headed Ibis flew overhead. A pair of brown-headed barbets chased each other on the canopy in a courtship chase. Looking up, I also caught sight of Palm Swifts and Indian Swiftlets quartering the air.
A male Loten’s Sunbird was dazzling as it caught the sun. But I was more excited when I caught sight of a motionless Black Bittern which was hoping that I would not notice it. Large egrets seemed less concerned as to whether I saw them or not. In the trees overhanging the water, I saw a Little Green Heron move furtively whilst a Stork-billed Kingfisher, the largest of the kingfishers, announced its presence with loud calls.
I could hear purple-faced leaf monkeys vocalizing from outside the park. A common sailor and a common jezebel, two species of butterflies, were warming themselves in the rising sun. An hour had passed, and I had seen 57 species of birds. I called a cab using my mobile phone app and hurried back to the entrance, passing a large water monitor. I had to head back for a quick shower and leave for the airport. I would be in London by evening. A spot of birding in Colombo’s Diyasaru Park was an invigorating way to start the day before an airport pick-up.