The guide and photographer behind Nomad Trails.
Just one person who spends most of his time inside these parks, moving slowly, watching, and guiding through it.
How it started.
"The best moments don't come when you chase them. They come when you stay."
Udawalawe was always just there for me. I grew up near it. So the park was never something I planned a trip to, never something I had to discover. It was simply part of the landscape I came from. The kind of place that exists so quietly in your childhood that you almost don't notice it shaping you. You just grow up with it in the background, the way some people grow up near the sea.
And maybe because of that, I always felt some kind of pull towards it. Even when life took me somewhere completely different.
Because for a while, it did.
I studied IT, moved to Colombo, worked in software development. On paper everything was fine. It was a good path. Stable. The kind of thing families feel relieved about. And I wasn't unhappy, not exactly. But there was always this low hum underneath everything. The pace of the city, the constant movement, the feeling of always being somewhere but never quite arriving. Something kept pulling me back, quietly, without asking permission.
After some time I made a decision that probably looked strange to people around me. I moved back to my hometown. The pay was much less. The opportunities were smaller. But something shifted the moment I did. I had more time, more space, and I felt more like myself again. That turned out to matter more than I expected.
And it was around that time, with that extra space in my life, that I started spending more and more time inside the parks.
I had always been drawn to wildlife and photography, even before I could explain why. Maybe it was the contrast with everything I had left behind in Colombo. Being inside the park, even just with my phone at the time, taking photos, sitting quietly, watching animals go about their lives without knowing I was there. It helped me switch off completely. The noise in my head would just stop. And slowly I started to realise this wasn't just a way to decompress. This was something I wanted to keep permanently in my life.
Getting into safaris wasn't planned at all.
At the time I used to write small travel tips and posts about Sri Lanka in Facebook groups. Just sharing what I knew about the parks, the best times to go, what to look out for. Nothing formal. Just a person who knew the area, talking honestly to people who were curious about it.
One day someone who had read my posts messaged me and asked if I could organise a safari for him.
I said yes without thinking too much. I knew the area. I knew the people. It felt natural.
I went on that safari with him. He really liked the experience. After that he started sending his friends my way. And that's honestly how this started. Slowly, without a grand plan, without a business idea sitting behind it. One conversation leading to another, leading to another.
Somewhere along the way I turned into a wildlife photographer and naturalist guide. Not through one big decision. Just through where I kept ending up.
And photography, more than anything else, changed how I see.
When you are waiting for a moment, truly waiting, you stop rushing. You start noticing light in a way you never did before. The way it sits differently on the water at 6am compared to 8am. The way an animal's behaviour shifts in those two hours. You learn to read movement, stillness, the small signs that something is about to happen. You learn that forcing anything rarely works.
And you learn, eventually, that the best moments don't come when you chase them. They come when you stay.
That way of seeing became the way I guide. Not because I decided it should. Just because once you've spent enough time waiting for the right light, you can't go back to rushing through anything.
In the field
What a day with me actually looks like.
Most people arrive with something in mind. A leopard. A sloth bear. Elephants close enough to photograph properly. That's completely natural. Those are the things people have seen in documentaries, the things that feel like the reason to come.
Some days those moments happen. Many days they don't, at least not in the way you imagined. But something else starts to happen instead.
When there is no pressure to chase one specific sighting, the whole park begins to open up differently. You notice how quiet it is in the early morning, that particular stillness before the heat arrives. You see how animals move without hurry when they don't feel watched. You start picking up on things you would normally miss entirely. A bird calling from somewhere you can't quite locate. A lizard sitting perfectly still in a patch of sun. The way the light moves across the water as the morning turns.
At some point, without really noticing when it happened, you stop looking for the next thing. You start being inside what's already there.
And strangely, those are the moments people remember the most. Not always the leopard spotted from fifty metres with ten other vehicles nearby. But the morning that had no single highlight, just a quality of presence that stayed with them long after they left.
We go into the park when it makes sense for the conditions. Early light, cooler air, animals already moving. That's when the park feels most alive, and that's when I want to be inside it.
From there, the day doesn't feel rushed. Sometimes we move. Sometimes we stay longer than expected somewhere because something is worth staying for. Sometimes we sit near the reservoir and watch elephants come and go for a long time without moving at all. No agenda. No plan. Just watching what unfolds in front of us and being genuinely present for it.
You are not being taken from one sighting to the next like stops on a schedule. You are moving through the park in a way that actually matches how the park works. And because of that, what you come away with is something more than just a list of what you saw.
Let's talk
Come and see it for yourself.
I'm easy to reach on WhatsApp. Tell me your dates, where you're staying, and what you're hoping for. I'll be honest with you about what's possible and we can take it from there.