More Elephants Than I Have Ever Seen

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As long as I can remember, I have had a fondness for elephants. I recall the first time I went to Africa, back in the nineties, and was simply amazed when I saw these majestic creatures roaming in the wild.

I did not expect anything would top my experience until a recent trip to Sri Lanka, where I visited Minneriya National Park. I was astonished by the vast number of elephants wandering free.

Minneriya National Park lies in Sri Lanka’s North Central Province, where dry forest, scrub and wetland, stretch over 8,800 hectares. It is not the country’s largest reserve, nor the best known, but it offers one unmatched sight; the annual gathering of elephants.

At the heart of the park is the Minneriya Tank, a man-made reservoir built in the 3rd century CE during the reign of King Mahasen. Originally created to support agriculture in this arid region, it still holds water through the dry season, sustaining both farmland and wildlife. Between July and September, when surrounding sources run dry, elephants begin to arrive. They move slowly from the forest, drawn to the promise of grass, water, and shelter.

They come in small groups, which are families led by matriarchs. There are also lone bulls and small herds of young males. Some gather at the edges, pulling at reeds or splashing in the shallows. Others wander the open bed of the reservoir where grass has grown in the retreating waters. Calves stay close to their mothers, but sometimes break off, chasing birds or mimicking trumpet calls with uncertain voices.

It was amazing to watch the elephants tear clumps of grass from the moist earth, but before eating it, they held it in their trunks, shook it from side to side against their head until the dirt had fallen off and then it became lunch.

Birdlife is rich here, especially around the water’s edge. Peacocks patrol the undergrowth with their rainbow coloured tails fanned wide. Painted storks and pelicans cluster in pools, while white storks wade alone through the grass. Overhead, Brahminy kites (birds of prey) circle. Junglefowl dart from cover at cooler times of the day, and their quick steps vanish into the brush before most visitors can raise a camera.

Other animals keep their distance. Water buffalo sink into the mud. Axis deer appear at dawn, ears twitching. Toque macaques climb low branches, watching the passing jeeps. A crocodile may bask along the bank, unmoving. On rare days, a leopard passes unseen.

The tank is part of a vast hydraulic system built nearly 1,700 years ago, a network of reservoirs and canals that transformed this dry inland zone into a centre for rice farming. Remnants of that infrastructure still guide the movement of water, and animals. Ancient embankments now serve as resting spots for herds, and spillways double as wildlife corridors.

Most safaris begin in the late afternoon. Jeeps with raised seating roll slowly across the dusty trails, stopping where guides spot movement or fresh tracks. There are no fences here. Elephants roam freely between Minneriya, Kaudulla, and Wasgamuwa parks, depending on rainfall and grass.

Visitors tend to speak in low voices, as the animals continue with their daily routine. At the height of the dry season, hundreds of elephants may gather near the tank, one of the largest wild herds in Asia.

Minneriya is close to Sri Lanka’s Cultural Triangle, with Polonnaruwa and Sigiriya only a short drive away. Many travellers fit the park into a wider circuit of history and temples, but the contrast is striking. Stone ruins speak of kings and conquests. Here, the land holds a different kind of memory, one measured in hoof prints and mud, in cycles of rain and sun.

As the light fades, the elephants step back into the forest. Peacocks call once more before night falls. The water darkens. Engines start quietly. The Gathering continues, just out of view.

I was fortunate to spend several days in Minneriya, before moving on to discover the rest of the Sri Lanka. The elephants were amazing.