The rare and endemic Serendib scops owl (Otus thilohoffmanni).
From MongaBay
As darkness settled over Colombo on Aug. 3, a small group of young men, led by a zoology professor, slipped quietly into Sri Lanka’s largest cemetery, Borella Kanatte, in Colombo. Moving like cautious tomb raiders among weathered gravestones, they ventured into dark, secluded corners where few dare to tread after nightfall. Torches in hand, their eyes scanned the shadows while their ears strained to catch the faintest of sounds. From the canopy of the cemetery’s ancient trees emerged soft, muffled hoots: the prize they were hoping to find.
The group was not searching for buried treasures but for owls, right in the heart of the city. Every year, to mark International Owl Awareness Day, which falls on Aug. 4, the Field Ornithology Group of Sri Lanka FOGSL), an affiliate of BirdLife International, conducts a nocturnal survey to assess Colombo’s owl population.
As part of the exercise, teams spread out across pre-assigned city routes, counting every owl they see or hear.
“Sri Lanka is home to 12 owl species, including residents and migrants,” says Nihal Dayawansa, FOGSL president and a zoology professor at the University of Colombo, Sri Lanka. “Some, like the Indian scops owl [Otus bakkamoena] and brown hawk-owl [Ninox scutulata], thrive in urban areas, finding refuge in gardens, old buildings and parks.”
Participants of the annual urban owl survey quietly patrol Colombo’s silent streets at night, searching for signs of owls.
Urban refuge
“Colombo is also home to the barn owl (Tyto alba), a larger species somewhat rare in other parts of Sri Lanka. That makes surveying the city’s owls especially interesting,” Dayawansa told Mongabay. Even migratory species like the short-eared owl (Asio flammeus) have made surprise appearances in Colombo, he noted.
This year’s nocturnal survey covered 15 locations, starting at 10:30 p.m. and continuing until 3 a.m., and the teams recorded 51 individual owls, says Praneeth Ratnayake, a Ph.D. candidate at the University of Colombo.
Despite its urban sprawl, Colombo retains green pockets — like Viharamahadevi Park, University of Colombo’s grounds, Independence Square gardens and Borella Kanatte Cemetery — that serve as safe havens where owls still rule the silent nights. More than 250 people took part in the survey this year, including FOGSL members and university undergraduates, blending science with citizen participation, Ratnayake said, adding that citizen science from such surveys offer valuable insights.
Several lectures were also organized to create awareness about these nocturnal birds; so the owl day event was also a chance to tackle centuries-old myths and misconceptions about owls, organizers said. “In Sri Lanka, as in many countries, owls are seen as bad omens,” said Dayawansa. “Some people become fearful when they hear an owl call at night. They drive them away, believing that these creatures can bring death or misfortune.”
A brown hawk-owl (Ninox scutulata), one of the common owl species found throughout Sri Lanka.
Feared, not loved
One of the most feared animals in Sri Lanka is the forest eagle-owl (Ketupa nipalensis), locally known as the ulama or the ‘devil bird.’ Its deep, chilling scream has long been woven into folklore as a supernatural warning of bad tidings.
The ulama’s call is often described as an eerie, human-like wail, sometimes akin to a woman’s scream, at other times to the long, drawn-out moan of someone in agony. According to local folklore, the cry belongs to the restless spirit of a woman who died tragically, cursed to roam the night as a bird. This eerie call has long been associated with bad omens, causing people to avoid areas where the sound is heard.
Article didn't have a picture of the Forest Eagle Owl, so I grabbed this photo from eBird. I typically call it the Spot Bellied Eagle Owl, so you may have seen posts on here of it before, like this recent one.
But these myths have real consequences. Owls are sometimes chased from nesting sites, particularly if they enter domestic spaces.
“Urban owls are survivors,” said Sarath Kotagama, an ornithologist and an FOGSL founder. “Despite habitat loss, noise and light pollution, they adapt. But they need understanding and space to coexist.”
Owls are skilled hunters that help control rodent populations and, ironically, Sri Lanka’s rural communities once embraced owl-friendly farming methods that could inspire conservation today. Farmers used to set up hollow coconut trunks in paddy fields to attract barn owls, which they would use as perching spots, and took advantage of the owls’ natural rodent control abilities.
“These were nature-based solutions before the term existed,” said Kotagama. “Our ancestors knew the ecological value of owls.”
Reviving such practices in urban farming or integrated pest management could boost owl conservation while reducing harmful pesticide use.
The barn owl (Tyto alba) is an unusual sight in Colombo, as this large bird is uncommon in other parts of Sri Lanka.
Ecological value
Owls in Sri Lanka face a number of growing threats — rapid urbanization, loss of tree cover, vehicle collisions and cultural persecution. Compounding the problem is the lack of research on lesser-known species where, without targeted study and conservation, these species could silently vanish.
The need for further research on owls is highlighted by the only new owl species to be described in the island nation — the Serendib scops owl (Otus thilohoffmanni), one of Sri Lanka’s most remarkable wildlife discoveries in recent decades.
First described scientifically in 2004 by Deepal Warakagoda, ornithologist and president of the Ceylon Bird Club (CBC), this small, elusive owl was found in the dense lowland rainforests of Sri Lanka’s southwestern wet zone, an area known for its rich biodiversity. Its discovery was significant because it was the first new bird species identified in Sri Lanka in more than a century.
As Sri Lanka contends with broader biodiversity loss and habitat fragmentation, the survival of urban wildlife, including owls, hangs in the balance. For the Indian Ocean island, the owl day survey is more than a one-night event — it’s a community-driven model for conservation, blending science, cultural dialogue and public engagement, said Rathnayake.
And for those who venture into Colombo’s midnight silence, standing under towering trees while the city sleeps, the reward is more than just data. It’s the haunting, gentle call of an owl — a sound worth protecting.
