A full moon drapes its soft glow over the slate-blue waters of Negombo Beach, the waves rolling in with a quiet rhythm as Mohamed Sulfigar and his three crewmates prepare for another long morning at sea.

Sunami, their catamaran—named nonchalantly after Sri Lanka’s unforgotten tragedy—bobs gently near the shore, its wooden frame worn from years of salt and wind. For Sulfigar, now 52, this life is second nature. He took over the boat from his father when he was just 17, and for 35 years, he has read the tides like a familiar book, knowing when the waters will be kind and when they will betray him.

Alongside him, Mirshad, Rasmi, and Anas move with practiced ease, their hands calloused from years of hauling nets and battling the sea’s unpredictability. They are among the few who still fish this way, their small wooden boats powered only by sails and muscle.

In Sri Lanka, where Sinhalese and Tamil communities dominate, the art of catamaran fishing has remained a tradition within the Muslim families of Negombo. But that tradition is slipping away. The old ways are getting harder to sustain – not just because of economic hardships, but because the world around them is changing faster than they can adapt.

A warm, pastel-coloured light peeks over the horizon as the offshore wind picks up, and the crew heaves Sunami into the ocean with shouts of “Helelo!”—Tamil for “Go!” It’s a practiced routine, one that demands strength and coordination as the wooden vessel grinds across the sand toward the waterline.

The catamaran, weathered and worn from years of service, seems eager to meet the waves once again. While cruising, Rasmi continuously wets the net, a task that may seem trivial but is crucial to their success. The moisture keeps the net’s surface sturdier, preventing it from cracking or breaking under the strain of repeated use. As the wind strengthens, Anas and Rasmi beam with excitement, their voices rising above the crashing waves.

“That’s our happy moment,” they shout—balancing on the wooden bridge as the breeze plays with their sarongs, the unstitched cloth wraps fluttering wildly around them like sails in the wind.