Visiting the Stilt Fishermen of Sri Lanka: the Overvaluation of "Authentic"

The stilt fishermen of Sri Lanka

The above image is one of my favorites—not only from Sri Lanka, but from our entire year of travel. It’s a shot of Sri Lanka’s famous stilt fishermen near Ahangama, not too far from Mirissa on the southern shore.

I love this picture and the others I took of the fishermen that same evening.

But more than a few travelers despise visits to see these men. I understand their reasons, but I think they’re wrong.

Let me explain why.

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A Brief History of the Stilts

The stilt fishermen of Sri Lanka’s southern coast—those iconic figures balancing like seabirds on tall wooden poles—aren’t quite as ancient as they appear. The practice actually began during World War II, when food shortages and overcrowded fishing spots forced some creative problem-solving.

Fishermen began perching on bits of wreckage and wooden poles to fish farther out from shore without needing boats. Over time, those makeshift perches evolved into the tradition we know today: men sitting on a narrow crossbar ("petta") tied to a pole sunk into the seabed, scanning the water like a heron deep in contemplation.

If you visit the shores around Koggala and Ahangama—both reachable from Galle or Mirissa—you’ll see the iconic t-shaped poles set into the shallow waters near shore.

On certain mornings or just before sunset, you may even see men actually fishing from those poles. But only at the right time of day, at the right time of year. Which is to say, only when the fish are there.

At other times, the men don’t fish. But for a fee, they’ll perch on the poles and pose—so you can capture images of one of Sri Lanka’s most well-known cultural symbols.

The Case Against Visiting the Stilt fishermen of Sri Lanka

Many travelers choose to avoid the stilt fishermen altogether. Check out the general comments on the TripAdvisor page if you want a sampling.

The argument goes something like this:

The practice has become little more than a staged performance for tourists. The “fishermen” perch on the stilts specifically to pose for photographs, often expecting payment.

Critics argue that this commodification undermines the authenticity of what was once a creative, practical fishing technique born of necessity. Paying for photos, they say, perpetuates a form of cultural theater that reduces local traditions to tourist spectacles. Worse, it might even erode genuine livelihoods and alter community dynamics, transforming real life into a show for outside entertainment.

These travelers believe that seeking out experiences that reflect local life as it’s truly lived—rather than performed—is a more respectful way to engage with Sri Lanka’s coastal culture.

The Case For Visiting (Or: The Crime of Overvaluing "Authenticity")

But not everyone agrees.

Some—including me—argue that criticizing the stilt fishermen for adapting to tourism misunderstands both culture and economics.

Fishing from stilts was never some sacred, ancient ritual. It was a clever workaround invented during tough times. What could be more in the spirit of that ingenuity than charging willing tourists a fee to take their photograph?

Importantly, the stilt fishermen made this choice for themselves. Many come from fishing families but now earn more posing for tourists than they ever could hauling fish from overfished waters.

Cultures evolve.

People find new ways to survive.

Refusing to pay for the men to pose isn’t some noble respect for culture. It’s condescension disguised as principle—a quiet disapproval of people making the best choices they can in an economy where tradition alone doesn’t pay the bills.

Paying the fishermen isn’t buying a performance. It’s compensating them for inhabiting a vanishing tradition.

Call it small-scale heritage preservation if you like.

And honestly, if someone’s willing to sit on a wobbly stick above crashing waves just so I can get a photograph? I’m fine slipping them a few rupees for the effort.

The Hypocrisy Problem

And if we’re being fully honest—if adapting to profit from tourists is somehow bad—then how is tourism itself not equally guilty?

Choosing to be a tourist in Sri Lanka, while heaping scorn on the stilt fishermen for their tourism-centered choices, is applying the principle only when it’s convenient.

The root logic of that argument would make most forms of cultural tourism problematic—not just the fishermen.

This is not a case like "Long-Neck" Villages in Thailand, where the women have likely been trafficked and force to make significant, painful, costly alterations to their body against their will.

Do NOT visit these villages, especially in Thailand.

But the stilt fishermen of Sri Lanka are making their own choices.

I think you SHOULD visit the stilt fishermen of Sri Lanka. If you want to, anyway.

That said, I don’t judge you if you still prefer not to visit. We all have our pet peeves. (Personally, I really hate paying to enter places of worship.)

I would only ask readers to consider what’s better for the people of Sri Lanka, especially these fishermen.

Is it better to refuse to pay a fee because their activity no longer feels “authentic”?

Or is it better to hand over a few bucks—boosting their daily income while getting some fantastic images of an iconic practice that holds a small but significant place in Sri Lanka’s recent history?

The stilt fishermen of Sri Lanka

My Visit

As for me, I found a group of fishermen near Ahangama. I paid them what came out to about $5 USD. And unlike much of the rest of our experience in Sri Lanka, these men didn't even try to force us to pay more than we agreed to after the fact (although some do report this practice).

The men climbed up onto the poles and bobbed their fishing lines in the water while the sun dropped toward the horizon. The soft, falling light let me take a long exposure that smoothed the ocean’s surface into a silky mirror.

No fish were harmed in the making of these photographs.

But given how happy these shots make me, they’re worth far more than $5 to me.

And for the fishermen? I assume that $5 was more valuable to them than the time they spent on those poles. If it weren’t, they wouldn’t have chosen to do it.

Because economics.

After the sun dropped below the horizon, the scene took on a blue cast, and I was able to make long exposures that blurred the water