Tiger tales from India's Ranthambore National Park

Our safari vehicle has only lurched five minutes past the entrance gates of Ranthambore when the first tiger alert comes crackling over our park guide's radio. The driver stomps on the accelerator and we round a bend in a cloud of dust. My fellow travellers leap to their feet with binoculars and long-lensed cameras, providing me with little but a view of sunhats and wobbling buttocks. Somewhere across the ravine, it seems, a tiger is prowling. The hillside is golden, the early morning light striped. The tiger is a flicker in the long grass, an elusive presence. I spy only its rump, then its head. A moment later it's gone, yet hair prickles on my neck and adrenaline surges. We drive onwards in a hubbub of excitement.

For centuries, the Indian tiger hunt was the sport of maharajas and colonial officers. My hotel room features framed black-and-white photos of tigers piled at the feet of men with proud smirks and bristling moustaches. This national park was once the private hunting ground of the maharajas of Jaipur, who had no compunction about bagging a dozen animals in a single day.

Fortunately, things have changed, and many of my fellow travellers on this Luxury Gold journey from Delhi to Agra and Jaipur consider this two-day tiger-spotting stopover in Ranthambore an eagerly anticipated highlight, and a change of pace from monuments.

Today India has only an estimated 3000 remaining wild tigers, half in reserves. Our park guide VJ Singh ("though I don't play golf") is coy about how many there are in Ranthambore but, with 1334 square kilometres of rugged forest, you can bet on modest chances of seeing one. Still, India is the only place in the world where you can tiger-spot with relative ease, and Ranthambore has reasonable odds, making it a favourite for travellers and wildlife photographers.

Vehicle entry to the national park is controlled, and we can never be sure which area we'll access on our four visits. On our first morning, we drive through Sector 4, which has pretty lakes and open grassland. On the second morning, Sector 5 brings us into a forested valley impressive for its giant banyan trees. Both have potential, since although wildlife congregates around waterholes, tigers with cubs also favour forest cover.

Our Luxury Gold drives leave morning and afternoon and last three hours. Afternoons are hot, with less chance of tiger sightings (or leopards, which are even more elusive), so some of my fellow travellers flop at the hotel pool instead. Still, the park has other compensations, including langur monkeys, mongoose, peacocks and numerous species of deer including impressive, antlered sambal. Crocodiles snort in waterways. Lovely birds twitter in the trees.

Our second tiger spotting comes on the final morning, early, with the langurs unsettled and the grasses hissing in a light breeze. The tiger is a flicker in the undergrowth. We think it's gone. Then it steps out onto the track 50 metres in front of us, 200 kilos of solid power and indolently rippling muscle. It makes my heart bang in my chest. Close contact with wild animals is always a visceral experience, but this is awe and unease combined. My primitive instincts suggest danger, my human curiosity has me spellbound.

The tiger turns its head, and licks its lips. Its big padded feet leave pockmarks in the dust the size of dinner plates. Then it vanishes into the undergrowth, and the jeep lurches onwards as collectively we hoot in amazement.