Jungle games

Seeing a tiger run across a river is a thrilling sight, or so I'm told by a well-pleased Englishman from the Midlands when our elephants cross paths during a morning safari.

This is a rare encounter with another guest; there are only 20 rooms in the lodge, so it's very private. We quietly exchange notes from an elephant trunk's distance. His watery eyes peer behind thick glasses. "I just come here last night," he says. "Guess I can go home now, got to see what I come for."

"What did you see?" I ask. "Tiger," he replies. "Oo-er, you should've seen it, quick as lightning it were."

My own view is blocked by the aptly named elephant grass. I can barely see the looming Himalayas, much less a striped cat running through its perpendicular patterns. Tiger camouflage is near-perfect.

Later, I return to Chandra Kali to assuage my disappointment. She tosses me into the air. When I roll back into the dirt, arms akimbo and legs buckled, I am sure she is laughing with me.

From the first day in Chitwan, I feel like a latter-day Mowgli. I'm on an old-fashioned shikari, minus the trophy hunting. My goal is to see as many live animals as possible and to gain a better sense of this remote region. Perched high on my Chitwan mount, Chan Chun Kali Jacks, I envisage going completely native. The climate is amenable. It's either cool and dry in winter or wet and hot in summer. I estimate my chances of survival are fair.

Dhani Damang, my eagle-eyed guide on these excellent adventures, interrupts my fantasy by pointing out a python's sinuous track. It looks like a log has been dragged in soft earth.

"It's gone to that hole over there, see?" he says, indicating what looks like an excavation site.

"Big snake," I remark. "Yes, but not the biggest," he says. "I've seen one swallowing a whole chital." Sambar and chital deer roam these grasslands in huge herds between the riverine jungles. An adult chital deer weighs at least 80 kilograms, more than me. "So, I could become python food?" I ask. "Sure," he says, "but the tigers, the gaur, the rhinos and the marsh mugger crocodiles are more dangerous." Maybe I'm not Mowgli material after all, because now I don't feel so safe, even on top of Chan Chun Kali Jacks.

Damang taps me on the shoulder and whispers: "Sloth bear and her cub at 3 o'clock." The sloth bear is rarer than a tiger. I'm very lucky to see one with a cub. A shaggy black coat emerges from behind a tree. Shielding her cub behind her, she raises herself up on hind legs, adopting a threatening posture. Though she's equipped with long front claws and a reputedly short temper, she's no match for our elephant, who responds by stamping her feet and attempting a mock charge. Our phanit (the Nepalese word for mahout, or elephant handler) settles my mount while the bear moves her adolescent cub to a safe distance. We follow them until they disappear down a creek bank. "You're very lucky," Damang says. "I've only seen two other bears this year."

Damang has worked at Tiger Tops since 1969. He's the wonder guide, able to pinpoint a tiny scarlet minivet in the uppermost branch of a flowering kapok tree as if it were the size of a road train on its way to Darwin. "I can't see it, Dhani," is my refrain since arrival. Damang takes my avian myopia in his stride. Tim Edwards, one of Tiger Tops' owners, tells me Damang is completely lost in a city, so I feel slightly less inept.

The Edwards family established Tiger Tops more than 40 years ago as a privately owned luxury camp set in a remote wilderness, its primary purpose to educate visitors about the wonders of wild Nepal. Past guests have included various British royal family members, Mick Jagger and, most recently, Orlando Bloom.

Damang tells me he has seen nature at its best while working at Tiger Tops. But my constant failure to sight tiny birds in faraway places is embarrassing. The sloth bear I can see, the minuscule red bird perched between maroon kapok flowers 50 metres away I can't. But there's hope yet. I count 48 rhinos in a week. Twenty years ago in Chitwan I saw only three in as many days.

Edwards tells me proudly that the conservation efforts of Tiger Tops and the Nepalese Government have been effective. Chitwan is the ideal habitat for rhinoceros unicornis, the endangered great one-horned rhino, and there hasn't been a rhino poached here in several years. Fewer than 3000 are left in the wild, most of them here and in India's Assam province. I see pregnant females, numerous adolescents and, on one fine morning, a newborn calf with its mother strolling through a meadow.

Another success in Chitwan is the gharial. The second-largest member of the crocodilian species, its males regularly grow to six metres and weigh more than a tonne. Females are slightly smaller. These fish-eating crocodiles were once hunted to the brink of extinction. At Chitwan, eggs are collected from nests, incubated at a hatchery and released when the young are deemed large enough to survive. Their greatest threat is loss of habitat and scarce fish stocks due to low river levels caused, experts say, by global warming. Industrial pollution has wiped them out in less remote areas. For now, the Rapti River flowing through Chitwan is a safe sanctuary.

One afternoon I paddle in a wooden canoe downriver to a popular sunning spot. A dozen adult gharials bask on a sand bank mid-stream. The harem's dominant male, stretched out on the hot sand merely a canoe's length away, is at least five metres long. He splashes me with his spatulate tail while retreating hastily into deep water.

The days at Chitwan acquire a special rhythm. Waking before dawn, I wash quickly in dim light. Damang and I share a cup of chai while we discuss our approach to the day. Will I see a tiger? He desperately wants me to see one. My lack of expertise with the birds is bringing out his latent pity. If a half-blind Pom can spot a tiger in only one day, why can't I in a week?

We walk the short distance to the elephant camp, say hello to Chan Chun Kali Jacks and her phanit, Shira. I climb onto her back, slipping my bare feet behind her ears. We trundle into the cool mist, her low rumbling signalling to other elephants that all is well in the heart of the jungle.

Sunlight glimmers through sal tree boughs. Steam rises off the river, a rhino lumbers into view. He's a big bull. "Crazy rhino, that one," says Damang, who's familiar with this rhino's unpredictable habits. Occasionally rhinos charge, he says, so we keep our distance.

We head into the forest. A gaur cow was killed by a tiger last night and there's a good chance the big cat will linger near the carcass. The gaur is the world's largest wild cattle, so this is no small display of tiger power. A cloud of flies signals its presence. The stench is strong, too.

All is quiet. Is the tiger guarding its leftovers? There are hooves, bits of backbone and a haunch in the bloodied grass but no tiger. Damang believes a tigress made the kill. "If it was taken by a male, he would stay with it. The females hide undercover instead, leaving the kill to male tigers, hyenas or jackals. The females are more secretive." I also learn how much a tiger can eat. "Forty kilos in one sitting," Damang says.

An hour later, we see claw marks on a tree. The deep scratches are four metres up its trunk. "Big male," Damang confirms. "They patrol their territory all the time using trees like this to let other tigers know where they are and not to come too close."

We climb down to examine the marks more closely. "Here, smell this spot here," he instructs while pointing to a dark stain on the bark. I sniff reluctantly. A whiff of ammonia, spice notes and a slight muskiness: an aroma I won't forget quickly.

"How can you tell it's a male?" I ask. "It's further up the tree, males urinate higher."

"So, this contest occurs outside pubs, too?" But when I translate my weak joke, Damang doesn't understand the Aussie reference.

We saddle Chan Chun Kali Jacks for the day's last safari. There's always more birdwatching to be done; 523 species are known to inhabit Chitwan. I think I've seen at least 50 but can't be sure. I'm beginning to confuse egrets with storks. Damang successively points out a rufous-necked thrush, a sparrow hawk and a red-banded bulbul, all of which I glimpse momentarily. A muntjac doe, or barking deer, bounces into view for an instant, her dainty feet barely touching the ground. Langur monkeys leap effortlessly from one sisal tree to another. A lone hog deer speeds into a thicket, head down, long back legs pumping furiously. A family of wild boar saunters by. "More tiger food," Damang assures me. "Ham sandwich," he adds. We've become easy companions. He tells bad jokes as well as I do.

Dusk envelops the jungle. A peacock sits on a low-hanging branch singing a mournful tune, the first bird I spot without Damang's help. Its spread of feathers wouldn't look out of place at a disco, unsurprising that I don't miss it. No tigers.

We return to the lodge for dinner. Meals are communal and tonight's table chat is all about tiger sightings. "Did you see the tiger today, the one near that gaur carcass?" someone asks me. "No, but I did see two crested serpent eagles and one honey buzzard," I respond. I look down the table and catch a look of disappointment on Damang's face. I grin and he flashes me a relieved smile.

Later, I drift off to sleep and dream about tigers burning brightly on aspiring wings (with apologies to William Blake).

Tom Neal Tacker travelled courtesy of Tiger Tops Lodge.

FAST FACTS

Singapore Airlines flies to Kathmandu with an aircraft change in Singapore for about $1168. Thai Airways has a fare for about $1587, with an aircraft change in Bangkok. (Fares, which might vary slightly at time of purchase, are low-season return from Melbourne and Sydney and include tax.) Australians require a visa, available on arrival, for a stay of up to 30 days. Transfers to Chitwan National Park's airstrip at Meghauli with Yeti Airlines and into the park via a river crossing and a short 4WD journey can be booked through Tiger Tops Jungle Lodge.

Packages at Tiger Tops Jungle Lodge are tailored to suit individuals. Priced from about $US400 ($492) a day, including all meals, hotel accommodation in Kathmandu, internal flights and transfers, park fees, elephant safaris and activities. The park and lodge are closed during the monsoon from July to October. See tigermountain.com.

Travellers will inevitably stay for a night or more in Kathmandu. Highly recommended is Dwarika's Hotel, housing a treasure trove of Nepalese art, run like a Swiss watch and with its own generator. Double rooms from €150 ($260); see dwarikas.com.