All is quiet, serene, even, as sunsets can be. A sweet little hedgehog cowers in the sparse clumps of grass. Animals like him, as well as the dozens of bird species that depend on ground cover, take a beating when sheep eat up all of a landscape's vegetation.

A flock of endangered blue cranes, South Africa's national bird, soars onto the banks of a large pool of water. Rock rabbits called hyrax scurry in and out of an outcropping.

"The saving grace of this area," Varty says, "is that much of it's too rocky for domestic animals."

As the veld grows darker and the sky pinker, a herd of wildebeest stands silhouetted against the horizon. They seem to have no fear of strutting out in the open in front of the sated tigers. The wildebeest, nicknamed "fool of the veld," might well be able to step on the tigers' tails tonight without consequences.

Ron and Julie could attest that there's nothing foolish about these creatures. This odd-looking member of the antelope family, whose name translates from Afrikaans to mean "wild ox," thwarted at least a dozen attacks from the hungry tigers during three days of hunting. That was until one zigged when she should have zagged, and paid the ultimate price for her momentary lapse.

I've heard Varty say a number of times over this past week that there's no such thing as a lazy tiger. When they're catnapping or lolling about, like now, they're masterfully conserving energy.

Unlike days when Ron swatted at the Land Rover's tires as we drove away, and Julie traipsed along behind, neither budges as we head toward the gate and I head home.

But Ron and Julie are wise to be still. They are going to need all the energy they can muster in the days and weeks and months and years ahead. Even in the lap of a protected sanctuary, in the heart of South Africa, it's hard to be a tiger.

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